If only she had her picture of her mother, she could stare at it and tell herself that everything would be all right. The way she did when father told her she was difficult. That he didn't have time for her. When he was disappointed in her grades. Sometimes, she'd talk to the picture and pretend her mother was still alive, that she could hold her and give her advice.
Footsteps came and she stiffened. Being cooped up in the dark stuffy hole, insects crawling over her, was terrible, but when he allowed her out, he always hurt her. To toughen her up, he claimed, to make sure she couldn't be tortured into telling his secrets. She knew that was a lie. He couldn't hide his enjoyment when he hurt her. The door opened and she tried to put her hand in front of her face.
She was too weak. The light pierced her eyes like a thousand needles.
"Ready, little Maeve?" that terrible voice said and he reached for her.
She screamed even though she knew he'd punish her for it...
***