Ba-dump
Dawn was lying on the mattress. Her eyes were open but unseeing.
Four days.
She had been in her room four days without coming out. She drank from the sink only when necessary. Hunger was her constant companion; it gnawed at her insides, clawed at her stomach. It was entirely her doing that she didn't eat. Henry tried, he left food outside the door, she just never got it. He came every day, sometimes only three times in accordance with the traditional meal times, but sometimes he would come more, leaving her presents.
She only wanted one thing from him. Freedom.
She knew her iPod was out there, so was a book. She forgot what book it was, even though her father had told her. Funny, her memory was fuzzy. Maybe it was the lack of nourishment.
It wasn't Henry's fault. He tried.
He tried to bribe her into coming out, saying he'd give her anything she wanted, anything she needed. He begged her to come out, to eat something, anything. She heard him every day. She heard his steps. She heard him pick up or put down the tray of food. She heard everything clink together. She heard him sigh. She heard everything.
And always, always, there was a beat. The beat of a drum, the thrum of her heart, the pounding of her pulse.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
All day, every day for the past four days, her pulse banged inside her head.
Dawn dragged herself up and went to her corner. She liked that corner. It was a good view of the scene outside the window, and she felt safer than she did on the bed. Henry came in sometimes, when he thought she was asleep. He came in, sat down next to her and stroked her hair. Dawn would suppress a shudder as he did so. The one time she couldn't, he thought she was cold. Being the good father he pretended to be, he pulled the blanket up over her. Sometimes, if her mind wasn't too fuzzy, if it was sharp, then she could pretend it was her Mom or Dad that was stroking her hair, not Henry. She could almost enjoy the feeling.
But that was only sometimes.
She plopped down into her corner. She liked the feel of the walls at her sides. It felt like she had some support, like arms were gently holding her. It sounded pathetic, considering she was pushing away the only person who could give her any real human interaction and comparing the cool, slightly pressured 'embrace' of the walls to affection. It was alright though, because she didn't care. She just wanted out. She wanted to be free like the birds she heard.
Unconsciously, she began to rock. Back and forth, back and forth. Her stomach released a hollow growl, so she drew her knees in tighter, clenched her body as tight as she could. All the while her pulse pounded in her head, through her body.
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.
XxX
Henry paced the dining room. He was worried sick. Was this how parents always felt? Dawn hadn't eaten anything. He knew she was drinking water, but she was letting herself starve. Was it teenage rebellion that fueled her 'hunger strike' or fear? He'd gone in and checked on her while she slept, but it wasn't enough to satisfy that little voice in his mind. How long could she last without food? He finally decided that enough was enough. He was going to go up there and get Dawn to eat something. He didn't care what it was, as long as it was some kind of food. He walked up the stairs, catching sight of the tray still full of food. Beside it, were her personal affects. He had left the book she'd bought and her iPod out in the hallway, but by the dust on them, he could tell she hadn't touched any of it. She must hate him if she won't even come out for her things, or was it fear again? He'd left everything else in Arizona; her keys and phone, he tossed the keys randomly in the town as he drove away and he smashed the phone and ditched it in the woods as he passed them. Anything to throw them off their trail.
Henry knocked on the door.
"Dawnie, I'm coming in," he warned, before he opened the bedroom door.
She wasn't on the bed this time; instead, she was in the corner, rocking back and forth. Henry strode over to his daughter and knelt next to her.
"Dawn sweetie, you need to eat," he put his hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch. A painful remainder of his rash action four days ago lay on her brutally bruised cheek. The blues and purples blended together, and that sickly yellow-green was just starting to show through. She looked so young and fragile…
"Please sweetie, you don't look good. You need to eat something."
Dawn just shook her head, she wouldn't look at him.
Henry stifled a sigh. He sat down and pulled her into his lap.
"I'm sorry Dawn. I'm so, so sorry," he muttered, kissing the top of her head. "Please, come downstairs and eat something, then you can come back here. You don't have to stay, but please eat."
It was a long minute before she nodded. Henry felt the tension leave his body.
XxX
She would do anything he wanted, as long as he stopped touching her.
He finally came inside the room, her personal prison, and found her at her worst. He whispered things, kissed her head, muttered on and on about food, but all she could register was the fact that he was holding her. She didn't want him to touch her, not again. He would hurt her again, maybe not on purpose, but he would.
