“Do you play?” The spark of life within me at seeing these familiar instruments prompts the question from my lips.
“The piano, but I don’t play much anymore,” he replies. “The violin is for you.”
“Why do you have it?”
“As I said,” he explains as he adjusts a pillow behind my head, “the violin is yours. I had someone procure it for me.” He rolls the metal IV stand to the side to keep it close, but out of the way. “Would you like to see it?”
My head nods automatically. I feel like I’m being reunited with an old friend even though I know this isn’t the violin I played for numerous hours every day for over eight years.
Silas crosses the room and returns with the violin case in one hand and the black piano bench in the other hand. He sits on the bench right next to me with the violin case in his lap, opening it in my direction to give me a full view of what’s inside.
It’s a beautiful instrument, the wood darker and redder in color than my old violin but just as ornate. It shows signs of age, but is still in remarkable condition. The accompanying bow matches perfectly and screams for me to take it and the instrument in my hands to experience that feeling again for the first time in far too long. When I reach out with my left hand to touch it, though, I’m reminded that music isn’t my life anymore—that my life isn’t even my own anymore—and I immediately retract my hand.
“You can take it,” Silas encourages, bringing the case closer to me.
I shake my head and work through the tightness in my throat at the emotions swelling up within me. “I can’t.”
Silas doesn’t press the issue. He latches the violin case closed and sets it aside on the floor before resuming his work on my left hand. “Does this room make you feel more comfortable while I do this?”
A rush of warm, fresh air flows into the room from the breeze outside, and it feels wonderful. “Yes, this is better.”
With an affirmative nod, Silas leans forward to close more of the distance between us, even though my hand is more than sufficiently extended for him to be able to reach it. “You need to get more comfortable around me. We’re going to spend a lot of time together.”
I try to swallow away my unease as my imagination runs wild with all of the horrifying possibilities of what he could have planned for me. Thinking it’s better to know what’s coming than to worry incessantly about my unknown future with this man, I ask the question that I need to know the answer to, no matter how much I’m not going to like it. “You’re not going to let me out of your sight, are you?”
He laughs as a rare genuine smile tilts up the corners of his lips. “You tricked me into thinking you were eating and drinking again for over two days so that you could end your own life. I’m keeping you as close as possible.” His touch becomes more forceful as he palpates deeper into my skin. “Things will go much better if you just accept it. Do as I ask. Follow my vision for you, and you can have a decent life here.”
“With you.” My mouth speaks the words sarcastically to complete the unspoken catch included in his grand scheme.
Silas doesn’t immediately respond. I fear that I’ve angered him, but if he was offended by what I said, he’s not showing it. His even expression tells me nothing about what he’s thinking.
A sudden sharp and searing pain tears through my hand and wrist as I see Silas bending my fingers backward as far as they can physically go, holding the fingers back with one hand while grasping my wrist with his other hand to keep me from moving. Involuntary tears of pain trickle from my eyes as he holds the position for what can’t be more than ten actual seconds, but feels like an eternity.
I release a relieved breath of air from my chest when he lets go of the fingers, allowing them to return to their natural, somewhat curled state. I try to withdraw my hand, but he’s still got me by the wrist, and my attempts to escape his grasp only serve to make the bruised skin flare up in pain.
“We need to be aggressive about this,” he explains as he demands my gaze. “We can make your hand fully functional again, but you need to work hard at it. You need to trust me.”
I’m still breathing heavily, my entire body in recovery mode after what has just happened. “Warning,” I manage to breathe out. “Just give me some warning next time.”
A look of determination solidifies on Silas’ face upon hearing my request. “We’re doing this again,” he informs me. “Are you ready?”
Internally I’m cringing at the thought of having to go through that level of pain again, but he’ll keep going no matter what I say or do. I nod and take a deep breath as he bends the fingers backward again to their maximum point of stretch, causing me to grit my teeth in response to the resurgence of pain. He still holds my wrist in his other hand, but not as tightly now that I’m not fighting him.
Again and again we go through this maneuver, and by the end of it, my cheeks are soaked with the tears that are my body’s uncontrollable expression of its pain. I’m resting back against the couch trying to catch my breath as Silas walks away for a few moments and quickly returns with a frozen ice pack. I’m somewhat in awe seeing the rare frozen object as Silas places it over my left hand resting on my stomach.
The cold provides almost instant relief to my inflamed and overworked hand. With my breathing now under control, I release the remaining tension in my body and relax as much as possible into the leather couch.
Silas watches over me from his stance next to the couch, and I’d be troubled by his presence there if not for the exhaustion that has overcome my mind and body. He doesn’t say anything as he moves the piano bench he was using back to the piano. I can’t prevent my shock when he sits down and lets his fingers hover over the keys, the silence serving as his canvas—soon to be filled with the beautiful artwork that is music.
