Coming Home (24 page)
A white chair to my right had a neatly folded, clean white shirt resting on it. That shirt called to me telling me to rise, clothe my bare body, and escape. My arms and legs jerked, instinctively expecting to meet resistance, but they merely flew into the air and crashed back to the bed—you hadn’t tied me down. I thought everyone that was taken was tied down like it was a main teaching point in Kidnapper 101. Maybe I should have guessed there was a reason you trusted my captivity enough you felt no need for restraints, but at the time I took it as a blessing.
I set straight up, eyes rapidly searching the room. Calming my breath was harder than it should have been. Pulling air in and pushing it back out was involuntary, but controlling the speed so I didn’t pass out again took effort from my whole being. Digging the heels of my hands into my eyes blocked the bright white that was surrounding me, just enough that I felt momentarily safe. A small, dark cocoon within myself—that’s all that brought me comfort right now.
Home. That word filtered through my memory, you’d said I was home. I knew by the chill in the air and the musty, damp smell that this was not my home, this place was nowhere near my home. The place I’d called home since I was four years old was varying shades of brown and smelled like food, it always had. Apple pie, baked bread, chocolate cake, chili, spaghetti sauce—my mother cooked more than she did anything else. It brought her solace, and until this day I never realized how much comfort it brought me.
Air filled my lungs and I held my breath while I listened for you. A footstep, a clank, a toilet flushing—I listened for anything that showed me a sign of life, yet heard nothing. I stood, foolishly expecting my legs to be able to hold the weight of my body. I knew I was wrong when my kneecaps crashed into the bare floor below causing a puff of dirt to float and dance around me. The entire room made as much sense to me as my presence in it did. The floor was nothing but dirt that had been packed down to make it hard as a rock and was a sharp contrast to all the white. White everywhere, except for a dark metal stove in the far corner. The red and orange flames snaked back and forth through the tiny window in the front door of the stove. A single rusty pipe led from the top of the stove and out a small hole in the wall that had been boarded over.
My fingernails dug into the hard earth as I fought to maneuver my legs for enough support to stand. As I felt the remaining cobwebs disintegrating, my mind was more conscious of where my body was attempting to move. I could feel the intrusion of dirt colliding with the delicate skin underneath my fingernails, but I didn’t care. My hand finally landed on the white shirt resting on the white chair and streaks of brown soiled the threads. I saw my arms tremble from the strain as I pulled to stand. The chair tipped to the side from the strain of my weight but I was able to catch my balance before everything tumbled back down.
I lifted the shirt and shrugged it over my head and shoulders. It was soft and smelled like you, which made the bile threaten to rise in my throat again. My breath caught, refusing to take in your scent, if my inhales were small and deliberate the sweet-smelling stench did not reach my nose. I thought over why you'd only given me a shirt with no other articles of clothing to go underneath. The hem reached the middle of my thighs so I was technically covered, but the coolness in the room still invaded my skin through the thin material and bareness beneath. The only reason I could conclude was easy access to parts you planned to claim and that sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with the drafting air on my uncovered parts.
My attention turned back to taking in the room, to finding an escape, and for the first time I noticed a second door. The one just beyond the foot of the bed was wide, making me believe it led from this room into the house—probably straight to you, but this other door was smaller and more narrow. I tried to pick my feet up and move forward but my legs were stiff from nonuse. Finally, I made it across the room and to the door with several effort-filled shuffles. My hand tightened around the handle and twisted. I closed my eyes as a rush of air washed over me and then finally peeked through my eyelashes hoping not to see your bright blue eyes staring back at me.
Pure darkness was on the other side of the door, darkness and a sickly stench. I’d never smelt death, but that’s the only thought that streamed through my head. The smell of death. For the first time I knew you were going to kill me, that’s what the smell was—the girls you’d taken before me. I hadn’t allowed myself to think it until that very moment, but I felt the tears burning my eyes as my throat clenched closed from the visions whirling through my head. I knew I had to get out of there, I had to escape you.
I slammed the door shut and ran across the room to what I thought was a way out. I grasped the knob and turned with all my strength but you’d locked it. My hand jerked, pulled, and shook until the whole room blurred into a jumble of white as sobs wracked my whole body. There was so much unknown—why had you brought me here? Locked me in this room? I didn’t know anything you had planned for me but I easily imagined the worst.
Through my weak sobs I heard a gush of wind coming from the boarded-over hole that the heater was connected to. My sobs choked off in my chest as my mind churned out a possible escape plan. If I could hear the wind, I told myself I could reach the outside.
Cautiously I approached the wall, running my hand along the edge of the splintered board covering my escape. Since you hadn’t tied me down, I wondered if you'd been as careless with my possibly escape. The top of the board pulled away from the wall but just enough that I saw daylight poking through in a thin line. I pried my finger under the edge of the board hoping the entire thing would easily dislodge—it didn’t. You had put a nail about every inch along the bottom, even though the top was only secured on the edges. I stood on my tiptoes, lengthening my small body as much as I could, but my fingers couldn't reach where I needed them.