Finally, to shut him up, she nodded. Her resolve snapped in two all because he touched her.
Henry placed her back on the floor, then stood up himself. He held his hand out to her. Shaking, Dawn placed her much smaller hand in his. She expected his grip to be harsh, but he gently grasped hers. She took a step with him, but the malnourished teen stumbled. She hadn't used her legs much in four days.
"Are you alright?" Henry asked, worry on his face, in his voice.
Dawn opened her mouth to say she was fine, but dizziness suddenly slammed through her body. She shook her head. "I-I need…help," she mumbled.
Henry nodded seriously, but she could tell he was secretly happy that she asked. He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her walked. As they left the room, Dawn's dark eyes caught sight of her book and iPod. She knew he had said something about entertainment, but his words had glided over her in her self-induced haze. Henry and she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. She sat at the island again and put her head on the counter.
"I can't give you anything heavy," he began as he looked through the cabinets. "Since you haven't eaten anything. So…" Henry trailed off as his eyes scrutinized the contents of the cabinet.
"Anything you think's fine," Dawn said, her voice barely counting as a normal speaking volume.
These were the first words Henry had heard since she'd come down, and he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
She saw him reach out and grab something. When he turned she saw it was a can.
"How about soup?"
Dawn nodded, not lifting her head.
Henry set about making it, and the father-daughter pair sat in silence. When he was done some minutes later, he emptied the contents into two bowels.
"I hope you don't mind that I have some, if you can eat this fine, then I'll make you something else."
Dawn lifted her head and eyed the soup. She wondered vaguely if he had drugged it. She didn't like the feeling before, she didn't want to experience it again.
XxX
Henry placed the bowl in front of his daughter. He sat across from her and watched her expression. However slight it was, emotion was there. Fear, skepticism, wariness. That was why he got a bowl for himself. He figured she wouldn't trust anything he gave her. Was that another reason she didn't eat? He wanted to gain her trust and was willing to do whatever it took to do so. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the soup. It was plain chicken noodle, nothing fancy. Henry watched the look on Dawn's face as he began to eat. After about thirty seconds of him doing so without coming to harm, she did the same.
They ate in silence. It bothered the father, but not too much. He was simply happy that Dawn had come down. After he had finished, Henry ventured a question.
"How do the clothes fit?" he asked.
He had filled the drawers with a variety of clothes; some were Abby's old ones, some were left at the Candlewick, and some were his old shirts.
"Is it all OK?"
Dawn glanced down at her attire then, as if noticing it for the first time. Henry looked too. She was wearing a tank top that had belonged to Abby and a pair of Trish's jeans. The tank was loose, as were the jeans, but the jeans fit better.
"Once you get settled, I can get ones that actually fit."
Dawn kept looking down, in fact, she stared into her lap as she said, very quietly, "I need a belt."
"I'll try to find one for you, but if I can't you can have one of mine."
Dawn glanced up, "Thanks."
Henry's grin broadened.
XxX
After the talk about the clothes, Dawn set her mind on finishing her food.
"I never got you a drink," Henry said suddenly, sounding liked a forgetful parent. How easily he can slip on the guise. But it was harder for Dawn. Her role was different. She had to feign ignorance, pretend he was her Dad, pretend he wasn't a murderer. She had to lie.
She couldn't.
Her Dad was Jimmy Mance. Her Mom was Abby Mance. She was Dawn Mance, not Dawn Dunn, and certainly not Dawn Wakefield.
She clenched her fists, clutching the fabric of her jeans. A passing thought struck her suddenly as Henry poured her juice.
She wondered who the jeans belonged to. Hell, who any of the clothes belonged to.
To stop herself from thinking about it further, she took a gulp of the drink without waiting for Henry to do so.
"Are you still hungry?" Henry asked. "I could make you toast, nothing too heavy remember?"
She wanted him to stop talking, so she nodded. Henry smiled and went to make it.
"S-So," she began. She didn't want to talk, but she needed confirmation. "Where are we?"
"Harper's Island," her father answered without turning around.
She knew it. Dawn gulped but trudged on, "Wh-Where's everyone?"
"Gone." He still wouldn't turn around.
Dawn was afraid of that. Her parents told her that everyone had left the island after the second massacre, but she still had some semblance of hope, that is, before her bio dad crushed it.
