Camellia and the Tape Recorder

It all began as a normal day, as the worst days often do. Mrs. Ling woke up and came downstairs, whereupon she saw her husband. The tall, Asian, Mr. Ling was sitting in his rusty colored armchair and reading the most recent newspaper. “Orion, where’s Jackie?” Mrs. Ling snapped as she lifted the waffle iron from it’s place in the cabinets. “He’s three, Elaina, not a newborn. You can eave him alone, once in a while,” Mr. Ling replied. “But where is he? Breakfast will be ready soon!” “In the playroom,” Mr. Ling sighed. Ever since he had gotten in that car accident, his wife seemed to be on edge. He didn’t understand why. It had been one night, and his leg would be good and healed in less than a week. Mrs. Ling began the batter, pouring in eggs and waffle mix until she had something she liked. The gooey liquid went into the machine, and Mrs. Ling left the room to collect her sons and daughter. Jackie toddled around on his unsteady feet, racing from one end of the room to another. “Look Mommy!” he cried as he sped by. Any other day, Mrs. Ling would have laughed. But not today, today Jackie’s “Mommy” was running late. She scooped Jackie up, stickie fingers and all, and brought the whining three year old to the kitchen. “Sit with Daddy,” she said as she plopped him down in his father’s lap. The three year old stuck out his lip, matching his dad’s pouty expression. “Can’t I read the paper, Elaina?” “It’ll only be a moment,” Mrs. Ling said as she raced upstairs. Her knuckles hit the door of Jame’s bedroom. “Breakfast, James!” she called as she slid open the door. James, the antsy twelve year old of the family, groaned in his bed. “Mo-om! Leave me alone,” he grunted. “Nonsense, James. It’s waffles! Come on, let’s go.” Mrs. Ling grabbed her groaning son by the shoulders and dragged him out of bed. “Let me go,” James grunted. Mrs. Ling sighed and let go. With all the work, she could feel herself and the children drifting apart. Before Orion’s accident, they had the best times together. But now, in the work craze, she was missing her kids. Realizing how they were growing up, right in front of her eyes, and there was nothin she could do about it. Mrs. Ling wiped her eyes and pushed her eldest son out of the room. She was late to work already, today wasn’t the day to get all misty. “Camellia! Camellia, wake up!” Mrs. Ling sang as she came to her daughter’s room. “Late, I’m late, hurry!” Mrs. Ling thought. When nobody answered from inside, she let her knuckles touch the door. “Camellia?” Rat-tat-tat. “Camellia!!” Tat-rat-tat. Something was off. Camellia was always up by now, down in the living room, watching cartoons, or singing in her room. What was wrong now? “Camellia I’m coming in!” her mother called. She tried the door knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Mrs. Ling’s forehead began to sweat, and she twisted her long black hair into a bun, just so her hands could do something. “Orion come up here!” she shouted. Back in the kitchen, Orion had just gotten an anxious toddler into a seat and served a grumpy teenager some waffles when he heard his wife’s call. “What now, woman,” he grunted. He picked up his crutches and moved across the kitchen and up three steps. “Orion, something’s wrong!” Mrs. Ling flipped the doorknob again, but nothing happened. The door wasn’t locked, something was obstructing it! “What is it?” Orion sighed. “Camellia’s door, it’s not locked, something’s in the way. And she won’t answer...Camellia!” Silence except for the heavy breathing of Mrs. Ling, who seemed on the verge of a panic attack. “Okay, honey, I’m sure it’s nothing. Camellia? Young lady, if you’re in there and not answering for fun you’ll be in a whole lot of trouble!” Nothing. “Camellia open this door!” Mr. Ling shouted again, this time, more authority edged into the words. Nothing. Mrs. Ling began to imagine all the worst case scenarios, and her hands sweat a little more. “Orion, do something!” she cried. Mr. Ling was beginning to suspect that indeed, something was wrong. Camellia had always been the perfect student, the perfect little girl, but now... “Stay back,” Mr. Ling’s beefy hand moved his wife against the wall. Steadying himself with one crutch, he lifted the spare and jammed it into the door. The door, a pretty white oak Camellia had chosen herself, splintered, but did not budge. Bang! The crutch hit the door again. Bang! Mrs. Ling approached the door and brushed away the scraps. “I can see through a little! Orion, I don’t see her...” Mr. Ling shoved his wife back, paying no attention to her gasp as she hit the wall. The crutch slid into the door again, but nothing budged. “We push now,” he said. Mrs. Ling’s skin had turned a papery white, pale, ghastly, but sweaty, too. Worries and fears raced through her head. She joined her husband at the door. “On three, push,” Mr. Ling commanded. One step at a time. Push open the