by Lucian Bane
Finally in reach of the lowest branch, he put the knife between his teeth and grabbed it with his right hand. Pulling himself onto it, he made his way to the limb that the rope was tied to and shimmied across it. He looked down and focused on the rope leading from her ankles to the tree. Reaching with both hands beneath the limb, he pulled up on the rope and created enough slack to wrap his right hand in it.
“I’m going to cut the rope, but I’ve got you, I’m holding it,” he called, mostly to keep her conscious and hopefully alive. Solomon began sawing at the rope with the sharp blade and four swipes did the trick. Solomon grunted with the sudden jolt of her weight on his right hand. “I’m going to lower you now,” he strained. Putting the knife between his teeth again, he reached with his other hand and held the rope. “I’m lowering now,” he said around the blade, praying she didn’t thrash and make him drop her. Inch by inch, he let the rope pass through his hands now on fire from the strain. Fuck he couldn’t tell how far off the ground she still was.
Who the fuck had done this to her?
He silently continued lowering her, grunting as he maintained strict focus on the ground beneath her head. The four feet quickly felt like four hundred at the slow rate he lowered her. But any faster risked the rope slipping and breaking more than there already was.
He needed to get her to a hospital. Visions of him bringing her in while half naked suddenly seemed like a bad idea. Would be quicker and safer for her if he called for an ambulance at his cabin.
Finally, she touched down and the rope went slightly slack. Gasping in strain and relief, he ever so carefully lowered her until her full body was safe on the forest floor. Solomon stared, momentarily dumbstruck at the surreal, horror below him.
Putting the knife back in his boot, he allowed himself to hang by both hands from the limb then let go to drop and land a few feet away from her.
“I’m going to lift you now,” he warned, working one hand under her knees and the other under her bare shoulders. Solomon didn’t let himself look at her face as he lifted her carefully. She began to whimper as he walked, making Solomon cringe in fear of hurting her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Getting to the passenger door of the truck, he managed to open it and work her in oh so slowly.
“M-Mas…”
“I’m here. I’m taking you to get help.”
This time her whimpers sounded scared. Solomon didn’t have time to debate it and raced around to the driver side. Driving extra slowly but as fast as he could, he parked the truck as close to the cabin as he could get.
“We’re at my home,” he said, winded more from fear than fatigue now as he looked around. What if the monster who’d done this was still around? He felt around on the floorboard for his shotgun. Panic hit as he realized he’d left it on the ground where he’d found her. Looking around one more time, he considered all the possible weapons he could concoct in his cabin.
Making his way to the other side of the truck, he again slowly removed her, apologizing at her every moan which was ten times a second. At the first step on the porch, he froze. Just beyond the screen door, the cabin door was open. He darted a look around, his heart back to hammering as his muscles braced to run back to the truck.
He could’ve left it open earlier in his panic.
Shit. Staying outside another second felt like a bad idea too. Carefully and quietly, he made his way to the cabin with her. Pulling the screen door open, he leaned his head in, looking around as far as he could see. One kick to the door banged it against the wall revealing the place was empty. Solomon didn’t waste another second kicking the door shut and hurrying her to the bed to put her down and race back to lock both locks.
Approaching the bed slowly, he stared at her, constantly moaning now like she was in a lot of pain. He raked both hands through his hair and pulled, pacing and staring at his bed with the half dead woman in it. His mind raced with a million things, calling the police, the dream, the scream, knowing his name, where was the culprit, would they return, why did they put her there?
Wiping his forehead with his arm, he hurried to the kitchen table in the far corner for his phone. Ahhh fuck! Of course it would be completely dead. He lost track of how many times he’d planned to get a new battery because it barely held a charge. He raced through the cabin, searching for the charger like a madman. After he had everything moved, tossed or knocked over, he still had nothing. Three steps brought him to the kitchen-laundry-bathroom area of the room to check his jean pockets, already sure it wasn’t there.
Jesus, really? He raked his hands in his hair, looking around at where the fuck he might have possibly put it. The truck? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used the phone, he rarely used it out there.
The dazed and confused sensation he’d gotten several times that night hit him again. Mumbling came from the bed and Solomon rushed to her side, listening, hoping for details that would point him in some direction. Like who to call or what to do.
“S-Sol…” Her head lolled left and right as she tried to raise her hand only to have it flop back down. “Master….”
“Master? Who is Master?” Solomon asked, kneeling next to the bed. “Is that who did this to you? Who hurt you? Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name? I’m going to call an ambulance,” he soothed. Even if he had to drive to town to do it.
Her head shook a little. “No… no… telling.”
No telling? What the hell. “Why can’t I tell? Did he threaten you?”
“Y-Yes.”
“You’re safe here,” Solomon assured, although without a shotgun or a fucking phone, the assurance felt moronic. “You don’t have to talk, just rest.”
“No… telling.”
“No telling, okay. Just rest. We’ll get you better in no time,” he said in sheer faith. “Then you can tell me who to call. Family, a friend?” A husband? He regarded her dress then. Where was she coming from, a party? A wedding? He needed to give her medicine. Was she allergic to anything? Was anything broken?
