Chapter 4 - The Sound of the Lawn
We moved into Wanda’s house in the suburbs of Beavercreek two days later. It was a quiet neighborhood, full of mature trees and children riding bicycles on the sidewalk. But for Brinley, the outside world was an enemy.
She wouldn't go near the windows. If the front door opened, she would instantly hide behind the sofa or drag herself under the kitchen table. Her muscles were so weak from years of confinement that she walked with a pronounced limp, her left leg dragging slightly.
On Tuesday morning, the neighbor across the street started his lawnmower. The sudden, loud roar of the engine ripped through the quiet house.
Brinley let out a piercing shriek—the first loud sound she had made since the hospital. She threw herself onto the floor, covering her head with her hands, screaming, "I'll be good! I'll stay quiet! Don't lock it! Don't lock it!"
I rushed to the kitchen floor, wrapping my entire body around her, pulling her against my chest. "It's just a lawnmower, Brinley. It's just grass, baby. Look at me, look at Mama."
Wanda ran outside and frantically waved at the neighbor to shut off the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, filled only by Brinley’s ragged, terrified breathing against my neck.
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"They used the noise of the generator to drown out her crying," Wanda whispered later, her eyes red as we sat in the kitchen while Brinley slept from pure exhaustion on the floor beside us. "The police found an industrial generator in the garage right above the basement stairs. Every time they had people over or went out, they turned it on."
I looked out the window at the sunny street. "They didn't just lock her in a basement, Wanda. They built a prison and ran it like clockwork. And I am going to make sure every single one of them spends the rest of their lives behind real steel bars."