door, then worry about what’s on the other side. He slammed his shoulder into the door, and Mrs. Ling shoved with her arms. The door moved a little. “It’s working, oh Orion, I thought!” A little color returned to Mrs. Ling’s face. “Again. One, two, three!” PUSH! The door moved a little again. “Mom, Dad, something wrong?” James called from the table. He was on his fourth waffle already, and was eating it with his fork when he heard the splintering crack of the door. That wasn’t normal. Little Jackie, however, was in toddler heaven. No parents meant all the syrup and whipped cream he could get, and a large glob of both dripped off his cheek. “Three again!” Mr. Ling commanded. “One, two, three!” Shove! The door splintered, and whatever held the door back had been moved enough. Mrs. Ling slid through, then gasped. A sudden intake of breath, a horror. “Orion...” “What!” Mr. Ling shoved his shoulder into the door and got in through the crack. He nearly dropped his crutches when he saw the sight. “No,” Mrs. Ling said. “No, no, no!” “I’ll call the police...” Mr. Ling fumbled for his phone, but his sweaty hands made it fall to the ground. “No, no, no!” Mrs. Ling repeated. Mr. Ling finally got a good hand on the phone and dialed nine-one-one. “What’s the problem?” the person on the other end asked. Mr. Ling’s voice was shaky. “My daughter, she’s missing from her room, and there’s, there’s red fingerprints...” Static, then, “I’m coming over, alright. Stay calm, don’t touch anything, and we’ll be over shortly.” All Mr. Ling could do was nod. Maybe the person on the other end couldn’t here him, but for the very first time, Orion Ling was at a loss for words. The whole day continued as a blur of grief and questioning for Mr. Ling. “Who was there?” “Only my family, sir.” “Did you hear anything?” “No.” “When did you discover the room was empty?” “Eight, eight fifteen.” “Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?” And on, and on, and on the questioning went. The police seemed unaware they were going in circles, but for the moment, Mr. Ling was too absorbed in the grief of loosing his only daughter to care. Mrs. Ling, however, had broken. Her brain couldn’t seem to get a handle on the fact this was real. Maybe if she went to sleep early, everything would right itself? It didn’t, and her wails filled the empty night sky. For the coming weeks, the police filed in and out, but found nothing. Mrs. Ling, absorbed in grief, asked them every time. Did you find the kidnapper? No, they had not. Any new leads? None. And that is how, a long month after, when the case had gone cold, Mrs. Ling found herself making a plan. She would get her daughter back or, so help her, get justice from the criminal who took her. She looked in her daughter’s room, still untouched. Nothing. But there had to be some proof! Something! Anything! Mrs. Ling went outside the house and looked at her daughter’s window. And there she saw something only her eyes would see, something the police would always miss. The brick was in place. Right below Camellia’s window, there had always been this weird brick. It seemed too big for the house, so it never fit, always half in, half out. But somehow, it was fully in now. The brick had been replaced. Mrs. Ling grabbed a ladder from the garage and propped it against the wall. She climbed all the way up to the brick and tugged it out. She had been right? A compartment. Her hand gripped inside, and brought out a video recorder. It wasn’t hers, or her family’s. And the recording device was an old one, unique, painted a bright neon green color. Mrs. Ling’s hands turned clammy with nerves. Was this the tape which would show her daughter’s kidnapper. But what she saw would change her view forever. She pressed play on the latest tape. Her daughter, sleeping quietly in bed. And then, something grabbed her. Camellia woke up and thrashed, but something held her in place. An invisible man. Something nobody could see, but it was clearly there. Camellia tried to grab onto something, anything, to stop herself from going out the window. But the invisible creature wasn’t stopping. Camellia disappeared from the window. Below the video were ten letters. FBI PROJECT 2.0. Mrs. Ling fell of the ladder and woke up. Gasping, she grabbed at the sheets. It was all a dream, Camellia was fine. Just a nasty, nasty dream. But what if it was real? Mrs. Ling shuddered and got up, wanting to prove to her mind Camellia was alright. She crossed the hall to her daughter’s room and opened the door. Nothing blocking it, the door opened smoothly. Camellia murmured something in her sleep and turned. Mrs. Ling let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Everything was fine! But wait—what was that in Camellia’s hands? Mrs. Ling walked over to her daughter and inspected her hands. A neon green tape recorder. Mrs. Ling’s family didn’t own a tape recorder. In her sleep, Camellia giggled.