“I need to ask you some questions and what I’m going to do is hold your hand, just your hand. All you have to do is squeeze once for yes and twice for no as I ask you questions. You need to save your strength and not talk. Are you understanding me?”
“Yes,” she barely whimpered, like she was in pain.
Solomon took careful hold of her small hand, ignoring the dried blood all over it. “Are you cold?” She certainly was to the touch but she squeezed his hand twice.
At the communication success, Solomon thought about what he needed most to ask. “Do you know your name?”
She didn’t squeeze right away then finally gave one squeeze.
“Okay,” Solomon nearly cooed to her. “That’s a good thing.”
“Do you remember what happened tonight?”
This time she hesitated even longer before giving a no. So she knew her name but couldn’t remember what happened. Or she wasn’t telling.
“Okay, that’s okay.” Solomon got closer to the bed so he didn’t have to reach so far. He needed to ask questions about injuries but for some reason details about the monster seemed eminent to their safety in that second. “Are you scared of the person who did this to you?”
He got an immediate hand squeeze with that one, making Solomon’s gut clench.
“Has he hurt you before?”
Another immediate hand squeeze.
“Is he… your husband?”
A slight pause then two hand squeezes.
“A boyfriend?”
Another two hand squeezes.
“Your father?”
Again two hand squeezes.
“A friend?”
Two hand squeezes.
Solomon sat there, trying to think. “A relative?”
One hand squeeze.
A relative. Then they likely lived near. “Was it a brother?”
A slight pause then another yes. But why the pause?
“A stepbrother?”
Two hand squeezes had Solomon officially stumped.
Did he really need to know if she’d been raped? Surely she had and what good would it do him to know in that second? Nothing he could think of. “I’m going to try and figure out where you’re most injured. I’ll name a body part and then I’m going to start from ten and work my way down to zero. You’ll tell me how much pain you have in each thing I call out. Okay?”
Single hand squeeze.
Solomon started with her feet and worked his way up her body, bypassing the private parts as he went. By the time he’d covered every body part his knowledge as a masseur offered him, he discerned she was in agony in all her body. It had Solomon trembling and sick to his stomach. “I’m going to let go of your hand and find you something for pain.”
She squeezed his hand tighter. Solomon looked at her fingers now gripping his. “Okay, you don’t want me to get your medicine?”
“Don’t… leave me,” she barely croaked.
“I’m just going to look in the house for it, I’m not leaving.” Her grip very slowly lessened. “Okay,” he whispered, untangling his fingers from hers. “You’re okay with that?”
She nodded barely and he laid her hand on the bed, stroking it a few times when it seemed she was suddenly lost without his touch. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’ll talk to you while I look.” Solomon did what he told himself not to—stared at the horror of her face. The years Solomon had spent wondering what had happened to his fiancée, imagining her lying in a ditch somewhere in this very condition, sent fury and pain burning in his gut. Whoever did this was worse than a fucking animal. They were insane and in need of putting down. And Solomon was suddenly ready to up his trapping game and see to it personally.
Chapter Four
Chaos went to that quiet grave inside and waited for him to return. In all the six years she’d silently contemplated this day, not one of them had ever been this. The physical pain was a welcomed distraction to the pain in her soul. So many whys, whats, whens, whos. Why had Master hurt her so badly? What did it mean? When was this phase over? Who would tell her what to do next?
She had been told nothing. What if she did the wrong thing?
Bring back our sacrifice.
That was the only directive. No other details. She couldn’t let him call the authorities either. No one was to know. No one was to know what was coming, no one was to stop it, it was too important. For the entire town and its vicinity.
Chaos braced when Solomon drew close again. Why hadn’t she been prepared for this part? His touch. In her pitiful state, her body was weak with vulnerabilities. He’d held her hand. It had been kind and gentle and warm. She recalled her body’s panic when he would let go. She would need to be careful. So very careful with him. The only thing she knew about him from Master was that he was going to be a very powerful sacrifice. Was he special like her? Did he too have gifts?
“I’ve only got aspirin and acetaminophen,” he said softly.
To hear his words or feel them, that’s what Chaos struggled between. She remembered to nod her consent while considering his voice. It seemed to have a bewitching power. Almost like Grandmother’s. Chaos allowed it to soothe her mind. It would help her to heal quicker. She’d experienced physical discipline so many times, this leg of the procedure was mundane and boring. Mostly because it required her to be still. She was good at it but hated it. And given the extent of the damage, she’d be still far longer than she was accustomed. Her entire body felt three times its size and there wasn’t a place on her that didn’t beg for respite from the pain.
Master had always been an expert at hurting without hitting. And if he chose to hit, he could do it without marking. He could crack without breaking, beat without bruising, bruise without bursting. He could crush the spirit without ever breaking skin or bone, that was his specialty.