He begins to play, and within the first few notes, I recognize the piece. It’s Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, one of the composer’s more famous pieces for piano, each sorrowful note both slow and deliberate. His choice of song is not one determined by chance. He’s conveying something to me, telling me his lonely story and showing me his dark thoughts through this music. I’m interpreting each note as he plays it, fully understanding this way of communicating without words. I feel the pain he has inside, and despite what he’s done to me and what he did to my brother, in some strange way I feel sorry for him.
I close my eyes and let myself give in to this moment to let the music take me far away from here, back to a time when I had a family and friends and a normal life centered on my future in music. My lips curl up into the slightest smile at the thought of it, but as I come back down to reality, the devastation at my loss consumes me again.
The darkness of Silas’ music calls to me. I let it find me and take me away once more, not to the happy memories of my past, but to the places deep within me where my demons and shadows lie dormant, waiting to emerge. I’ve fought them back before and won. This time I choose to let them free.
10
My eyes open to an empty room illuminated by light shining in from the direction of the door. I’m still sprawled across the black leather couch. The IV remains in my left arm, but the ice pack that was over my left hand is gone. The window across the room is open, but the curtain doesn’t move and it’s completely dark outside.
I feel drained, but significantly better than before. My body aches from being horizontal for so long, fueling the need within me to get off of this couch and move around on my own.
I briefly wonder how to deal with the IV as my eyes follow the tubing from my left arm all the way up to the mostly empty bag of clear fluid hanging from the tall metal stand. I pull off each side of the tape holding the IV line in place before I begin to remove it from my body. There’s a strange stinging sensation as it works its way out of my skin, but I feel instant relief when it’s removed completely.
I manage to pull myself to a sitting position and swing my legs over the side of the couch. Keeping the black bedsheet
wrapped around me, I unsteadily rise to my bare feet on the hardwood floors and take a few steps forward, feeling like I’m learning to walk all over again.
My head darts to the side as I hear familiar heavy footsteps from the direction of the light source down the hall. For a moment I consider doing something drastic—throwing myself out of the open window and running for the woods—but then I remember the tall wooden fence surrounding the property, and I know the effort would be pointless. Silas would find me and inflict some new form of torture on me. I’m only just recovering from what he’s already done and what I allowed to be done to me. I don’t need to give him an excuse to make things worse again.
Silas smiles as he turns the corner and spots me through the open door. “You must be feeling better.”
I nod, but don’t otherwise reply as I try to reinforce my grip on the sheet wrapped around me to ensure it stays in place.
Silas clearly notices my efforts and moves his hand to the side, motioning toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in some clothes.”
My body hesitates for a moment before my feet finally give in and comply. I move across the floorboards with careful steps, as I still don’t feel completely stable on my feet. After I enter the hallway, I glance in the direction of the light to see that it’s coming from the dining room that’s partly visible at the end of the hall.
Silas ushers me toward the bedroom door and follows directly behind me. His close proximity outside of my line of sight is unnerving, causing goosebumps to break out across my skin. When I step inside of the bedroom, I turn to Silas, unsure what he wants me to do next. He opens a door just inside the room to reveal a small bathroom, then flicks a switch inside.
A single light on the ceiling turns on, blinding me with the white electric light. When my eyes have adjusted to the brightness, I’m immediately drawn to the mirror above the wooden vanity directly in front of us, terrified to see myself standing by Silas who looks dominant and powerful next to me. The strands of dark hair flowing down past my shoulders are knotted and disheveled. My brown eyes look empty, and my face is filthy from days of being locked in the dark room.
I barely recognize myself.
Looking away from the mirror, I find a shower in the opposite corner with dark grey towels perfectly hung on the wall next to it. The shower has glass walls on the outside and grey stone lining the inside walls and floor. The stone flooring continues around the toilet and throughout the rest of the bathroom.
“You should have everything you need here,” Silas informs me as he opens the largest drawer in the vanity that contains all the toiletries I could ever want. “And your clothes are in here.” He turns to the tall dresser just outside the bathroom door, pulling out a couple of the middle drawers.
When I turn the corner to see inside the drawers, I’m both comforted and horrified by the range of clothing he has for me. My eyes immediately pass over anything made of silk or lace. I opt for cozy cotton, keeping the sheet held firmly in place around me by my left arm as I quickly grab for some black yoga pants and a grey t-shirt with my right hand. I’m not left with much choice for underwear, reluctantly grabbing the black lacey bikini-style panties from the other drawer.
He’s either been planning this for a long time or made a great effort to acquire these clothes and supplies in the week or so that I’ve been here. It only makes me wonder more about how his plan came to be and why he chose me. I have so many questions, but I’m torn, not knowing if I even want to know the answers.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus on the task at hand, desperate to wash away the physical reminders of what I have been through during my days in the dark room and finally to get into some regular clothes again. I move back into the bathroom and set the clothes on the counter next to the sink. As I’m grabbing a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap from the vanity drawer, I look up to see Silas watching me intently from his position standing in the doorway.
“Can I have five minutes?” I ask without much hope of getting a positive answer.
