For once we’re on the same page. I want more alcohol. I need it now.
Accepting the bottle without meeting Silas’ gaze, I put it to my lips again, but take it in slower this time, savoring each sip and enjoying the warmth and floaty feeling it provides. When I’ve satisfied my immediate need for the amber liquid, I set the bottle down on the counter between me and Silas. He moves to grab my hand while it’s there, but I manage to withdraw it before he can make the connection.
“You won’t even look at me,” Silas notes as I feel his penetrating gaze upon me. “Tell me about your nightmare. Help me understand.”
I shake my head sluggishly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Internally I’m bracing for a backlash in response to my disobedience, but the reaction never comes. Once again, Silas only takes another drink from the bottle instead.
The flickering candlelight that fills the room is familiar and strangely comforting. It reminds me of the countless nights I spent with Jake in the refuge of our family’s house on the southern Massachusetts coast, back when it was just the two of us struggling to make it, but when we still had hope that our parents were alive and coming to be with us.
We lived in blissful ignorance back then. We had no idea just how bad things would get or the lengths to which we’d go to ensure our survival. We never could have dreamed that people would be shot and killed in cold blood within feet of us. I didn’t expect to lose my brother, to never get the chance to say goodbye, to not be there when his body was placed within the ground.
Tears stream down my cheeks at the resurfacing memories I can no longer control. I grab for the bottle on the counter again, but Silas stops me this time, seizing my hand before it can reach the bottle. I try to withdraw it like before, but have no luck as his grip only tightens.
“Let go of me,” I demand through my tears, doing everything I can to pry myself away from Silas with my free hand. The struggle makes me vulnerable, though, and within seconds he’s wrapped both arms around my back so I can’t escape.
“Let me help you,” he quietly pleads as I continue to fight against him.
The pit of sorrow within me is pooling with anger now, pressure building and threatening to explode. In a burst of rage, I manage to free my arms from his hold of me despite the sharp pain it causes in my bruised torso, and as if they’ve developed minds of their own, my hands begin beating against Silas’ chest, raining all of my fury on him as my sobs turn into screams of anguish. I hit him over and over until my hands feel numb, until I’m emotionally spent inside and disintegrate within his arms.
I give in, burying my face in Silas’ shoulder as the torrential storm of tears and grief becomes a steady, melancholy rain. He holds me tightly against his chest as I grip his shirt between us in my desperate need for support.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, the painful truth escaping me in front of the last person I’d ever want to have as an audience, but I can’t hold in these feelings anymore.
“You have the strength inside. You only need to embrace it.” Silas runs a soothing hand up and down my back, then stops, seeming to think better of the move. “Look at what you’ve survived already.”
I shake my head vehemently, disgusted with myself. “I survived, but I failed my brother. I couldn’t protect him.”
Silas pulls back from me and moves his hands to grasp both of mine between us, staring down at them as he moves his thumb back and forth across my skin. “Your brother didn’t deserve what I did to him,” he says quietly before finally looking up to meet my gaze, “but I had no choice.”
I keep my expression firm despite the overwhelming feeling that I might fall apart again at hearing Silas’ words about ending my brother’s life. He stares at me, awaiting my response, but I remain silent, exerting what little power I have in this moment to make him feel as guilty as possible for what he did.
Silas clears his throat as he reinforces his grip of my hands. “I hope you realize that I want to make it up to you. This isn’t meant to be a one-way partnership. I intend to provide for you and protect you. I can give you a good life here.”
“Why?” My voice is barely audible, a tremor in the air between us. “Out of all of the people left in this fucked-up world, why did you choose me?”
A look of certainty solidifies in his features. “You were broken. You have darkness inside you. I could see it on your face when I first spotted you outside that auto repair shop along the river.”
“No.” I wrench my hands away from Silas’ grasp and stand up from the barstool, slowly backing away from him at his confirmation that I’m the reason my brother is dead. The attack last year that made me this way, veering me off the path of optimism and happiness into the darkness, has ultimately claimed another victim, all because I wasn’t strong enough to get past what happened to me. I let it consume me instead.
Silent tears stream down my cheeks as my back finds the wall, and suddenly it feels like everything is closing in on me.
“I followed you, watching you and your brother as you ran from the militia and interacted with that man in the woods,” Silas continues as he stands up and slowly approaches me. “With each passing minute, it became clearer how perfect you would be as my partner. You could understand me. You have the potential to embrace me.”
“Then why not give me the choice? You could have let my brother live in exchange for my loyalty.”
Silas shakes his head, his expression remaining firm. “I knew I’d never have your full devotion as long as he was around. I’ll admit I was being selfish. I wanted you all to myself.”
“And now you have me,” I conclude angrily, barely able to get the final words past the tightening in my throat. With a couple of deep breaths, I push the rising emotion away just enough to regain control of my voice. “I need to know something.”
Silas nods, indicating for me to continue, so I rush through the words as quickly as possible while I still have the courage to say them.
