Page 10

Andrea's mind drifted in and out of consciousness like a fading light. Fragments of memory floated like debris in murky water. A strange man's face swam before her eyes – kind blue eyes that had seemed so gentle and understanding on the bridge, set in a weathered face lined with age—not old, but not young, either. He'd appeared almost grandfatherly with his wispy gray hair and cardigan sweater, speaking to her in that soft, careful voice. Nothing about him had suggested danger. When he'd extended his hand as a lifeline, she'd felt only relief that someone cared enough to stop her.

That moment of trust made the betrayal even worse…his grip suddenly tightening on her arm as the needle plunged into her neck. The sharp pinch had barely registered before her legs gave out. The last thing she remembered was the cold asphalt of the bridge against her cheek and his arms lifting her as darkness claimed her. And for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she’d ended up falling off the bridge anyway.

She had no idea how long she'd been knocked out she finally opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a featureless ceiling with a series of boards and struts running along most of its surface. It was blocked from her, though, but a lattice-style wiring. The first sensation she felt was cold – a bone-deep chill that made her entire body ache. Then came the hardness beneath her, some kind of metal grating that pressed painful patterns into her skin. When she finally managed to open her heavy eyelids, absolute darkness greeted her. For one terrifying moment, she thought she'd gone blind.

Gradually, her eyes adjusted to reveal a dim basement illuminated by a single halogen bulb hanging from exposed beams overhead. The harsh light cast sharp shadows across concrete walls and floor, all painted a dingy institutional gray. Water stains created dark patches on the ceiling, and ancient cobwebs stretched between pipes that ran along the walls. The air held the musty thickness of spaces that never saw sunlight.

A basement, she thought. That ceiling is also the underside of a floor.

Andrea pushed herself to sitting, fighting a wave of dizziness. Whatever drug he'd used still circled through her system, making her movements sluggish and her thoughts foggy. As her vision cleared further, the reality of her situation emerged in horrifying detail. She was inside a cage – no, a kennel, the kind used for large dogs. The walls were made of heavy-gauge wire mesh, each square opening about two inches across. A solid metal floor formed the base, while the top was the same mesh as the sides. The whole structure measured roughly four feet in each direction, with just enough height that she could stand without hitting her head, though she had to stoop slightly.

The cage door was secured with a thick padlock that looked new, its brass surface still gleaming. In one corner sat a plastic water bottle, a basic liter-sized bottle you could find at any gas station. The other corner held a white plastic bucket that made her stomach turn when she realized its intended purpose. It was meant to be used to relieve herself. And the mere idea of it told her that whoever had brought her here did not intend for her to leave anytime soon.

Beyond the mesh walls of her prison, bare fluorescent tubes cast harsh shadows across the basement. Concrete block walls stretched up to meet exposed floor joists overhead, all painted that same institutional gray. Pipes and electrical conduit snaked across the ceiling, disappearing into the darkness beyond the immediate pool of light. The floor was unfinished concrete, sloping slightly toward a drain in the center of the room.

"Hello?" Andrea whispered, her voice catching in her dry throat. "Is... is anyone there?"

The voice that answered was barely more than a rasp coming from her right. ""Oh god, you're awake,” said a shaky, female voice. “I was starting to worry you wouldn't wake up at all."

"Who's there?" Andrea pressed closer to the mesh, trying to see past her cage's walls. There was another solid wall between her and the other woman, so Andrea couldn't see her. Not only was she in a cage, but it also appeared that she and this other girl were being held like horses in stables, with walls between them.

"I'm Monica," the raspy voice replied.

A second voice joined in from further away, at the complete opposite end of the basement. "I'm here too." This voice was stronger but trembling with fear. "I'm Sarah. How long have you been here?"

"I don't know," Andrea admitted. There was a slight bit of relief to know that she wasn't alone…but then a sharp fear came in when she understood that these girls were also trapped. "I was on the bridge…Patterson Bridge and then... How long have you both been here?"

"Four months, maybe?" Monica's voice cracked. "It's hard to keep track. Sarah came later, maybe six weeks ago?"

"Five weeks and three days," Sarah corrected. "I've been counting. Making marks on the floor with my fingernail."

Andrea's heart hammered against her ribs. "What... what does he want with us? Why are we here?"

A bitter laugh came from Monica's direction. "To save us. That's what he says. Of course, it’s messed up if you ask me…wanting to save people but needing to drug them to have them accept. And, you know…the cages aren’t helping, either.”

“He says he's giving us the gift of life whether we want it or not," Sarah said.

"There was someone else here before you," Monica added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "In your cage. Carla. God, she said she’d been here for a while…longer than either of us. He took her away yesterday morning. Said he needed to make room." A sob escaped her. "We heard the gunshot."

Andrea pressed her back against the cage wall, trying to make herself as small as possible. The reality of her situation crashed over her in waves. The cage suddenly felt even smaller, the air thicker and harder to breathe. She forced herself to take deep breaths, fighting back panic.

