The Lonely

by Brown, Tara

  I was already thin from the sprints, but now I am skinny. It has to have been at least seventy-two hours to get me to this point. No food. No water. I am going to die soon. I want to cry out. I want to beg. But I don’t. I sit and wait. I don’t wait long when the screams happen again.

  My hands shoot to my ears, covering them. I sob along with him. It's Stuart again. He cries out words. I don’t know what they are but he is begging. Pleading. It sounds like they're ripping his fingers off. Maybe they are. I sob dry heaves and shake.

  "Please god. Please save him. Please make them stop." I whisper into the darkness, desperate to drown out his screams and pleas.

  A movement catches my attention. I almost crawl up the wall. "Who's there?" I whisper.

  A chuckle lets loose. It fills up all the air and space. It's a man.

  "Who are you?" I wonder for a second if he's real. I could be so hungry that I'm hallucinating. I'm starving.

  "Emalyn Spicer. Such a interesting name."

  It’s the man who chased me. My stomach still hurts where he kicked me. I cling to myself and turn my face away from where he is.

  "What do you know about your life before Emalyn Spicer?"

  I hate the way he's saying my full name.

  "I know who you are. It's all very fascinating. I know you aren’t Emalyn Spicer, are you? Fascinating indeed." His voice is harsh and cruel.

  A loud bang breaks the quiet of my harsh breaths and his soft chuckles.

  The door opens.

  The bright-white light is there.

  I see something in the gap of the door and the frame.

  It's Stuart. He's unconscious and being dragged by my room. His hands and face are bleeding heavily. I cover my eyes quickly.

  The slapping footsteps fill the gaps between my shuddering breaths. They draw closer for a second. They're right in front of me. I avert my gaze and tremble. He bends down. I can hear everything he does. He grabs my face softly and turns my rigid head to face him. I can't see his face. The light behind him ensures that. It stings my eyes still.

  "Such a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore." He laughs, standing back up.

  His footsteps slap back across the floor.

  I hear a scratching sound. A hand shoves a tray of something in as he leaves the room.

  The door is closed.

  It's dark again.

  I don’t wait. The smell of the food invades my space. I scramble across the floor to the tray. I reach out, savagely. There are no utensils. No napkins. I lift the small tray off the larger one. It's a hot dinner. Maybe a TV dinner. I lick from the tray, without using my hands. The weight of it makes my arms tremble. The first taste is gravy. It's divine and salty.

  I don’t think. I revert to my old ways so quickly. I lap at the food like a dog. Like before. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I get a piece of meat in my mouth. I chew the grizzled meat and choke a bit when I swallow before I'm ready.

  I get a mushy pea in my mouth. I almost gag but I force it down. I force it all down. Mushy peas and meat and gravy. I lick the tray until there is nothing left.

  I reach out into the dark for the drink I swear I saw. I knock something with my hand. It sloshes. I grab it and gulp back the liquid inside of it. It's stale and funny tasting, but it is amazing. It's fluid. I finish the drink and realize what it was. Iced tea. Unsweetened iced tea. I shiver from the flavor. I place it back at the door and scramble back to the corner.

  I can't help but wonder what it is all about?

  Is it Emalyn Spicer they're looking for?

  I sit there and wonder, how? How he knew I wasn’t Emalyn Spicer. No one but Emalyn and me knew that little secret.

  It dawns on me he wasn’t asking me about my life before. He was asking about my life, before Emalyn Spicer.

  I close my eyes and try desperately to remember the memories I have blocked out.

  There is nothing but blue eyes peeking from a hole where tiny fingers reach. Sunlight glinting off blonde hair. Everything else is shut down.

  I know I told them I was Emalyn Spicer. I know who she is, I know who she isn’t as well. I can see her face staring at me. Her blank stare haunts me. She is me.

  I've lived for her. I had to. I owed her that. I remember the gunshot. I remember the debt but I don't remember the cause of it.

  I look down at the floor and laugh. It's hysterical and demented. It takes away so many things. It's the kind of laugh I have never had. I laugh harder. Tears form in my eyes. They don’t come out. They never come out. I won't even cry for me, or Emalyn.