The chair entered into my mind and for a wretched second I had been thankful that you’d given me the step up that I so desperately needed. The chair was heavy but I found the strength to push and pull it just far enough to position it next to the stove. The worn seat cushion sank as I climbed onto it, but even as it grew nearer to the floor, I was able to reach the very top of the board. My fingers ached as I dug them under the edge and pulled as hard as my arms were willing. The board gave way surprisingly easy and sent me tumbling backwards. I struggled to catch myself and felt my body falling toward the stove. I lifted my right leg and it came down hard on the hot metal. A scream ripped from my throat as it cooked the sole of my foot.
The thud as the weight of my body hit the floor echoed through my ears but I didn’t feel the pain of the fall. I pulled my knees closer into my chest and my eyes moved over my crumpled legs. I felt nothing from my seared foot; the limb didn’t even look like mine. I felt only numbness within it. Just as my vision began to fade, I saw the door fly open and your scared eyes searching the room for me.
Then the darkness took over my body once again.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” I heard your calm voice speak no more than a whisper as I slowly became conscious again.
I didn’t reply.
“I know you’re awake,” you stated. “Your breathing has changed.”
I still didn’t open my mouth to grace you with my voice.
“I fixed the hole already. You have no idea how cold it would get in here if I hadn’t done you that favor.”
“Favor?” I shouted and sat straight up. My head spun with the change in position and the adrenaline that flooded my veins. “You think you did me a favor? Some favor, since you’re the one that locked me down here in the first place!”
You were sitting in the chair that you had moved back to the exact spot it had been. I could only see the side of your face as you stared at some imaginary beacon in the corner of the room. White shirt and white pants covered you. I wanted to scream at the sight of more white, I wanted to scream about everything—so I did. A blood curdling scream ripped through my throat and within a second I could feel it becoming raw—but it felt right. No words came from my mouth, just a simple, instinctive scream. I screamed because you’d stolen me away, because I didn’t know why, for my family and how much I knew they were worried, but most of all I screamed because I wanted to frighten you as much as you did me. I turned my head toward you, my movements feeling jerky as all my strength was put into holding the animalistic scream. My body leaned toward you and I could almost see the vibrations of my voice bouncing off your skull. But you didn’t look at me, you didn’t even give me an ounce of the defeat I wished you were feeling. Sometimes that is all you have, a scream to tell whomever is listening in the world that you’re still there—a heartbeat amongst the millions.
My arms began to flail as I took in rapid breaths to refuel myself. The air streamed in and out as quickly as my lungs would allow and then the scream started again. The rhythm of your chest rising and falling remained the same, my tantrum obviously not affecting you in the least. My legs bent, seeking to join my rebellion, but you’d tied them down. Although my arms were free, you’d forced my legs to become one with this bed, it joined forces with the white room to keep me prisoner. The racing of my heart picked up at this realization and I began to punch wildly at the open air surrounding me, finally grabbing the pillows and blankets and throwing them at you. Yet, you still remained steadfast and calm—I hated you more than I ever thought I was capable of hating, your unfaltering resolve reinforcing the ice sheeting my heart.
As my screams grew ragged and were replaced with frenzied gasping, you finally stood and faced me.
“You need to calm yourself or I will leave.”
Your choice of words made humor tickle at my heart. “Leave? And you think that would be punishment?” I choked out with a strangled voice.
“You seem to think being locked in this room with me is the worst your life could get.” The first hint of calloused wit danced across your turned-up lips. “It isn’t. Solitary is far more brutal than anything I have in mind for you.”
Silence fell between us, your eyes locked with mine. I heard the pounding of my heart, the source of its speed no longer the level of my temper but the magnitude of the unknown.
Seconds turned into minutes as our standoff continued, the only sound in the room had been the rattled inhales of my labored breath.
“Can I ask you something?” I finally spoke cautiously.
“You can ask me anything as long as you promise to behave,” you said, with one eyebrow raised at me.
I nodded in response, even if it was a lie, and asked, “Where am I?”
“Home,” was all you said.
“How long have I been here?”
“A while,” you answered, tilted your head to the side and shrugged your shoulders like time no longer mattered.
“How did I get here?” I had so many questions whirling around in my head and your short answers offered no help; they merely caused more.
“You wanted to come, so I brought you.”
“Wanted to come?” The confusion slipped from my mouth as I shook my head.
“You said so yourself.” Your words sounded confident but you nodded emphatically in what I assumed was an attempt to reassure me—or maybe yourself.
“Why me?” I whispered.
“You’re special, you're my Annabel.”
The rush of blood through my veins was a dull roar in my ears. “Who are you?”
“I’m your Cage.”
To be continued…
The Caging
– coming in early 2016.
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The Caging
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