"Does he... does he hurt you?" she managed to ask.

"Not like you're thinking," Monica replied. Her voice had grown even raspier, and Andrea wondered if she was getting sick. "He feeds us. Gives us water. Preaches to us about the sanctity of life and how grateful we should be. Sometimes he reads Bible verses. But he never... touches us. Not like that. It’s literally like we’re in prison for a crime we didn’t commit."

"The worst part is waiting," Sarah added. "Knowing that someday he'll need to make room again. Wondering which of us he'll choose. I thought there would be a way out…but then he killed Carla, and now I just don't know…"

Andrea studied her cage more carefully now, looking for any weakness. The mesh was thick and sturdy, each wire as thick as her pinky finger. The welds looked professional, and the padlock was far too strong to break. Even if she could somehow get out of the cage, the basement door at the top of the wooden stairs was undoubtedly locked as well.

She pulled her knees to her chest, shivering in the damp cold. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd had on at the bridge – jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a light jacket. Her shoes were gone, leaving her in just socks. The concrete floor leached heat from her body even through the metal grating of the cage.

"What's your name?" Monica asked softly. Her voice was sweeter now, almost ghostlike in the fact that Andrea couldn’t see her.

"Andrea." Her voice cracked on the word. "I'm Andrea."

"I'm sorry you're here, Andrea," Sarah said. "But I'm also selfishly glad we're not alone. The silence is the worst part sometimes."

"Tell us about yourself," Monica encouraged. "It helps to talk, trust me. To remember we're still people, not just things in cages."

Andrea swallowed hard. "I'm…well, he found me because I was about to kill myself. I’m a recovering addict. Three months clean….or was clean. I thought... I thought things would be better once I got off the drugs. But everything just felt empty instead. Hollow." She wiped at her eyes with trembling fingers. "My boyfriend Keith, he's trying so hard to get clean too. I was supposed to be strong for him. To show him it was possible. But I was weak and I failed and I…I just wanted a way out."

"He'll be looking for you," Sarah said with gentle certainty. "Someone will be looking for all of us."

“You know, I was on the verge of offing myself, too,” Monica said, her voice raspy and a bit loud. "My parents probably think I finally did it. They kicked me out when I told them I was gay. Said they'd rather have no daughter than a sinner. I was so angry, so hurt...just doing away with all of it…with everything…it seemed like the only right answer."

The sound of a door opening upstairs made them all fall silent. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor overhead, then started down the wooden stairs. Andrea's heart threatened to burst from her chest as she pressed herself into the farthest corner of her cage.

The man appeared in the dim light, carrying a plate with what looked like sandwiches. He was wearing different clothes now – khakis and a blue button-down shirt that made him look like any ordinary middle-aged man you might pass on the street. Only his eyes were the same as they had been on the bridge, that eerie gentle blue that had made her trust him.

"Good evening, ladies," he said softly, his voice carrying that same careful tone he'd used to talk her down. "I've brought dinner. I hope you're all feeling grateful for another day of life that God has blessed you with."

Andrea watched him through the mesh as he approached. Her cage was first, closest to the stairs. He slid her sandwiches through a small gap at the bottom of the door. He smiled politely at her before moving to the right, beyond the wall that separated her cage from Monica’s. The whole time, he kept up a quiet monologue about blessing and redemption, about the precious gift of life and how they would all thank him one day for saving them from their own sinful thoughts of self-destruction.

When he was done and walked back by her cage, their eyes met. His face softened into what he probably thought was a kind smile. "Ah, our newest lamb. I hope you're settling in well. You'll come to understand in time that this is all for your own good."

Andrea said nothing, her throat too tight with fear to form words. He didn't seem to mind her silence, simply giving her a look that, under normal circumstances, might have seemed reassuring and loving. As his footsteps retreated back up the stairs, Andrea looked at the sandwich on its paper plate. Plain white bread, what looked like peanut butter, visible at the edges. Her stomach cramped with hunger, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it.

As if sensing her thoughts, Monica spoke up from the other side of the wall. "You should eat," she advised, her raspy voice even weaker than before. "We never know when the next meal will come. He doesn’t exactly have a set schedule. And you'll need your strength."

"For what?" Andrea whispered.

Sarah's voice came back small and frightened: "For surviving long enough to be rescued. Or for facing whatever comes next."

The basement fell silent after that, broken only by the occasional drip of water from somewhere within the house, and the sound of their breathing. Andrea huddled in her corner, staring at the peanut butter sandwich and wondering if it was poisoned. She was so hungry…but accepting this man's food felt almost like defeat. Like she was giving up hope and relying on him.

She thought of Keith, wondering if he'd realized yet that she was missing. Wondering if anyone would think to look for a woman who'd left her house intending to die.

The irony wasn't lost on her – she'd gone to that bridge wanting her life to end, and now she was trapped in this cage, desperately wanting to live.