  I think it's days before I get a tray again. I'm starved and sick. The smell of my own urine and shit in the other corner is making me sick. I'm dying from the phobias and the nervous ticks the nuns gave me.

  They bring a tray, but when I reach it I discover the food is in a bowl. My hands are filthy. I can't eat with them.

  I heave dry sobs and hold the bowl. I try tilting it but the food is thick. It won't come out.

  Finally I put it on the floor and hold my long greasy, stringy hair back. I eat from the dish like a dog would. My nose rubs in the food. It doesn’t smell good. It's a stew but it smells gross. Like it's old and freezer burnt.

  My body doesn’t care. I eat. I gobble. I gag from swallowing too much and not taking my time. I stretch my tongue as hard as I can, to reach the bottom of the bowl. The bowl is too deep.

  I grab for the glass of tea and dump some in the bowl. I swirl it around and drink the last of the stew mixed with the tea. It makes me gag but I do it. I need the food. I drink the tea down and wipe my face off with my shirt.

  My tattered and filthy t-shirt. The lock in the door turns. I turn my head like a feral cat. I scramble back to the corner. My old ways are all back. They were always there, hiding under the surface. I just never knew it. I never knew I could go back so easily. I'm in dirty pants and a filthy shirt. I stink in ways I don’t remember being possible.

  The door opens. The blinding light is too much. I squint my eyes. The man walks in. I would know the slap of his shoes anywhere.

  "We have a deal to offer you today. One of you is going to be tortured. It’s a live feed for your friend, well benefactor. I suppose he never was your friend. Now Stuart, has had his fair share. He has volunteered everyday to spare your life."

  That hurts me but only a little. My survival skills are something to be proud of.

  "He has been beaten, cut, flogged, whipped, burned and endured water torture. We are offering you the opportunity to take his place?"

  His accent sounds like he should be offering me a picnic or reading a children's story. He should be saying happy jolly things to me. Instead, he is offering me the chance to save my friend.

  I don’t answer him. I watch his silhouette in the light of the doorframe. He turns and leaves the room. He's closing the door when I speak, "I will."

  He pokes his head back in, "You will?"

  I nod, "I will."

  He snaps his fingers, "Clean her up. I want to see her skin blush when I strike it."

  I'm about to change my mind when men come barreling into the room. I fight instantly. There is no point. I won't win. But I fight anyway.

  They drag me out into the white hallway. It's stark and bright. I'm carried down it. My feet drag. They can't walk. I didn’t have much fight in me.

  I'm shoved into a room.

  A girl with dark hair and pretty grey eyes is waiting for me there. The men leave me in a heap on the floor. I realize how disgusting and filthy I am when I see how clean she is. She wears a long white dress. It's weird. Like she is an angel. She smiles. Her teeth are bright white against her dark-red lips.

  "Hello." She says softly.

  She takes my dirty brown hand and lifts me off the ground. I stand on wobbly legs and let her pull me to a huge steal tub. Steam lifts off of it.

  She pulls my shirt off and tosses it in the bin. I can see myself in the mirror. I've never looked more like the dead girl from the
house. Not ever. She pulls my pants down. I should gasp and grab them. I should leap away from her.

  I'm too exhausted and sickly. I do nothing. I let her pull me into the tub.

  The water burns my skin it's so hot.

  "You're cold. It's not that hot." She says when she sees me flinch.

  I step in, wincing and sucking air. My skin burns but my legs collapse into the tub. I sit as she washes me. It's the most frightening and yet amazing feeling I've ever had. She washes my hair, scrubbing my scalp. She pours buckets of the hot water over me.

  A disgusting film starts to sit on the water. She lifts me out and grabs a shower nozzle. She sprays me down. My hands cover my breasts and I cross my legs hard. I can see my nakedness in the mirror. I look weak and hungry.

  She pulls me out and wraps me in a huge robe. It's soft and fluffy. She takes my hand and leads me down a different long white hallway. It's freaking me out. The hallways are baffling. But it feels like that is the point. I'm completely disoriented.