Damn, could she ever think of him like that, being her true father, making up half her genes?
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
There it was again. The war drums, her pulse, that pounding.
XxX
Henry stared at the toaster, waiting for the bread to reappear. He knew that Dawn was scared just from the tone of her voice. He didn't want her to be scared, but he wouldn't lie to her either.
The toast popped, bring the father out of his reverie. He took the toast and slathered butter on it, then pushed the plate in front of his daughter. Dawn stared at it for a few moments before she picked it up and took a small bite. Henry watched and waited until she finished the whole thing.
"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" he asked.
"OK," Dawn conceded.
Henry put the plate in the sink, then turned to face Dawn. He held out his hand. Without much hesitation, Dawn took it. He held her hand carefully, since it was still injured.
"When we get to my bathroom, we'll take care of your hands. Have you been keeping them clean?" He knew the answer, he had heard the shower running before. He simply wanted Dawn to talk more.
"Yeah," she replied quietly, then she seemed to think better of it. "I mean, yes."
Henry was happy to hear her voice, but the tone, the tone of fear hurt him. He pulled her along, telling her the rooms as they went.
"This is the dining room," he began with the open space that consisted of the kitchen and eating area. He eyed the telescope by the shelf and remembered how Abby had used it to smash the window. He glanced at his daughter from the corner of his eye, waiting to see if she would do something.
XxX
Dawn looked around the dining room. She knew the telescope was how her Mom had escaped before, but she also knew that Henry had caught up with her.
But, he only did so because she had gotten distracted by Jimmy. If Dawn tried…
Her eyes found her father's, his dark orbs boring into her own. She knew he was waiting. She couldn't do anything, not yet.
"Nice," she said instead.
Henry immediately brightened. He took her hand and led her down the hallway. At every room, she pretended to be impressed by the décor, or the furniture. In reality, she was looking at all the exits or things she could use to help her exit. She hoped Henry didn't notice.
"Here's my room," he said as they stood in the doorway. Dawn glanced over her shoulder and found her bedroom close to his. Too close in her opinion.
"If you ever need anything, just get me."
Dawn stared at her shoes, which she suddenly deemed interesting.
"Well, I guess we should clean your hands now. Come on," he took her shoulder and guided her into the room. He disappeared into the small, half-bath attached to his room. After about a minute of searching, he reemerged with a tube of cut ointment and Band-Aids. Henry sat next to her on the bed and went about fixing her hands.
"Can I see outside?" Dawn asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
Henry looked up as he shook his head, "No." He said with finality.
Her throat tightened, "Why?"
"I can't trust you yet Dawnie. I'm sorry."
"Please," she begged. "I don't wanna be inside anymore. Please."
Henry sighed; he capped the tube and looked Dawn in the eyes. "No."
Dawn stared back into those eyes. They reminded her so much of her mother's. It unnerved her.
"Let's go Dawn," Henry took her by the arm and began to pull her up.
As she stood, the inbred yanked out of his grip and stepped away from him. "I hate you," she murmured.
"What?" Henry hadn't heard her. "Speak louder Dawn."
She'd give him louder.
"I. Hate. You!" she enunciated.
Henry's face went blank, but his eyes held fire. "Don't say things you don't mean Dawn."
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
Her pulse, the call to war, urged her on.
"I do mean it," she spat. "I meant everything I said before. You'll never be my Dad. I hate you. You're a murderer."
"I've changed Dawn," Henry tried to keep his head. "I don't kill anymore."
"Then why did I come home to find my Dad in a puddle of blood? Why do I have this?" she pointed to the large bruise on her cheek.
Henry visibly flinched, "I'm sorry for that."
"You're sorrys mean nothing to me Henry!" with that, the teenager turned on her heel and marched out the door, down the hall, and straight into her room.
XxX
Henry stood, stunned, by his bed. He was hurt by what Dawn had said, hurt more than he could have thought possible. He sat on the bed again, ran his hands through his hair, rested his elbows on his knees, bent forward.
She was right of course, he was a killer.
Would she ever see past that?
"She has to," he whispered aloud.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
His blood thrummed in his ears.
"She has to."
She had called him Henry. Not Dad. Henry. She reminded him so much of Abby he couldn't stand it sometimes.
He was Dad, not Henry. Only Abby could call him that, not their daughter.
