“Coming.” I get up and walk back over to her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Do you have any food?” she mumbles.
“No, I’m sorry.” I brush back some hair that has flopped into her eyes. “But things are going to get better.” I hope.
“How?” she whimpers.
“I just know.” I try my best to smile at her, but it comes out weak.
The bathroom door swings open and Maxwell steps out shirtless again revealing the word man-whore. Steam pours out of the room behind him and heats the Salmon Room. He hangs onto a navy-blue towel–the one he had used the other day–and dries his hair with it.
With the instructions crushed into my hand, I jump off the cot and hurry across the room, passing Maxwell, into the bathroom.
“Hey what are you–”
I close the door on him and lean against the door before Maxwell has the chance to finish what he’s saying. Uncurling my fingers, I unravel the note. All it says is for me to go into the bathroom and shut the door. Nothing else. After a moment of confusion and silence, there is a loud noise on the other side of the door.
“Sara!” Maxwell yells, sounding panicked. There is a crashing sound that sends a jolt of fear down my spine.
“Sarwa!” Lynne’s voice comes out just as frightful as Maxwell’s.
“Lynne?” I turn, ready to fling the door open, but before my hand can wrap around the brass handle, there is a horrifying clicking sound. The knob in my hand doesn’t twist like it should. Somehow, someone has locked the door from the other side.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
Maxwell’s loud, frightened voice makes me panic. Dropping the note from my hand, I start yanking on the doorknob, twisting and turning it.
“Maxwell!” I let go of the doorknob and start pounding on the door with both fists. I can feel the old woodchips dig into the side of my palms, sending a wave of pain through my hands and up my arms, but I ignore it and continue pounding. “Maxwell! Lynne!”
“Sar . . .”
Maxwell starts to say my name, but his voice ends up dying before he can.
“Maxwell!” I pound my fists against the door until it feels like there is a bruise blossoming in the center of them. “Let me out!” I scream.
No reply.
Tears start to bubble up in my eyes and slip down my cheeks. I turn and fall against the door as more questions pop into my head, one right after another before I can even make sense of them.
What is happening out there? Or what had happened out there?
Are Maxwell and Lynne alright?
Who had been going after Lynne?
Why am I locked in here?
Questions still chase each other inside my head when there is another click from behind me. At first, I think I just imagined it, but when I slowly turn around and twist the doorknob, it turns and pops the door open a crack. Carefully, I pull the door open the rest of the way and peer inside the Salmon Room. No one is in there.
Dread and despair falls down onto me so hard that it makes my head spin. I stagger out of the bathroom and grasp onto the dresser for support. Quietness sounds too loudly in my ears, making my head pound. Why aren’t they here? Who took them?
“Maxwell? Lynne?” My voice comes out shaky. The room starts to blur, and my body feels like a thousand pounds. Then, just as I think I’m going to faint, anger takes hold of me. I let go of the dresser and march over to the door, grab the handle, and start twisting it. “You did this! You did this to them!” My mind goes blank as my body takes over. I let go of the doorknob and start pounding my already sore fists against the heavy wood. I only stop when my hands feel sprained. I scream in anger and frustration as I move to the dresser, where I sweep my arm across the top of it, knocking everything off besides a pair of glass candle holders, a deck of battered cards, and the elephant figurine that Lynne had broken almost right after we got here. I watch the stuff I did knock off plummet to the floor before I rush to the cots and chuck the new pillows across the room and attempt to rip the new blanket, but fail. Screaming in frustration, I let go of the blanket, go to the far wall, opposite of the door, and slam my fist against it. I grab at the crappy, old wallpaper I’ve hated ever since I got here and claw at it with my chipped nails. After a moment, I stretch my hands high above my head and lean my forehead against the wall, heaving in breaths. I suddenly feel defeated. Tears pour out of my eyes so badly that it makes my nose all runny. It’s my fault they’re gone.