“Did Jake suffer?”
“No, your brother didn’t suffer.”
The first word of his reply is all I need to hear as I break apart completely, my chest heaving with each painful sob as the devastation over my loss consumes me again, devastation that is mixed with gratitude that Jake’s death was swift and not drawn out, not painful.
Some part of me is also strangely jealous of my brother’s freedom from Silas and this shattered world. Maybe what happened to him was actually a blessing. Maybe he’s in a better place.
I feel Silas’ hands on my upper arms, but I make no move to escape his touch. I see the concerned expression on his face and can only look away. I hear his words of comfort, though their meaning is lost on me.
Silas takes me in his strong arms against his chest and lifts me in the air, carrying me the short distance down the nearest hall toward the living room that I haven’t seen since the day I freed myself from the dark room. He flicks a switch on the wall, causing soft light to turn on from a nearby lamp before he sets me down on the light-colored couch.
Kneeling down next to me, he takes my hand in his and squeezes it gently. “Tell me what you want,” he implores. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Shut it off,” I whisper under my breath before looking at him, directly meeting his gaze. “I need to shut it all off.” As he tries to stand up, I pull him back by our connected hands and clarify my request. “I want what you injected me with when you took me.”
After a long moment of hesitation, Silas nods slightly, and I let go of his hand as he walks away. In the few minutes he’s gone, I feel the numbness taking over my mind and body, and I welcome it completely. I’m so relaxed that by the time he returns with the first-aid kit and a syringe of clear liquid, I barely feel the needle when it punctures my skin.
“Rest well,” he says as he presses the plunger of the syringe to force the drug into my veins.
In the time it takes me to draw and release a deep breath, I can al
ready feel the familiar effects of the drug taking over my body. I’m being pulled into the nothingness again, a place that is calm and inviting despite the darkness and lack of control that accompany it. I can deal with those things, though. They’ve owned my life since the end of last year, and that won’t change as long as Silas is alive and as long as I’m in his care and custody.
My final thoughts shift to Jake as the drug is about to overtake me completely. I picture his grinning face under that dark brown hair that always managed to get in his eyes. I’ll never forget him, but I know I need to let him go.
I’ve done my grieving; now I need rest to prepare me for this fight.
13
There’s the shortest moment on the precipice between slumber and consciousness in which everything’s just as it should be. The mind and body are at perfect rest. The dreams or nightmares have been interrupted, but conscious thought has not yet returned. The outside world is a blur that remains unknown, allowing for blissful ignorance.
It’s a beautiful place to be, and I wish I could stay there, but something beckons me awake.
My eyes open to find I’m still on the couch in the living room where I was last night, but Silas is nowhere to be found. The sheer curtains that cover the windows are thick enough that I can’t see through them, but they still allow sunlight to pour in, illuminating the framed artwork on the wall that I could barely see in the limited lighting before. They’re mostly abstract works: some made up of contrasting and beautiful bright colors against each other in chaotic brushstrokes across the canvas, others only black and white but just as beautiful in their wild designs.
I’m drawn to one piece in particular, contrasting blues and purples on one side against reds and oranges on the other, tied together with strokes of black and yellow and sometimes green, but I quickly realize the brushstrokes that appear to be in complete disorder actually create the hidden image of a woman, her body twisted in her stance as she blocks the profile of her face with her open palm. Her eye remains visible, and that small glimpse allows the fierce expression she hides on her face to be perceptible. She is strong, ferocious.
She is who I need to be.
I hear something strange: the sound of voices accompanied by sets of footsteps against the hardwood floors somewhere down the hall. Silas’ voice stands out to me, but I don’t recognize the other one. It’s a man voice, not as deep as Silas’, but it exhibits the same tone of strength and confidence that Silas usually maintains when he speaks. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the conversation seems mutually agreeable. There’s no yelling, no sound of physical violence. This person must be an invited guest.
The conversation ends with the sound of the front door opening and closing. A single set of footsteps starts up again, frighteningly familiar to me as they get louder in their approach. My eyes are automatically drawn to the closed door of the dark room that’s visible from my position on the couch. I relive the memories of being locked inside that room when I found myself listening to the heavy footsteps coming for me over and over again.
I divert my gaze from that direction just as Silas rounds the corner and enters the room from the hallway, a pleased, but hesitant grin on his face.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he takes a seat in the armchair right next to me.
“Better,” I reply, though when I try to readjust my position so that I can sit up on the couch, the sharp pain in my midsection signals that my answer might not apply to my actual physical state.
Silas presses a hand against my shoulder, halting my attempt to sit up. “Not yet.”
“I’m fine. It’s just sore.”
Ignoring my attempts to convince him otherwise, Silas lifts the bottom of my shirt to expose my belly. The area where the man punched me yesterday is a deep purple now, and when Silas pokes and prods it, I can’t avoid flinching slightly from the sharp pains his touch produces.