Abby…
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
XxX
Jimmy was fidgety, no, it was more than that, he was raging. Anger pumped through his veins, making his leg jump and his heart go.
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.
"Why am I still here?" he snapped at the detectives in front of him. "Where's Abby?"
"Mrs. Mance is being held in another room, being questioned just as you are," the blond, young man said.
"Why are we being questioned? I told you who took her!" Jimmy slammed his fist on the table. His head throbbed; he could feel the blood pounding against his injury. They had given him painkillers, the paramedics that is, after they patched him up. The fisherman did not understand why they were wasting precious time.
The other cop, older than his young partner, flipped open a file, "James Mance," he read aloud.
"Jimmy," the worried father corrected automatically.
"So Jimmy," the older detective's tone had taken on one of false friendliness. "According to you, Henry Dunn broke into your house, tried and failed to kill you, then kidnapped your daughter?"
"She's…" Jimmy was tired of rehashing his story. "Dawn is not my daughter biologically."
"Right. So, Jimmy…we have a problem."
"Yeah, you're wasting time on me when you should be looking for Dawn," he snapped.
"We have our associates searching your home," the young one said.
"But the problem is," his elder clasped his hands together and leaned forward, "Henry Dunn is dead."
"No, he isn't."
"We have proof, blood samples in the church that burned."
Jimmy knew they would someday regret not telling the police that Abby had killed Henry, looking back, it was a stupid thing to do. "He planted that, why did the police never tell us they lost his body?"
"It burned in the church."
Jimmy stood and slammed his fists down on the table, "ARE YOU LISTENING?" he roared. "YOU'RE WASTING YOUR TIME ON STUPID QUESTIONS WHEN HE COULD BE DOING ANYTHING TO MY DAUGHTER!"
The young blond stepped toward him, placing his hand on Jimmy's shaking shoulder. "Relax Mr. Mance."
Jimmy plopped into the chair and glared at the elder detective. He remembered their names now. The young one was Detective Neil Harp, while the older one was Sal Clark.
XxX
"Please, find my daughter," Abby was trying to stop crying.
The detective pushed the box of tissues closer to her. "Mrs. Mance, you say Henry Dunn took her."
"He did! He attacked Jimmy!"
The Detective glanced at his partner, "Right."
"Please find her, she has asthma, and her inhaler…" Abby let out a sob. "She doesn't have her inhaler!"
"Abigail," the sitting detective began. "We don't think Henry Dunn kidnapped your daughter."
"Abby," she corrected as an afterthought, then his words sank in. "Then…who did?"
XxX
"You think I took Dawn?" Jimmy whispered, stunned.
"You and your wife argue quite a lot don't you?" Clark asked.
"So?"
"Have you ever threatened her?"
Jimmy slammed the table again, "THIS IS BULLSHIT!"
"SIT down Jimmy," Harp ordered.
Jimmy remained standing. "How could I?" he whispered. "I love my wife and daughter."
"You have a record," Clark reminded.
"You said Mr. Dunn was the real father," Harp pressed. "Maybe you got angry one day? Did you and Dawn argue? You were supposed to be at work when the kidnapping happened."
"I forgot my tools," the fisherman collapsed into the seat again. It was a lame excuse, even to his own ears. It was the truth though. It was!
"Now that's a weak alibi," Clark said in a patronizing tone.
Jimmy dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't believe this. This is why Henry left him alive, to throw them off the trail. Henry was smarter than Jimmy had given him credit for.
"So you're saying I came home, took my daughter away to some unknown location, injured myself to make it look like an attack, and then allowed several hours to lapse so I could bleed enough to make it look convincing before I called the cops?"
The two men before him were stern in their gazes.
"We'd like to run a paternity test," Clark finally said. "Then we'll go from there."
Jimmy shook his head, blinking back tears. His heart ba-dump'd over and over in his chest.
This couldn't be happening.
It couldn't.
A/N Thanks for reading this far! Please comment. Oh and the three titles I'm thinking of are: His Shadow, meaning Henry's constant presence in their lives, and Mother's Dreams, Father's Eyes, since Dawn looks like Henry, Disarm With a Smile, because the Smashing Pumpkins song is perfect for Henry .I like these three best because they do not give anything away in the plot, as opposed to Father-daughter related titles.
