Falling Ash

by Douglas, A. T.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, I grab clean clothes from the dresser and enter the bathroom and close the door, holding my hand against it in the darkness and closing my eyes for some time as I relish this moment of privacy that I was strong enough to demand for myself. I know my time alone in here is limited, though. Without a lock on the door, Silas could enter at any moment, so I turn on the light and proceed to do what I need to in here.

  By the time I emerge from the bathroom, I feel significantly better. My skin is clean. My teeth don’t feel grimy. My dark hair is brushed and put up in a high ponytail at the back of my head, though a few strands don’t reach and fall loosely around the sides of my face instead. The jean shorts and navy blue V-neck I’m wearing make me feel more like a normal human being again instead of a tormented Barbie doll being stripped down and paraded around in this prison of a house.

  I’m relieved to see the bedroom is still empty. There’s no Silas waiting on the bed, no hungry eyes watching over me. He actually gave me this time to myself just as I requested, and he’s trusting that I’ll play nice and come back to him without incident.

  Or maybe he’s testing me.

  As I walk slowly down the hall, seeming to have free reign of this house, I realize that Silas is getting just as much benefit out of this exercise as I am. This is the trick at the physical therapy office all over again, except this time I’m not left alone in a dark room.

  There are doors I haven’t been able to see behind yet in this house. There’s an entire floor of this structure that’s still unknown to me. I could take this opportunity to check them, to learn about this place and look for tools to help me escape it. Hell, I can even walk out of the front door.

  As tempting as those options are, I’m not in a good position to take full advantage of them. I’m injured and still stuck with a disabled hand. I haven’t even started learning the skills that Silas can teach me for defending myself and others. Despite what Silas has taken from me and done to me, in some strange way he’s the key to my successful future. As much as it will be painful to do, I need to build up trust with Silas and show him the loyalty that he seems to value so greatly.

  With a deep breath, I walk away from the front door and into the dining room, immediately noticing a pleasant aroma coming from the kitchen. When I approach the doorway this time, I’m not as affected by revisiting this place where I fell apart last night. With the time I’ve just spent alone and unchained in this house allowing me to gain clarity, I’ve developed renewed determination to follow the path I laid out for myself last night, a path that requires I don’t get bogged down in the past anymore. This is my chance to move beyond my brother’s death and the attacks that have terrorized me. I need to look forward, to become stronger to have the potential to live on and build a future for myself.

  It starts now.

  I enter the kitchen to find Silas seated at the island in the middle of the room. He has a plate of what looks like a half-eaten omelet of cheese, tomato, and spinach in front of him. As I take the same barstool at the island where I sat last night, Silas looks at me with complete satisfaction on his face. I expect he’s pleased that I willingly came back to him instead of trying to run.

  Similarly to the living room where I woke up today, natural light fills the kitchen through the window above the sink despite the sheer curtain that hides the outside world from me. I didn’t notice it before, but I quickly realize that it’s not the morning sun.

  “How long was I out after you injected me last night?” I ask with worry at my clear lack of perception of the recent passing of time.

  “Twelve hours, maybe more,” Silas replies as he takes a bite from his plate.

  It’s disconcerting to know I was unconscious and completely vulnerable in the presence of this man for that long, and for a moment I regret asking for the drug that put me out of my misery to rest for a while; but what’s done is done. All I can do is stay strong enough to face my demons next time instead of hiding from them.

  Silas moves his plate closer to me, gesturing to the remainder of omelet with his fork. “You should try this.”

  I can’t deny the pang of hunger in my stomach that has grown in the time I’ve been awake. “I’ll try it.”

  After taking the fork from Silas, I break off a small piece of the omelet and eat it, instantly savoring the taste of egg and cheese that I haven’t had the pleasure of enjoying for months. It’s the perfect combination with the spinach and small bits of tomato mixed inside.

  I go in for a larger bite this time, suddenly ravenous, and it takes less than a minute for me to finish off the rest of the omelet.

  The satisfaction on Silas’ face is now even more pronounced as he flashes me a smug expression while taking the empty plate away. He sets it on the counter, then opens the fridge, revealing a top shelf holding a tall glass bottle of milk. The next shelf down has a white block of cheese and two cartons of eggs. The remaining shelves are filled with loose vegetables and a bowl of various berries. The eggs and dairy products were obviously brought from the farm by Joseph, but Silas never said anything about getting fruit or vegetables from there.

  “Where do you get the fresh produce?” I ask curiously as Silas removes the bottle of milk from the top shelf.

  He smiles in response to my question as he shakes the bottle a few times and closes the fridge. “They’re from out back. I’ll show you soon enough.”

  It’s a bit strange to think there are still parts of this property that I haven’t seen yet, but it makes perfect sense that Silas has a garden. He would have to grow his own food to be self-sufficient here.

  Silas pours the milk into a tall glass from the cupboard then maneuvers around the island and offers it to me. I accept it without hesitation, eager to try yet another luxury I haven’t had in a long time.