  The floors are dark slate and the walls are bright white. She holds my hand tightly and drags me down the long wide hallway to a huge dark-brown door.

  I glance out the windows and wonder if I'm still in the city.

  "Is this Boston?" I ask in a dead voice. The windows are glazed in a way that makes them blurry. I can't see anything out of them, but the bright-light can get in.

  She ignores me and pulls me though the doorway.

  The inside of the room is large and warm. There is a fireplace and rugs in the middle of several couches and chairs. The floor is wood and warmer than the slate. The walls are pale-blush colored. It suits the furniture. There is a bed at the back of the room.

  I gulp.

  It’s a massive canopy.

  My stomach twists when I see the Australian man is sitting in a chair. He grins and my heart beats wildly.

  His face.

  She curtsies and leaves the room, closing the door and clicking a lock.

  My eyes are wide. I'm clutching the robe.

  He doesn’t stand. He smiles. His dark-grey pants and pale-blue dress shirt look almost exactly the same as they did the night in the bar.

  He smiles and flashes the dimple on his one cheek. His dark hair is in the same faux hawk.

  My heartbeat picks up. The room is completely silent except for the dripping of my wet hair on the wood.

  "Go sit by the fire, warm up." He points. His Australian accent is gone.

  Was he even the same guy?

  Am I hallucinating?

  "Go." He demands.

  My feet back up, not turning my back on him. He doesn’t move from the chair.

  He sits so relaxed, it's almost cocky.

  "Go to the fire." His tone lowers menacingly.

  My stomach twists more. I step back again. I walk around the couch opposite him and drop to my knees slowly. Thankfully there is a fluffy rug in front. I sit there quietly. I don’t know what to say or do.

  He watches me. His grin is sick and twisted.

  "Anything you want to talk about?" He asks.

  I swallow, "He will come for me."

  He grins, "I'm counting on it."

  I shake my head, "Why?"

  "We have business. Is it warm enough in here?"

  I nod and look down at the rug. His cold icy stare is freaking me out.

  "Are you from Australia?" I ask still looking at the thick fluffy rug.

  "No. But I didn’t want you getting your hopes up if you recognized me. I'm good at accents."

  "That’s why you asked me to dance in the bar?" That at least made sense. I never could figure out why a sexy well-dressed man would ask me to dance. At least not whilst wearing my running watch.

  "I wanted to see if you were the mess the files said you were."

  Files? I glance up at him, confused. I smile, it’s a sickened bitter smile. "Well?"

  He doesn’t move. He doesn’t talk. My back starts burning from the heat of the fire. I take a deep inhale.

  "I have a second offer." His voice is honey sweet. I shiver, "No."

  He grins, "You don’t want to hear it?"

  I shake my head and clutch the robe. I'm feeling exhausted. The fire is relaxing me.

  "I'd be willing to forgo the beating if you were nice to me."

  I gag. I shake my head.

  "You'd rather be beaten? Am I so repulsive?" I gag again. I swallow it down. The stew was the worst meal yet and the fire is so relaxing.

  I can see his plan. Gross me out and make me feel sick but relax me into submission with the fire. Unfortunately, it's working.

  "You would still rather have a beating, than have Stuart beaten?"

  I nod.

  He stands and puts a hand out, "Okay then."

  I look up at him. I don’t mean to turn it on, my eyes naturally do it. He shakes his head, "Those long lashes and pretty blue eyes won't work on me. Come here."

  I swallow and hesitate. "I'm not coming with you. You're going to beat me either way."

  He nods, "I am. But it will be much easier if you just come willingly."

  I look into his icy-blue eyes for the truth.

  I push myself up and walk on shaky legs to him. I stand close to him. He jerks his hand, insisting I take it.

  I lift my hand into the air and drop it into his. He closes his around mine gently.

  Terror isn’t the right world. Paralyzing fright isn’t either. I don’t know that a word exists to describe it. He pulls me along to the bed. He's gentle. My heels start to dig in and his grip tightens.

  "No. No. No. No. No. No." I chant and pull back.

  He stops and looks at me like I'm a child, "It will be much worse if I have to drag you."

