The Lonely (13 page)

When
they open again I am alone in the dark. I put a hand down on the cold concrete
floor and rub it back and forth. I dreamt I was back in my dorm. The cold hard
floor tells me otherwise.

I
push and lift myself up. My arms tremble and shake. I'm weak. Hunger and thirst
are brutal. I push myself back into the corner again. I hate how dark it is. It
feels like a vast empty space.

When
I rub my eyes I feel like my hands are bonier than they were. I don’t know how
many days have past. My stomach is pulled in and I can feel my ribs when my
arms sit on my belly.

I
was already thin from the sprints, but now I am skinny. It has to have been at
least seventy-two hours to get me to this point. No food. No water. I am going
to die soon. I want to cry out. I want to beg. But I don’t. I sit and wait. I
don’t wait long when the screams happen again.

My
hands shoot to my ears, covering them. I sob along with him. It's Stuart again.
He cries out words. I don’t know what they are but he is begging. Pleading. It
sounds like they're ripping his fingers off. Maybe they are. I sob dry heaves
and shake.

"Please
god. Please save him. Please make them stop." I whisper into the darkness,
desperate to drown out his screams and pleas.

A
movement catches my attention. I almost crawl up the wall. "Who's
there?" I whisper.

A
chuckle lets loose. It fills up all the air and space. It's a man.

"Who
are you?" I wonder for a second if he's real. I could be so hungry that I'm
hallucinating. I'm starving.

"Emalyn
Spicer. Such a interesting name."

It’s
the man who chased me. My stomach still hurts where he kicked me. I cling to
myself and turn my face away from where he is.

"What
do you know about your life before Emalyn Spicer?"

I
hate the way he's saying my full name.

"I
know who you are. It's all very fascinating. I know you aren’t Emalyn Spicer,
are you? Fascinating indeed." His voice is harsh and cruel.

A
loud bang breaks the quiet of my harsh breaths and his soft chuckles.

The
door opens.

The
bright-white light is there.

I
see something in the gap of the door and the frame.

It's
Stuart. He's unconscious and being dragged by my room. His hands and face are
bleeding heavily. I cover my eyes quickly.

The
slapping footsteps fill the gaps between my shuddering breaths. They draw
closer for a second. They're right in front of me. I avert my gaze and tremble.
He bends down. I can hear everything he does. He grabs my face softly and turns
my rigid head to face him. I can't see his face. The light behind him ensures
that. It stings my eyes still.

"Such
a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore." He laughs,
standing back up.

His
footsteps slap back across the floor.

I
hear a scratching sound. A hand shoves a tray of something in as he leaves the
room.

The
door is closed.

It's
dark again.

I
don’t wait. The smell of the food invades my space. I scramble across the floor
to the tray. I reach out, savagely. There are no utensils. No napkins. I lift the
small tray off the larger one. It's a hot dinner. Maybe a TV dinner. I lick
from the tray, without using my hands. The weight of it makes my arms tremble.
The first taste is gravy. It's divine and salty.

I
don’t think. I revert to my old ways so quickly. I lap at the food like a dog.
Like before. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I get a piece of meat in my mouth. I
chew the grizzled meat and choke a bit when I swallow before I'm ready.

I
get a mushy pea in my mouth. I almost gag but I force it down. I force it all
down. Mushy peas and meat and gravy. I lick the tray until there is nothing
left.

I
reach out into the dark for the drink I swear I saw. I knock something with my
hand. It sloshes. I grab it and gulp back the liquid inside of it. It's stale
and funny tasting, but it is amazing. It's fluid. I finish the drink and
realize what it was. Iced tea. Unsweetened iced tea. I shiver from the flavor.
I place it back at the door and scramble back to the corner.

I
can't help but wonder what it is all about?

Is
it Emalyn Spicer they're looking for?

I
sit there and wonder, how? How he knew I wasn’t Emalyn Spicer. No one but
Emalyn and me knew that little secret.

It
dawns on me he wasn’t asking me about my life before. He was asking about my
life, before Emalyn Spicer.

I
close my eyes and try desperately to remember the memories I have blocked out.

There
is nothing but blue eyes peeking from a hole where tiny fingers reach. Sunlight
glinting off blonde hair. Everything else is shut down.

I
know I told them I was Emalyn Spicer. I know who she is, I know who she isn’t
as well. I can see her face staring at me. Her blank stare haunts me. She is
me.

I've
lived for her. I had to. I owed her that. I remember the gunshot. I remember
the debt but I don't remember the cause of it.

I
look down at the floor and laugh. It's hysterical and demented. It takes away
so many things. It's the kind of laugh I have never had. I laugh harder. Tears
form in my eyes. They don’t come out. They never come out. I won't even cry for
me, or Emalyn.

I
think it's days before I get a tray again. I'm starved and sick. The smell of
my own urine and shit in the other corner is making me sick. I'm dying from the
phobias and the nervous ticks the nuns gave me.

They
bring a tray, but when I reach it I discover the food is in a bowl. My hands
are filthy. I can't eat with them.

I
heave dry sobs and hold the bowl. I try tilting it but the food is thick. It
won't come out.

Finally
I put it on the floor and hold my long greasy, stringy hair back. I eat from
the dish like a dog would. My nose rubs in the food. It doesn’t smell good.
It's a stew but it smells gross. Like it's old and freezer burnt.

My
body doesn’t care. I eat. I gobble. I gag from swallowing too much and not
taking my time. I stretch my tongue as hard as I can, to reach the bottom of
the bowl. The bowl is too deep.