  The raw milk tastes like what I remember store-bought milk tastes like, but is more sweet and creamy. It’s delicious, almost heavenly to drink, and when I notice the glass is half-empty already, I have to stop myself.

  “Drink more,” Silas encourages, but I hand the glass to him anyway.

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  The last two words are spoken automatically, but they leave a sickening taste in my mouth. I’ve resisted the urge to say them to Silas, as it feels wrong to offer such civil words to a man who doubles as a monster, but I failed to hold them back this time.

  The slip-up throws me off, causing me to scramble to regain my composure in the time it takes for Silas to finish off the glass of milk. I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve accomplished my task when Silas doesn’t respond to the gratitude I’ve just inadvertently shown him, but as he walks back around the island to put the empty glass on the counter and put the milk bottle away, he smirks at me and comments, “So she does have manners.”

  I feel strangely embarrassed by being called out on this by the man who has both tortured me and saved my life, but I try to remain firm in my response. “I appreciate the things you’ve done to help me, but it’s hard to forget what you’ve done to hurt me.”

  “Which is why I’m trying to make it up to you now.”

  I don’t know what to make of Silas’ response. Can he really redeem himself for what he did to me and Jake? Will I ever have the capacity to forgive him?

  These questions plague me as Silas cleans and dries the used dishes and puts them away. When he’s done, he moves around the island and offers a hand to help me down from the barstool.

  “We should start your training outside,” he suggests, nodding toward the open window above the sink. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  I can’t hold back the slight smile that manages to form at my lips at the thought of being outside, enjoying the natural light and open air on this first day of the next chapter of my life.

  It’s a perfect day.

  14

  After slipping on my tennis shoes in the entryway by the front door, I return to see Silas unlocking the back door in the kitchen. War
m air rushes in as he swings it open, beckoning us to come outside.

  Silas motions for me to go first, and as I step out into the sunshine, it quickly becomes clear to me just how much of this place I haven’t seen yet. To my left is the back of the garage which aligns with the back wall of the house. The space in front of it features a large stone patio complete with a wrought-iron table and chairs that are enclosed on one side by an L-shaped stone counter with a built-in stainless steel grill. The majority of the rest of the enclosed backyard is filled with patches of berry bushes and rows of small trees spaced out from each other—no doubt some kind of fruit trees—and multiple garden beds filled to capacity with vegetable plants.

  I turn to Silas, unable to help the awestruck look on my face. “This is amazing,”

  “This is what I have to offer you,” he says as he beams proudly with what he’s accomplished here. “Between this and the food from the farm, we have enough to sustain us for years to come.”

  I don’t know if I can stomach the thought of years with Silas, but I can surely imagine the benefit of having a self-sufficient food supply ten or twenty years down the line when supplies of canned and prepackaged foods have been expended entirely.

  “What about water?” I ask curiously. “Where does your supply come from?”

  Silas smiles in response. “Why don’t I show you?”

  I’m not sure what he means until he starts walking between the rows of fruit trees toward the tall wooden fence at the back of the property. Following behind him, I see—as we get closer—that part of the fence acts as a hidden gate. He unlatches it in three places and pulls it open to reveal a small area of clearing around the perimeter of the fence and then thick brush and forest beyond it.

  I step out first as Silas closes the gate that appears to blend in perfectly with the fence from the outside. He moves forward onto a small worn path that cuts into the woods, and I follow carefully behind him, maneuvering over the occasional large rock and fallen tree branch that show up along the trail.

  It doesn’t take long for us to reach our destination. The path eventually opens up into an area with a large pond maybe a few hundred feet across. The forest is thick around it except for a cleared area just before us where the path meets the water. The pond’s surface is completely still, a perfect pool of reflection of the blue sky above.

  As I step closer to the shore of the pond, I immediately notice a white pipe under the water’s surface nearby. Its origin is somewhere deeper in the water, but I can see where it travels up and then disappears underground before it gets to the shoreline.

  Silas steps up next to me, gauging my expression. “What do you think?”

  “I think you have a good setup here,” I respond, addressing his question more broadly than I’m sure he intended.

  “Now you understand why I need help protecting this place.”

  I sigh dejectedly. “I still don’t think I’m—”

  “No,” Silas interrupts, “you’re exactly the right person to help me.”

  I divert my gaze to an area out over the still water as I struggle to wipe the skepticism from my face. After a few moments I realize I won’t know how good or bad I am at fighting or defending myself or others until I actually give it a try instead of relying on limited skill and dumb luck to get by.

  “Okay,” I concede. “Where do we start?”

  With a pleased and almost devious expression, Silas takes one step closer to me and whispers, “Today is about getting over fears.”

  I’m about to question what the hell he’s talking about when I’m suddenly being pulled back hard against his chest and held firmly in place by one of his strong arms. His other hand appears in front of me with a large open switchblade in its grasp as he brings the sharp edge of the knife to the most vulnerable spot at my throat.

  My breathing turns erratic in my struggle to escape his hold as I’m brought right back to the terrifying moment that I was similarly grabbed and threatened by the two strangers yesterday. Thoughts of my attack last December begin to creep their way out of the hidden places within my mind, and suddenly my terror is vocalized into piercing screams.