Silas thinks about my question for a long moment before responding. “The door stays open. I’ll be just outside.”
Watching as he turns around and takes a seat on the end of the bed not far from the bathroom door, I feel significant relief that I’ll have at least some amount of privacy for this. I force myself not to look toward the doorway as I let the sheet unravel from my body and fall to the floor.
As quickly as possible, I use the toilet and then jump in the shower with the shampoo and bar of soap. I struggle through each task using only my right hand, as my left is too sore from the painful stretching Silas forced on me earlier. The difficulty is worth it, though, as I let the warm water rain down on me to wash the grime away.
When I’ve dried off with one of the thick towels hanging on the wall, I grab the clothes from the counter and slip into them. Having clean skin and wearing comfortable clothes makes me feel somewhat normal again, but then I catch a glimpse of Silas’ reflection in the mirror, as he’s still sitting on the bed behind me, and I’m quickly reminded of my strange and terrifying situation: that I’m being held against my will in this man’s house.
I get the brush from the drawer and slowly pull it through my hair to work out the remaining knots. It takes a few minutes, but I eventually get all of the strands smooth and even.
I’m about to put the brush away when I see Silas get up from the bed and approach me from behind. His sudden movement causes me to freeze in place, but when I see the pair of scissors he’s carrying, my body wants nothing more than to run away.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I take a few steps toward the shower, the only direction I can go.
“Come here.” He stops in front of the vanity expecting me to come to him, but I still don’t move. He shows no sign of yielding, either. He only narrows his eyes at me. “This will go much better if you obey.”
The light catches on the metal scissors he carries, drawing my gaze. The possibilities of what he could do to me with those scissors all end badly for me, but if I can do anything to lessen the severity of his actions, I have to try.
With slow and reluctant steps across the stone floor, I walk over to Silas who takes my shoulder in his free hand and positions me directly in front of the mirror. He stands behind me while slowly sweeping back the long strands of wet hair from where they fall over my shoulders so that all my hair flows down my back.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs in a whisper just beside my ear, causing goosebumps to break out across my skin.
Retreating behind my eyelids, I wait in painful agony for whatever he’s going to do. I feel him patting my back to flatten out the hair then hear the sound of the metal scissors opening, knowing exactly what’s coming next. These aren’t the quick snipping sounds I remember from going to hair salons in my life before all of this. They’re long, slow cuts across the entire length of my hair, painfully drawn out either to torture me or accomplish a precise cut, or maybe both.
When I hear the scissors close, I breathe out a small sigh of relief, but I find the reaction premature as I now feel Silas’ hands on my head, his fingers running slowly through the wet strands of hair on both sides. He breathes his own subtle sigh, but I’m sure for different reasons that I don’t even want to think about.
His hands move down to my shoulders; he holds them there and says, “Open your eyes.”
In some ways I’d prefer to stay in the darkness behind my eyelids, but I can’t handle the anxiety of remaining in denial like this for much longer. I open my eyes and take in my appearance in the mirror, once again not recognizing myself, but for a different reason this time. The long strands of hair that reached well past my shoulders before are now just above shoulder-length, the ends barely reaching Silas’ hands where they rest on me there.
“The new Ash,” he declares proudly, his olive eyes lighting up and his smile only broadening in his reflection next to me in the mirror.
My face r
emains impassive. I’m relieved he didn’t cut my hair any shorter, but at the same time, I feel completely violated by what he did. This is just another demonstration of control, proving that he has all of the power in the situation and in his quest to transform me into exactly who he wants me to be. He’s already branded me with a shortened version of my name. Now my body is no longer my own. He thinks he can do as he pleases with me, but will I continue to let him do what he wants without a fight? How far will I have to go down this path to get strong enough and close enough to exact my revenge on him for taking Jake’s life?
These questions haunt me as Silas slides a hand slowly up my neck until he’s holding me by the jaw, his fingers pressing into the bottom of my cheek as he turns my head from side to side while he inspects me in the mirror.
“You’ve lost weight while you’ve been here. You need to start eating again.” His grasp on my jaw and shoulder releases as he straightens up behind me. He flicks off the bathroom light and motions me out of the door. “Come with me. I made something while you were sleeping earlier.”
Silas walks in front of me this time, leading the way out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the lit dining room. My stomach churns at the thought of walking in to see another feast laid out on the table, but luckily when we arrive there, the table is empty.
Pulling out the chair at the closest end of the table, Silas indicates for me to take a seat, and I gladly comply. I feel exhausted despite the unknown amount of time I slept earlier, and my left hand still aches from the supposed therapy it endured.
I’m surprised when Silas disappears through the opposing doorway into the kitchen, leaving me alone in this room. He must assume I’m too weak to make any move to resist or escape, and he’s probably right. It makes me wonder, though, if he’ll continue to let his guard down like this. If I continue to behave and to do as he asks, he might loosen his leash on me, putting me in a better position to strike back once I’m strong enough.
Falling Ash Page 7