I sob something, but my mind can’t distinguish what it is. Maybe Maxwell’s or Lynne’s name? Or maybe it was no. Whatever it was, it makes me sob harder.
I’m sorry, guys. I’m so, so, sorry.
I sniff and shift my head against the wall, making pain stab me in the center of my forehead. With another sniff, I raise my head and stare at the spot where I had felt the poke. There is nothing there, though. With watery eyes, I squint and run a finger over the spot. The tip of my index finger slides over the old, dirty, salmon-colored wallpaper, moving flat until it gets to that spot. On that spot where I felt the pain, my finger slides up in a little slope. Anger drains from me and is instantly replaced by curiosity. There is something under the wallpaper. Letting my finger linger on top of the slope, I press down, giving all the weight to my finger. The strength of the wallpaper holds as I press harder and harder against it. Then, with a short, quick rip, the wallpaper gives, and something protrudes from underneath.
“What the . . . ?” I frown and swipe away some tears that trail irritably down my cheeks, but my eyes never leave the small object sticking out of the wall. A small silver nail sticks out from underneath the wallpaper, glinting slightly in the dim light. A new question wraps itself tightly around my head: Why is there a nail hidden in the wall? Raising my hands, I use what is left of my nails to scratch and tear at the wallpaper around the nail in the wall. Bit by bit, the salmon, gold-striped paper flakes off. Wooden boards start to show underneath, looking old and splintery. The edges are held down by nails. I don’t understand what all this is. Why would they cover up some boards?
A noise behind me makes me jump and rips my attention away from the wooden boards. I look behind me, but there is nothing there. Goose bumps jump onto my skin as fear rushes back at me.
“Hello?” Placing one foot in front of the other, I slowly cross the room to the door where the noise had come from. “Who’s there?” A faint tinge of hope that Maxwell is the one on the other side of the door swells inside me. Inhaling a breath, I carefully place both hands on the door and lean forward, pressing my ear against the wood. From the other side, I can hear faint movement. “Hello?”
BANG!!!
From the other side, someone slams against the door. With a sudden jolt, I stumble back. My heart races in my chest as I stare at the door as if it were a monster. I know someone bad is on the other side.
“What did you do with them?!” I shout. “Where are they?!”
No reply.
“Fine!” I march over to the mangled cots and curl up in a ball. I lay on my side, staring out at the Salmon Room. It’s too quiet. Reaching down to the floor, I pick up the blanket that I had tossed aside and bring it up to cover myself. Without Maxwell or Lynne, the room feels empty and cold. Without them, I’m scared with paranoia. Anything could happen to me now that they are gone.
Wrapping the blanket tighter around me, I close my eyes and begin to cry.
I don’t know how long it was that I had cried in the blanket, but at some point, all the crying had made me tired. At one point, I fell asleep and when I wake up, my cheeks feel tight with dried tears. My head feels dizzy when I raise myself onto my arm and look around the empty, destroyed room. I can’t believe I made such a mess. Things are strewn all over the place, and paper and glass is lodged into the carpet. The room looks terrible, and I know I should clean it up, but I don’t have the energy. My head feels heavy and irritatingly dizzy, and my throat is sore from screaming. My fingers hurt from sc
ratching the wall. Not only is the room a complete mess, but so am I. I groan, dropping my head down on the springy cot.
With my head resting on the firm mattress, I stare at my reflection, who stares back at me from above. I know whoever is up there is looking back down at me. They’re probably laughing too.
This is what you promised, they would be saying. You promised as long as I took care of the little girl, you’d do anything.
I lift my hand up to cup the side of my head. How could I have made that promise? If I would of known . . . No. I’d probably would have done it all over again. If this is part of the promise, Lynne is somewhere being taken care of. Wherever that is . . .