  Silas’ hand quickly covers my mouth to muffle my frenzied cries as he speaks with a firm, but calming tone right next to my ear. “Relax. Breathe. This is your chance to face this fear and overcome it.”

  It takes a moment, but the panic coursing through me begins to fade. My cries turn to silence, and I focus on Silas’ words, recognizing that he’s giving me this opportunity to overcome my terror in a controlled situation. This is my first chance to see if I can live up to the goal I set for myself to get over my past and look only toward my future.

  Abandoning the fight and relaxing my limbs, I let Silas hold me in this position as I loosen my tensed muscles and try to normalize my breathing. Despite my overwhelming desire to retreat into the comfort of the darkness behind my eyelids, I keep my eyes open and looking forward, ready to face this and willing to learn.

  “You still okay?” Silas speaks softly behind me while maintaining his strong hold on my body.

  “Yes,” I reply, but my voice is shaky, completely contradicting my response.

  “It’s okay. You’ll get there.”

  I try desperately to grasp on to Silas’ reassuring words and push forward. “I’m not sure about that, but let’s keep going.”

  The hint of a laugh can be heard behind me just before Silas begins his instruction. “Your best defense is to use your body against your attacker and make enough space to better your position for escape. Lean back against me with your upper body to create an opening for your hand to get inside my hold.”

  I do as he says, leaning my head and shoulders back and pushing hard against him until there’s just enough space for my right hand to grasp his arm from the inside.

  “Good. Now bring your other hand up to grab from the outside. You’ll be stronger with a two-handed hold.”

  As I bring my left hand up toward Silas’ arm, I hesitate as I quickly remember my inability to grasp well with this hand.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he assures me, trying to alleviate my concern. “You have enough leverage in your forearm and wrist to do this. We’ll get your hand there eventually.”

  Though I don’t exactly share his confidence in my abilities, I continue with the exercise anyway and put my palm on his arm from the outside, letting my wrist apply most of the force.

  “Now step to the right and press your hips back into me while pulling my arm down.”

  My body automatically follows his instructions despite the flare-up of pain in my bruised torso, but I freeze at the point where my hips are pushed all the way back against him. If this weren’t self-defense training, it would look like Silas was grinding against me in this position, and it makes me extremely uncomfortable.

  It feels as though we wait for an eternity like this until Silas finally says, “Push my arm out to the side with your right hand and swing your left arm back to hit me in the groin.”

  I start to follow his instructions, then instantly stop all movement. “I’m not putting my hand anywhere near your groin.”

  “Fine,” Silas concedes with a bit of amusement in his tone. “You can throw your elbow back into my body instead.”

  Taking his instruction literally and with more force than I’ve shown thus far in this exercise, I jab my elbow back into Silas’ stomach at the same time I push his arm away. The contact causes him to cough a couple times, confirming that my move was effective and bolstering my confidence enough that I think that I can actually be successful in my goal.

  “Now that you’ve stunned your attacker,” Silas continues before pausing for another moment to recover from what I just did to him, “you can focus all your strength on overcoming him. Hold my arm while rotating your body until you’re facing me.”

  I grasp on to his arm with both hands and rotate around until his arm is twisted between us with the knife still in his hand.


  “If you need to disable your attacker again, now’s your opportunity to kick him in the groin.” Silas gives me a slightly concerned look, likely gauging whether I’m more inclined to put my foot where he’s suggesting instead of my hand.

  As much as I want to follow through and put my full force into kicking him where it would hurt most, I opt to only pretend instead, slowly kicking out toward him in a mock blow to the groin.

  With a look of some relief, Silas continues. “Keep twisting my arm until it puts me in an unbalanced position and I’m forced down to the ground.”

  I follow the latest step as Silas demonstrates how the force of his arm being twisted this way causes him to lose balance and collapse on his back against the dirt.

  “Don’t let go. Keep a firm grip because you still need to get the knife away from me. Hold my wrist with your right hand, and smack your left palm hard against the area below the knuckles of my hand.”

  Within seconds I’ve knocked the knife out of Silas’ grasp and launched it into the dirt. My immediate reaction is to pick it up, though when I do, I’m at a complete loss as to what I should do with it. Suddenly I’m the one with the weapon in hand as Silas remains vulnerable on the ground. He’s watching me carefully, observing my every move as I alone decide what happens next.

  I extend the knife down toward him but flip it around, offering it to him handle-first. “Let’s do it again.”

  A mix of satisfaction and relief floods Silas’ face as he accepts the knife from me and takes the empty hand being offered to help him up from the ground. I help pull him up to standing, but the moment he’s on his feet, he uses our connected hands to pull me back against his chest with the knife at my throat again.

  It’s impossible to avoid the rush of panic that washes over me again, but the flood of adrenaline isn’t as overwhelming this time. Once I’m over the initial shock of being pulled back to this terrifying position, I push away the fear and focus completely on remembering the steps to free myself.