Page 11

Slowly, I turned around and laid back against the wall. I dug my fingers into my hair and held my head. My heart was racing so fast I thought it was going to come out of my chest. I slid down the wall, my breathing becoming more ragged and unsteady. The room began to spin and warp, making my stomach turn.

“What the hell is happening right now?” I said out loud. I dragged my hands down my face and focused my eyes on the floor to stop the seasick feeling, but I couldn't control my body.

My skin was hot to the touch, and my chest was tight. My entire body trembled as fear quickly spilled over me like cold water. My muscles rippled and convulsed as I curled into a ball on the floor and hugged my knees.

This was not something I could foresee. To wake up in a room that was now my dungeon. Strange men had stolen me. They whisked me away without permission, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Someone will come looking for me. My father won't rest until I'm found.

My father would never let anything happen to me. The thought gave me a boost of hope. I quietly stood up and walked to the door, reaching out to touch it. I let the pads of my fingers softly dance across the wood, then pressed my ear against it to listen.

There was only silence. No voices or movement, just a numbing quiet. I tried to turn the handle, but the door was locked. “Fuck.” I whispered as I spun around, my eyes straining to find something I had missed before.

Cot. Window. Stool.

Window, stool, cot.

Stool, cot, window.

Nothing. There was nothing. I looked up at the ceiling and spotted a small vent. It looked like it might be big enough for me to slip through. I grabbed the stool and placed it underneath, but even on the tips of my toes, I couldn't reach it. I moved the cot over and placed the stool on top.

The stool wobbled as I climbed up. It took me a second to balance myself before I could stand straight. I reached my arms up, stretching them as far as they could go. I was close, so close to the vent, another couple of inches, and I would have it.

I looked down at the floor, then back at the vent. Then I jumped. I didn't even think about it. The thought never even crossed my mind, my body just reacted to the situation. Fight or flight. I was fleeing.

The tips of my fingers slammed against the vent's fins. They slid through the thin openings. The sharp metal edges sliced me open, but I ignored the sting and held on. The stool shot out from beneath me, tumbling to the floor with a loud bang.

I was dangling from the ceiling, my fingers wedged into the slits. Warm blood began to trickle down my hands and over my wrists until it was running down my arms. I didn't feel any pain, and the blood didn't make me nervous. I wanted out of that place and was willing to do anything to make it happen.

I tried to yank and pull the vent cover off. I bucked my body hard. The vent cover cracked and pinged, shooting screws across the room. I knew I could pull myself inside and escape if I could get the cover off. The vent dropped open, causing my body to swing like a gymnast doing a bar routine. The cover broke free, sending me crashing to the floor.

I lay weeping on the cold, cracked wood like a pile of moss stuck to the bark of a tree. I cried. I cried so hard my body jolted violently as all the emotions plunged me into a pit of despair.

I lay on the floor, unaware of time. I might have been there for a few minutes or a few hours just crying, but I didn't carebecause I didn't plan on getting up. What was the point? I was trapped like a mouse in a tank. The only difference between me and the mouse was I knew I couldn't get out.

A mouse would keep running into the walls and jumping into empty air. A mouse would circle the room, thinking it might look different on the other side. A mouse might think there would be an escape in the next corner. Unfortunately for me, I was aware the room had only four walls, and my exit was locked.

Clink clank chunk.

My ears perked at the sound. I hadn't heard anything other than my own breathing and the screaming voice inside my head since I woke up. I forced my eyes open and looked at the door just in time to see the knob starting to twist.

I lay there watching it as if it wasn't real but a dream instead. The handle turned in slow motion. The door creaked open, allowing the air from outside to seep in. The door opened fully, and the entryway was suddenly filled with a silhouette.

I couldn't see a face, but I knew instantly that whoever it was wasn't there to save me. His arms dangled by his sides. Shoulder to shoulder spanned the width of the entire door frame. The man stood silent as he stared at me.

He took a step in. The faint glow of the bulb in the ceiling fan cast a yellow light across his face. The man had sharp cheekbones and a square jaw. His nose was crooked at the bridge, and his lips were thin, almost nonexistent on his mouth. The paper-thin line curled into a scowl as he opened and closed his hands at his sides. But his eyes struck me like a dagger to the chest. They looked black as the bottom of the ocean, empty and cold with a glint of anger.

My heart began to race as I peered up at a face I didn't recognize. He took another step forward, and instinctively, I pushed myself up and started crawling backward. My fingers clawed at the floor, and my body began to tremble.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaky. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped a foot away, his breathing heavy. His pupils were on fire as if he wanted to rip me limb from limb. “From you,” he said as he stooped above me. “Nothing.”

He was smiling an evil, deranged smile. His skin was pock-marked with large craters across his cheeks. A shadow of stubble stained his face, reaching almost up to his eyes. His dirty blond hair was slicked back with so much grease it looked brown. He smelled like stale cigarettes and musk, like when it rains outside during the summer, and the air is so thick you can taste the dirt in the humidity.

I could taste him. His saltiness, his rancorous, his evilness.

“Who are you?” I asked.