I
grab for the glass of tea and dump some in the bowl. I swirl it around and
drink the last of the stew mixed with the tea. It makes me gag but I do it. I
need the food. I drink the tea down and wipe my face off with my shirt.

My
tattered and filthy t-shirt. The lock in the door turns. I turn my head like a
feral cat. I scramble back to the corner. My old ways are all back. They were
always there, hiding under the surface. I just never knew it. I never knew I
could go back so easily. I'm in dirty pants and a filthy shirt. I stink in ways
I don’t remember being possible.

The
door opens. The blinding light is too much. I squint my eyes. The man walks in.
I would know the slap of his shoes anywhere.

"We
have a deal to offer you today. One of you is going to be tortured. It’s a live
feed for your friend, well benefactor. I suppose he never was your friend. Now
Stuart, has had his fair share. He has volunteered everyday to spare your
life."

That
hurts me but only a little. My survival skills are something to be proud of.

"He
has been beaten, cut, flogged, whipped, burned and endured water torture. We
are offering you the opportunity to take his place?"

His
accent sounds like he should be offering me a picnic or reading a children's
story. He should be saying happy jolly things to me. Instead, he is offering me
the chance to save my friend.

I
don’t answer him. I watch his silhouette in the light of the doorframe. He
turns and leaves the room. He's closing the door when I speak, "I
will."

He
pokes his head back in, "You will?"

I
nod, "I will."

He
snaps his fingers, "Clean her up. I want to see her skin blush when I
strike it."

I'm
about to change my mind when men come barreling into the room. I fight
instantly. There is no point. I won't win. But I fight anyway.

They
drag me out into the white hallway. It's stark and bright. I'm carried down it.
My feet drag. They can't walk. I didn’t have much fight in me.

I'm
shoved into a room.

A
girl with dark hair and pretty grey eyes is waiting for me there. The men leave
me in a heap on the floor. I realize how disgusting and filthy I am when I see
how clean she is. She wears a long white dress. It's weird. Like she is an
angel. She smiles. Her teeth are bright white against her dark-red lips.

"Hello."
She says softly.

She
takes my dirty brown hand and lifts me off the ground. I stand on wobbly legs
and let her pull me to a huge steal tub. Steam lifts off of it.

She
pulls my shirt off and tosses it in the bin. I can see myself in the mirror.
I've never looked more like the dead girl from the house. Not ever. She pulls
my pants down. I should gasp and grab them. I should leap away from her.

I'm
too exhausted and sickly. I do nothing. I let her pull me into the tub.

The
water burns my skin it's so hot.

"You're
cold. It's not that hot." She says when she sees me flinch.

I
step in, wincing and sucking air. My skin burns but my legs collapse into the
tub. I sit as she washes me. It's the most frightening and yet amazing feeling
I've ever had. She washes my hair, scrubbing my scalp. She pours buckets of the
hot water over me.

A
disgusting film starts to sit on the water. She lifts me out and grabs a shower
nozzle. She sprays me down. My hands cover my breasts and I cross my legs hard.
I can see my nakedness in the mirror. I look weak and hungry.

She
pulls me out and wraps me in a huge robe. It's soft and fluffy. She takes my
hand and leads me down a different long white hallway. It's freaking me out.
The hallways are baffling. But it feels like that is the point. I'm completely
disoriented.

The
floors are dark slate and the walls are bright white. She holds my hand tightly
and drags me down the long wide hallway to a huge dark-brown door.

I
glance out the windows and wonder if I'm still in the city.

"Is
this Boston?" I ask in a dead voice. The windows are glazed in a way that
makes them blurry. I can't see anything out of them, but the bright-light can
get in.

She
ignores me and pulls me though the doorway.

The
inside of the room is large and warm. There is a fireplace and rugs in the
middle of several couches and chairs. The floor is wood and warmer than the
slate. The walls are pale-blush colored. It suits the furniture. There is a bed
at the back of the room.

I
gulp.

It’s
a massive canopy.

My
stomach twists when I see the Australian man is sitting in a chair. He grins
and my heart beats wildly.

His
face.

She
curtsies and leaves the room, closing the door and clicking a lock.

My
eyes are wide. I'm clutching the robe.

He
doesn’t stand. He smiles. His dark-grey pants and pale-blue dress shirt look
almost exactly the same as they did the night in the bar.

He
smiles and flashes the dimple on his one cheek. His dark hair is in the same
faux hawk.

My
heartbeat picks up. The room is completely silent except for the dripping of my
wet hair on the wood.

"Go
sit by the fire, warm up." He points. His Australian accent is gone.

Was
he even the same guy?

Am
I hallucinating?

"Go."
He demands.

My
feet back up, not turning my back on him. He doesn’t move from the chair.

He
sits so relaxed, it's almost cocky.

"Go
to the fire." His tone lowers menacingly.

My
stomach twists more. I step back again. I walk around the couch opposite him
and drop to my knees slowly. Thankfully there is a fluffy rug in front. I sit
there quietly. I don’t know what to say or do.

He
watches me. His grin is sick and twisted.

"Anything
you want to talk about?" He asks.

I
swallow, "He will come for me."

He
grins, "I'm counting on it."

I
shake my head, "Why?"

"We
have business. Is it warm enough in here?"

I
nod and look down at the rug. His cold icy stare is freaking me out.

"Are
you from Australia?" I ask still looking at the thick fluffy rug.

"No.
But I didn’t want you getting your hopes up if you recognized me. I'm good at
accents."

"That’s
why you asked me to dance in the bar?" That at least made sense. I never
could figure out why a sexy well-dressed man would ask me to dance. At least
not whilst wearing my running watch.