Ava ( Seven years old)
I’m not going home.
Ava realises this as she sits on the floor of what appears to be an empty cell-like room, except the walls are pretty and only the floor is damp.
She tilts her head back against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she silently hoped that the men who’d brought her here would finally let her go. Although she doubted they would.
It had been over an hour now, and the men who’d taken her were nowhere to be found. They had shoved her into the darkness and left, leaving her with only their warnings of quietness to keep her company.
Then men who’d taken her from her ballet studio reminded her of the men she’d sometimes seen hanging around in her father’s office. Her father had called them business associates and told her that they were nice people with hard faces, but all Ava saw when she noticed the men pull up in front of her studio was their hard faces.
She shivered, but it was not from the cold. The room is bare and drabby. Nothing about the place she was in struck her as familiar, which she knew should frighten her, but it didn’t.
Ava had decided from the tender age of three that she was going to be a brave girl for her papa and her mama. It was a promise she’d made over the years to both her parents and one She intended to keep even now.
She was sure her father would already be looking everywhere for her. After all, he was her hero. He always knew where to find her, even during hide and seek, and she was an excellent hider.
If there was one thing she knew, it was that heroes always saved the day, and her papa would come to save her.
Eventually.
The walls of the place she was in looked shabby. She remembered the yellow curtains her mother had picked out a few months ago for her room. Her mother had insisted that it made the room come together in a single sense.
Whatever that meant.
If her mother were here, she’d have changed the old curtains barely hanging on the steel rod above the window to brighter, attention-grabbing ones. Then she’d pull it down to keep the cold away.
But her mother wasn’t there. Her mother hadn’t been here in a while. Three months to be exact.
Ava’s chest tightened as the memories of her mother’s soft hands and the way her voice could make everything feel safe again flooded her head.
She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She hadn’t even realized that she was crying until she saw the wetness cling to the back of her hand.
So much for being brave.
She hated crying. Mama had always told her she was strong, that she was her “little warrior,” but sometimes being brave was hard especially if you weren’t sure how to be brave.
The sound of mild scratching managed to weave its way through Ava’s soft sniffles and she turned to the source.
It was coming from the other side of the room.
Slowly, she found herself crawling to the other side of the room where the sound was coming from. She pressed her ear against the wall, the cold roughness digging into her cheek, and then she waited.
Silence.
Ava held her breath, straining her ear to catch even the smallest sound, but nothing came.
Her shoulders slumped, disappointment embedding its way into her already saddened heart. She started to move away from the wall, but just as she did, the sound came again, this time accompanied by a faint humming sound.
Someone was definitely there.
“Hello?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.
She chanted over and over in her head but no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t help calm the nerves thrumming through her veins.
Ava’s fingers curled against the wall, her voice louder this time when she asked, “Is somebody there?”
For a moment the silence returned and then finally, ever so faintly a voice responded, “Da,” (Yes)
Ava’s eyes widened, and a small moment of happiness crept in for only a second. For the first time since she’d been locked up in this room like prison, she had hope.
She wasn’t alone. Someone like her was just a few feet away.
“My name’s Ava, What’s your name?”
The voice remained silent for a moment and then… It laughed.
Well, it wasn’t much of a laugh as it was an acknowledgement that she’d said something funny.
And she hadn’t said something funny. Only her name. Was her name funny to the stranger? She’d never thought her name to be funny before.
“Haven’t you heard that it isn’t wise to share your name with strangers, little girl?” the voice said it like it was something every other person knew except her. A flush of warmth spread through her, her lips pulled downward as she moved away from the wall slightly, “My mama says that it’s polite to introduce yourself when you meet someone”
“Your mama was wrong. You do not tell your name to just anybody little girl. Tell it to the wrong person, and the next thing you realise, you’re trapped in a place with no way out. Isn’t that what happened to you?”
Ava pursed her lips. The reason she was here, to begin with, was that one of the men who’d taken her had pretended to know her papa. He’d smiled at her, called her by her name, and even said that her papa had sent him to pick her up from ballet practice.
She’d believed him.
She pressed her palm against the wall, her fingers curling. Other seven-year-olds would’ve probably asked more questions like How do you know my father? Or How did you know where to get me?
She hadn’t.
“How did you know I was taken?”
“My father only keeps people he’s taken in that room”
She paused. The voice’s father was the man who’d taken her.
The realization cut deep. This person wasn’t like her. He was like them.
“Your father?”
“Yes, my father,” the voice replied, calm yet somehow spiteful.
Her fingers curled into fists against the wall.
“Do you know what my father wants from you?”
She’d tried asking the men who’d taken her what they wanted when they brought her here but they hadn’t given her an answer.
Ava shook her head, even though she knew the boy on the other side of the wall couldn’t see her.
“They didn’t tell me”
She bit down on her bottom lip, pressing her forehead against the cold wall.
“Good. That means you’re safe. Once my father gets what he wants he’ll let you go”
Her brows knitted together, confusion crossing her brain. She was safe because she didn’t know why she was here?
“Your father,” she paused, then swiped her tongue over her bottom lip, “Do you know what he wants from me?”
The voice was silent for a moment and then It spoke.
“No”
Disappointment crept into her chest. He said she was safe but it didn’t feel like it. She was alone in a place she didn’t know and she was scared. It was hard to pretend like she was brave. She wasn’t. Being brave was hard. Being a big girl was hard. She wanted her mama but her mama was gone. She wanted to go home but she couldn’t.
She wanted to cry, so she did.
“Are you crying?”
The voice asked, sounding concerned. Ava, sniffled, wiping the back of her hand over her already running nose.
“No”
“Don’t cry”
“I said I wasn’t”
“Good. My father hates it when his prisoners cry.”
“How old are you?” Ava asked, her voice soft, curious despite herself.
“Sixteen”
Oh. “You sound older”
“And you sound six”
Ava poured, “I’m not six.”
“Then how old are you?”
“I turn eight in a few months,” Ava said proudly.
For the first time since she arrived in the cold room-like prison, she heard a laugh. A sound that was warm and felt strangely like a soft blanket in the dark empty space she was trapped in.
Ava smiled despite herself and turned until her back was against the wall. She tucked her legs underneath her, getting into a comfortable position.
“Are you really not going to tell me your name?” She asked, tilting her head toward the wall.
“I don’t want to”
“Tell me anyways”
“Nyet”
“What does ni-et mean?”
“It means no”
Oh. “I’m going to have to call you by something”
“Why’s a name so important to you?”
Ava thought for a moment. Names, her mother used to say, were how human beings got through life. Without names, it would be like you never existed, and if you never existed, it would mean no one would remember you.
Ava determined then that she wanted to remember the voice that had kept her company when she was alone.
“You can call me anything you want”
The voice continued. Ava pursed her lips. Anything?
“How about Bear”
The voice became eerily quiet.
“Bear?”
“You sound gruff like a bear”
Ava worried that the voice wouldn’t appreciate her new name for it but her worries weren’t enough for her to change it.
“Okay”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Ava’s mouth. “Thank you, Bear.”
“For what?”
“For answering me when I called,” she replied softly.
Another wave of silence passed between them.
“You’re welcome Ava”