  I sob. There are no tears. He pulls me along. He stops moving when he's along side the huge bed.

  He pushes me down on it. "Remove the robe and scoot down to the bottom. Hang your feet down the end."

  I stare at the floor. My body is convulsing in fear.

  "What is your name?" I whisper.

  "Does it matter?" He sounds dry.

  I nod once, "Yes. I need a name to hate you properly."

  "Just call me Eli." His name makes me twitch.

  I let the robe slip from my shoulders. I lie back and swallow hard again. The bed is soft and luxurious. The black blankets are soft and velvety against my skin.

  My eyes feel like there is sand in them. I wish I could cry. I wiggle so my feet hang off the end.

  I stare up into the canopy. It's dark like the bedding, so I pretend it's the night sky when I feel his hands touching my feet. He moves them over my feet and ankles softly, like he's letting me get used to his touch.

  With a soft jerk he pulls me down the end of the mattress.

  His shoes slap against the floor when he walks around the room. I don’t see his hands near my face when he puts the blindfold over my eyes.

  The heat from his face and hands make goose bumps along my body. I grip the bedding.

  His hands touch me again when he slides something down onto my legs. I can't move them. My feet are forced to flex out the bottoms. Something is hooked around my toes. I can't move the at all.

  "I don’t want to mar that skin. Not yet. I'm going to start the film now. Please feel free to be extra loud. It's better for the footage." My stomach is in agony. I'm desperately gripping the bed. I want to cry out before he's even done anything.

  "At anytime you can ask me to stop. Stuart will be punished then."

  I bite my lip and wait for it.

  He's by my face again. I feel his fingers on my chin. He slides something into my mouth. I spit it out.

  "Unless you want to bite your tongue I suggest you keep that in." I shake my head but he forces it in again, "I will tie it on."

  I don’t spit it out. I moan and cry, shaking my head. The terror is everywhere. The pain is going to be bad. I know it will. I've been punished before.

  I hear the wind rushing past the paddle before I feel th
e first strike. I scream and bite down on the wooden piece in between my teeth. The shocking pain is brutal and stings long after the paddle is gone.

  I hear the wind again and scream before he makes contact. The searing pain rocks me.

  Tears shoot from my eyes. It's bitter sweet. My eyes stop hurting but the rest of my body tenses. My legs are on fire. He's paddling the bottoms of my feet. He's going to cripple me. I'll never run away again.

  Chapter Ten

  My feet tingle.

  I don’t have any choice but to lie on my back on the hard concrete and keep them in the air. Any contact sends me over the edge, but it's bittersweet somehow.

  In the dark I can hear my heart beating, my shaky inhale flowing from me, and a dripping noise that at first drove me insane. Now I hear a beat to it. It's musical and delightful to have company. I am less alone with the water.

  The door opens and the tray scrapes along the floor. I don’t look. As long as I don’t hear the slapping of the shoes against the floor I'll be okay.

  What does it matter anyway? I saw the daylight, I sat at a fire, I've eaten and drank and had a bath. I laugh and realize it's almost like being at the spa.

  The room takes my laugh and gives it back in an echo. It feels like there is another person there. I stop laughing when I realize there is. There always was. She has never left me yet.

  My laugh fades but the room still feels more alive for having been filled with it.

  "Em." I hear a whisper. I ignore it at first. It's no big deal. The dark has whispered my name before.

  "Em. Did they hurt you?"

  I frown and look around the room. I feel vulnerable on my back now. I sit up and wince when my feet touch the floor.

  "Em. Over here." The whispered voice is coming from the corner across from me. It's so dark I can barely find direction.

  "It's me dude. Stu." His voice is less of a whisper. I roll onto my knees and crawl across the room in the dark, with my feet dragging behind me.

  "Where are you?" I put a hand out and feel for him.

  His hand swipes across my knee in the darkness. It feels funny. I crawl back toward him. His hand is sticking out through a hole in the wall near the floor. Like a mouse hole.

  The touch of him isn’t disgusting. I don’t need the sanitizer. I need the warmth of him. I lie on my belly by the hole, gripping him for dear life.