Chapter 11
Day Eleven
It has been about two days since Maxwell and Lynne were taken from the Salmon Room. I can’t quite remember when that was, but I know that the light in the center of the room has gone out twice. Nothing has happened to me in those two days besides a little food. Right after my nap that had restored some of my energy, I had tried to clean up the room the best that I could, then yesterday I took another bath. The room smells like peaches which overthrows the scent of lilac that had been carried into the room the night the abductors came and wrote on Maxwell and me with blue ink. Even after a few days and a bath, the blue word still hasn’t come off. I’m wearing the same dress I have been for the last couple days.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair, from not brushing it when it was wet, is curled and twisted. I remind myself of the corpse in Tim Burton’s The Corpse Bride, with stringy hair and sunken eyes. I look down at my nails that are now clean from the purple nail polish. I look like shit, but hopefully Maxwell and Lynne are okay.
Turning off the water that I had running, I wipe my hands on a piece of paper towel and toss it away. The paper towels are starting to run out and so is the hand soap once again. Worry seeps into me when I realize that I’m running out of supplies. Will the abductors give me more or would they let things run out one by one, until I’m forced to face the fact: I’m going to die down here.
I let out a shaky breath as I step into the Salmon Room and look at the wall opposite the door where I had peeled away the wallpaper. The pieces of board are still showing but I’m too afraid to find out what it hides underneath. If there is anything hiding underneath.
I walk over to the dresser and stare at the broken trinkets that I’ve set atop it. It all lies in mishap piles. I look at the little elephant figurine that miraculously didn’t get caught up in my sweep, and I try to think of how many days I’ve been stuck down here.
Eleven days. Eleven days equals one week and four days. I walk over to the cots and sit down, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest. I feel so alone. Now I understand how Maxwell felt before Lynne and I arrived. Just thinking of him makes my chest swell, and the need to cry just makes it hurt more. But I can’t cry. Instead I just sniffle. I sniffle until my nose feels clotted up with dust and have to breathe through my mouth.
The feeling of loneliness strikes me right where it hurts. I don’t know what to do without Maxwell nor Lynne being here with me. There is no purpose. Holding the pillow still, I bury my face in its softness. The material molds to the structure of my face, clogging my nose and mouth. The pressure against my eyes makes me see white and purple spots. I know that I should pull the pillow away from my face, but for some reason, I can’t. Or at least until I hear a scraping sound against wood.
I fling the pillow off my face and look towards the door. The room is still empty, but there is another scraping sound against the door to the Red Hall. Standing up, I cross the room in five quick strides. My fingers grow cold as I stop in front of the door. The memory of doing this just two days ago flashes briefly to the top of my mind, but then I return to the present just in time to catch a familiar sound.
Click.
In my chest, my heart is racing as I tentatively reach out and grab the doorknob, giving it a little turn.
I can’t believe it.
The door is unlocked.
Chapter 12
My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest. In my hand, the gold-colored doorknob twists easily, and with a soft pull, the door comes open. Cold air rushes into the room, making goose bumps jump onto my skin. I shiver and pull the door open wider revealing the hall I ran down about a week and a half ago with Lynne. Whoever had unlocked the door is gone, but I swear if I listen carefully, I can hear the faint sound of footsteps tapping against the red-tiled floor.
“Hello?” I take a careful step out into the hallway. Fear makes my eyes flicker around. There is a familiar smell that tinges my nose; copper and mold. I can hear the faint drip of water again, making that drip, drip, dripping sound. The naked lightbulbs are on but dim. “Is someone there?”
No reply.
“Maxwell?” I start to walk down the hall that leads to the Red Room. Doors start to appear on either side of me. I try to open them, but they are locked. Questions on what could be behind those doors fill my head.
Are there more people behind these doors?
What’s so secret that they have to lock the doors?
Is there some secret that could tell me who the abductor is?
Is Lynne or Maxwell behind one of these doors?
“Maxwell?” My voice seems to bounce off the tiled floor as I continue down the hall, checking the doors. I know Maxwell and Lynne have to be somewhere. “Lynne?” No response comes except for the dripping sound that seems to get louder and louder with each step I take.