But this time… it felt or seemed like Master had done it all. She felt broken everywhere. Her body, her mind, her spirit, even her heart. He was so very exceptional at breaking. Even though she practiced long and hard to strengthen herself against it, he was able to. He hated hurting her, he’d told her so, many times. But his love for the world was greater than the will of his flesh. And for that, he’d suffered both of them to endure what was holy and righteous unto the redemption of the cursed.
She allowed Solomon to lift her head and she managed to swallow. But the pain it brought made her entire body lock up.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said.
Why should he be sorry? Chaos hated the sounds of agony she kept making. She hoped it stopped soon and she hoped he wasn’t always this strange. She didn’t like being cruel, but she would if necessary. Whatever she needed to be and do to accomplish the mission was the only thing she should concern herself about.
She just needed silence and solitude for about twelve hours and she’d be fine. And not dwell on the questions with no answers or the questions that brought the bad fears and the bad pain. There were too many swarming around the edges of her mind.
“Is it okay if I still ask you a few questions?”
Her nod came before Chaos could really think. How was she supposed to rest while indulging him in his endless questions? Maybe it was a distraction her body knew she needed. She flinched inside when he carefully took her hand again but then the warmth calmed her immediately. Master used to wrap her in wet hot sheets after a discipline and she’d eventually learned comfort from it. Until the sheet dried. Then it was like another form of discipline, nearly suffocating her. Grandmother called it swaddling.
“Does the person who did this to you… live near here?”
Chaos squeezed twice. She didn’t like lying but she’d not jeopardize the mission.
“Does he live in the next town?”
Again she squeezed twice.
“Two towns over?”
Why was he so enflamed with where this person was? Again she squeezed twice.
“So this relative must be visiting from a very far place.”
She gave one squeeze, finding that acceptable.
“Is he near here now?”
She squeezed twice.
“Did he leave to go back home already?”
She squeezed once, glad to be finished with that topic.
He let out maybe a frustrated sound, or was it relieved? She waited in the silence, focusing on the feel of his hand. It was twice the size of hers. Bigger than Master’s she was sure. Much gentler. Part of those bewitching powers like his voice. She reminded herself that she was chosen to secure the sacrifice. If that meant allowing herself to be bewitched, so be it.
“I think you should rest now while I find my phone charger.”
She squeezed his hand hard.
“I’m not going to use it to call anybody,” he hurried.
Then why did he need it?
As though hearing her concern, he said, “Just in case there’s more trouble.”
She relaxed only a little.
“I’ll let you sleep now. I’m not leaving, I’ll be here the entire time, okay?”
She found his parental traits almost fascinating in that second. Again her body did the opposite of what her mind said and squeezed twice.
“Okay, okay,” he whispered, closer now. “I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep?”
She squeezed once and already her body began to relax with that prospect. On an instinctual level, she felt safe with him. Physical trauma could be very peculiar she’d learned over the years. Making you do and say things you didn’t mean. Shameful things.
Chaos wasn’t sure how long she was lying there, trapped in the nightmare. It was the one with the ants where she was tied to the ant bed being slowly eaten alive. She was pretty sure it came from the baby possum. Master liked making jewelry with animal bones. They walked and walked a lone highway every Sunday looking for road kill for his projects. God had given all animals to man for using as he pleased, Master had said. But this time, the animal they found wa
s a baby possum and it wasn’t all the way dead. “Looks like somebody strayed from the flock,” Master had mused, making Chaos pick it up and put it in the sack.
Later, she was made to put it on the giant ant pile and watch to make sure no other animal came along and took their find. Chaos was only nine, and she was named Chosen then. She hadn’t had much training yet and she was angry with Master. “It’s hurting him! You said only dead animals for this, he’s not dead and he’s crying!”
He’d laughed at her as though she were delightfully funny. “He’s going to die regardless, Chosen. And those aren’t tears, they’re soul fluids.”
Soul fluids. The term had enraged her and she told him what she thought of it. “That’s mean!” she’d yelled at him. Then when he laughed louder, she sealed her fate with, “And you’re stupid!”
It was the first time she’d seen Master angry at her. The first time she’d felt his secret techniques. He hurt her on the inside of her body without it ever showing on the outside. She’d never felt such pain from mere fingers. He hurt her in her head, her neck, her back, her stomach.
After Master taught her a lesson, she was made to pick the carcass out of the ant pile and place the bones in the sun for the final phase of cleansing. Then she was shown how to drill holes in the bones. Master poked the lobes of her ears with a big needle and made her wear the dead possum’s ear canal bones. “Maybe this will help you to listen,” he said.
Eventually, Chosen came to cherish the bones. They were odd and ugly and difficult to discern at a glance. Just like her. They were twins in that respect—animal and human, bonded as one. When Master wasn’t around, others laughed at her and called her Possum. Secretly, she didn’t mind. Even liked it. Until she made the mistake of telling Master that her name wasn’t Chosen, it was Possum. In a rage, he ripped the bones from her ears and crushed them under a rock. “It was blasphemy to love animals more than God,” he’d said. She knew better than to disagree. She’d only nodded to avoid more obedience training. Only when she was alone, in the dark corner of her cell did she mourn the loss of her only friend.