“Who was that you were talking to?” I ask to satisfy my curiosity and keep me distracted from the hands that are touching me.
“A friend,” Silas responds casually, and we both turn our heads toward the front of the house at the sound of an engine starting and revving louder than a normal car or truck. It sounds like a motorcycle.
“I didn’t think people living in isolation had friends.”
He turns back around as the engine sound begins to fade and gives me a knowing look, seeming almost offended by my comment. “In this new world, friends and allies are necessary for survival.”
I feel instant relief as Silas finishes his inspection and lowers my shirt, seeming satisfied that I’m fine just as I said. He offers me a hand, which I accept as he carefully pulls me to a sitting position and takes advantage of the opportunity to inspect the gash across the temple of my forehead.
“You must trust this friend a lot,” I comment as Silas removes the taped gauze from my skin and closely examines the wound. “He knows where you live. You let him into your house.”
“Joseph is loyal to me,” Silas responds defensively. “He’s earned my trust.”
As he turns to dig in the first-aid kit that’s still on the coffee table from last night, I debate how much more I should push him on the topic of Joseph. I seem to be hitting a nerve with him by talking about this, but it’s a relief to have the attention diverted away from me for a while.
“Did you know him from before?”
Silas soaks a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and dabs it against the wound on my forehead, causing a sharp stinging sensation that makes me flinch. “We met a few days after the first attacks. He was bleeding out on the side of the road from a knife wound.”
I quickly grasp his meaning. “You saved his life.”
With a quick nod, Silas sets the now-bloodied cotton ball aside and grabs some ointment instead, applying it carefully to my forehead. “I brought him back here. It took a good week for him to get back on his feet, but when he did and was free to leave, he pledged his loyalty to me instead.”
Silas’ gaze meets mine very briefly before he returns his focus to the first-aid kit, pulling out new gauze and the roll of medical tape.
“I know you haven’t seen the best sides of me,” he continues, “but I hope this helps you realize I’m not a complete monster.”
As he applies the fresh bandage, I find myself feeling conflicted after gaining this new knowledge of the man who holds me captive in his house. My gut reaction is to think the whole thing is a lie, just another game Silas is trying to play with me to fuck with my mind more than he already has, but in this moment he seems genuine. I’d like to think he’s telling the truth, that at his core he might not be as truly twisted as he seems, but I worry that I’m only giving myself false hope.
“Why doesn’t he live here and help you defend this place? Why couldn’t he have fulfilled the partnership you want?”
“He can’t,” Silas responds immediately as he starts to pack up the first-aid kit. “I helped broker a deal with a farmer I know not far from here. Joseph protects the farm with three other men he knows and trusts, and in return they get a place to live and food from the farm. Joseph visits me every week or two, bringing fresh eggs and dairy or whatever else I ask of him.”
I nod my understanding, though I don’t believe that Joseph’s occupation at the farm is the whole reason that Silas didn’t choose him for the partnership he has planned for me. While Silas hasn’t tried to touch me in a sexual way yet, he’s clearly enjoyed the moments in which he’s forced me to expose myself to him completely. It’s clear there was a reason he chose a woman to fulfill this partnership, even if he hasn’t taken full advantage of it yet.
“Does Joseph know about me? Does he know what you did?”
My latest questions cause Silas to stop what he’s doing and look at me, though his expression remains unreadable. “Yes, he knows everything. He’s the one who found your violin.”
Disappointment washes over me. I don’t need to press the issue further. Joseph�
�s loyalty to Silas is clearly strong enough that even though he knows I’m being held against my will in this house, he isn’t willing to do a damn thing about it. I can’t deny there was a small part of me that hoped Joseph could help me to talk some sense into Silas, but that’s apparently not an option.
Silas rises from the chair, offering a hand to help me up. “If we’re starting your training today, you need to eat something.”
I take his hand, but shake my head at his suggestion, even though I know I need sustenance. “I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”
“We’ll see. You may change your mind.”
I follow him down the hall to the dining room, but come to a stop just before the doorway into the kitchen. The moment I see into the room, I’m immediately reminded of what happened there last night. I look around expecting bits and pieces of me to still be strewn about the floor considering that I completely shattered in Silas’ arms.
As Silas steps into the kitchen and looks back at me expectantly to follow, I impulsively decide to test the tightness of the leash he holds around my neck.
“I’m going to wash up,” I declare assertively, glancing toward the hallway to the bedroom.
Glorious satisfaction mixed with a slight amount of panic run through me as Silas stands in the doorway to the kitchen looking stunned by my attempt at exercising free will. He appears indecisive at first, but when his features smooth into a subtle grin and he nods his affirmation, I know I’ve won my first small victory.
I don’t waste any time, turning immediately to walk down the hardwood floors to the bedroom at the end of the other hall. Stepping through this doorway is just as disconcerting as entering the kitchen when I see the unlocked handcuffs and tossed-up bedding that haven’t changed since last night when I woke up from my nightmare.
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