I step around the water that drips from the ceiling and down into a puddle that gathers on the floor. I’m almost past the puddle when the back of my left foot slips into it, soaking my skin with dirty water. “Really?” I groan, rubbing my foot against the dry floor in attempt to dry it.
Up ahead, only two doors remain before the opening where Lynne and I had woken up–one on the left and one on the right. I try the one on the left, but the handle doesn’t budge. Moving to the one on the right, I grab the cold knob, and turn it. The handle shifts, twisting all the way until the door pops open.
“Maxwell?” I ease the door open, making the old hinges groan in protest. The room is dark inside, making it hard to see. With the dim light that comes from the naked bulb behind me, I can just make out outlines of what is in this room. There is something big on one side of the room that rattles and hums. It is a large tank with the words A.O. SMITH stuck onto the surface. Opening the door as far as it will go, I step into the room and over to the giant tank. I can feel warmth radiate from it.
“Help!”
Pins and needles stab at my spine with that sudden noise. It is soft, hardly considered a whisper, but it is still a voice. It sounds like Maxwell’s.
“Maxwell?!” I turn, hurrying from the room, and start for the clearing. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, powering me.
I run to the clearing, stopping just before the rug with the gold strand of hair weaved into it. It feels like forever since I woke up in here with Lynne. Now with the fear from that day gone, I can get a better look of the room. There are old wooden shelves that align the walls, covered with old junk. Curiously, I walk over to the shelf, just to see what is all there. Screwdrivers and nails are scattered along the shelf along with small, round, black cases. I pick up one of the small cases and observe it, but there is no label on it to tell me what it belongs to. With defeat, I place the case back on the shelf and look over at the other shelves. One has an old computer mouse along with an old-looking typewriter. In confusion, I walk over to it and punch a button with my fingertip, making the typewriter click. I punch a few more buttons on it, making it ding then shutter as it moves back to how it was before I touched it.
My interest in the typewriter dies after that. I look around the room some more and notice a flight of wooden steps tucked to the opposite side of the room. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed them before. With hope, I run across the room and up the stairs, taking th
e steps two at a time. There has to be at least fifteen steps, all uneven and steep. With the faint slope on each step, I have to grasp onto the railing, and pull myself up. The door at the top of the stairs is also made out of wood with light leaking out from the crack in the bottom.
I grab the knob and give it a little jiggle, finding that it’s locked. “Maxwell!” I bang on the door with both fists. “Lynne!” Pain sears through the purple and yellow bruises on my hands. “Someone open up!”
There is a faint sound on the other side of the door, but no one answers me.
I grab at the doorknob again and start twisting and turning it as I throw my weight against the door. “Come on, come on,” I groan through clenched teeth. In desperation, I give up on pushing the door and instead, yank at it. My hands are wrapped tightly around the knob, but my fingers can’t hold my weight. My hands slip off the smooth surface, and my feet lose balance from the crooked steps. I try to reach out and grab the railing, but I’m falling too fast.
I tumble backwards, rolling and rolling, with the world spinning around me. My eyes can’t adjust so all I see is red, brown, black, red, brown, black over and over until I roll to a stop on the red-tiled floor.
I lay on my back, staring up at my reflection in the mirrored-ceiling that I hadn’t noticed when I first arrived. There is a small gash on my forehead that stings and oozes dark blood. Pain makes my head throb, and even though I have stopped falling, my vision is still blurred around the edges. I lie there for a moment, taking in deep breaths while trying to collect my thoughts that seem to be tossed and scrambled in the depths of my mind.
“Go!” an angry voice yells loudly from the other side of the door above the stairs. It sounds like a woman’s.
“Why do I have to go?” a voice calls back. This one sounds like a man’s.
“Because you unlocked the door and I have to stay up here,” the woman replies angrily.
“Only because you wanted to make things more interesting!”
Through the Glass (A Storybook Novel 1) Page 12
