by Roger Hayden
"Chemistry, Samantha. I felt it the moment we shook hands. You have to admit that you feel something."
With one hand on her shoulder, he gripped her other hand, interlocking his fingers over hers. Perhaps he had a little too much champagne, but it was his most forward behavior yet. Samantha was stunned by his abrasiveness, too frozen to pull away. He leaned in closer, as if wanting a kiss.
"Soon enough, nothing will be left of the old world, and all we'll have is each other. Will you embrace it, or will you walk away?" he asked as his lips got closer to hers.
Samantha placed her hand over his then pushed it away from her shoulder. Bryant's eyes startled open. She pulled her other hand out from his and took a step back with fierce resistance.
"I'm walking away, Senator Bryant," she said. "I'm going to walk as far away from this place as I can."
She left the large dance hall, leaving Bryant standing alone with his thoughts. He nervously grabbed for another glass of champagne on the tray near him and gulped it down. Moments later, one of his tuxedo-wearing guests stumbled over in jest.
"Looks like that went well, good Senator," he balked.
Bryant stared at the man, then to Samantha's fleeing figure.
"All in due time, Sebastian, all in due time."
Samantha went to her room, grabbed what little things she had left, and stuffed them in a small bag. She had looked for a way out before, but always ran into a dead end. With everyone in the dance hall, Samantha entered the meeting room and found it empty aside from a wide oval table with a thick glass surface, encircled by twenty-seven chairs. In the center of the table was a conference phone. Samantha ran to the phone and pulled the receiver from its base as soon as she laid eyes on it. Miraculously, she heard a dial tone. She immediately, almost instinctively, dialed 9--1--1, but nothing went through. No matter what number she dialed, she received a busy tone in response. She smashed the phone down against the table in frustration.
Footsteps were coming. Samantha looked up in a panic. She didn't know of any "official rules" the "normal people," like her, had to follow, but she did know that the meeting room was designated as off limits. A large presentation board was mounted to the wall at the end of the table. On one side of the board was the Colorado state flag in a flag pole. On the other side was the American flag. Samantha moved away from the table and into the corner of the room where she was concealed by shadows. She looked above her and was overwhelmed by an elaborate mural that covered the entire wall.
She stepped away from the brightly colored painting, confined within the silhouette of a giant pyramid. She found herself lost in its imagery. Children marched in unison on opposite sides of each other wearing red-colored military style uniforms. Circling the children above were people of all nations and backgrounds joining hands, smiling, and throwing roses below. A large eagle clutched a bundle of arrows with its talon while gripping some of the thrown roses in its beak.
It was the strangest painting Samantha had ever seen. It seemed to say nothing and everything at the same time. Was she really within the throes of some secret society? And what did that mean for her chances of survival? One thing was certain: she needed to leave before they caught her. The entrance to a hallway leading out of the room was to her right. She moved swiftly down its narrow opening. Small, tiny bulbs illuminated the pathway before her. She followed the walls as they twisted and turned, hoping to finally reach an exit. She moved with haste knowing that Senator Bryant would soon be after her, most likely drunk and demanding affection.
She blamed herself for calling Bryant at the hotel in the first place. What had she been thinking? She eventually arrived at an impenetrable door constructed of thick iron. She pushed against the door and was unable to come close to even budging it. She looked for a door handle, finding nothing. It wasn't a door--it was a dead end. There was no moving it. Bryant had sealed it shut for a reason. She moved her hand along the walls next to it, feeling for something in the dim light. Her heart raced with anticipation.
Suddenly, an electronic panel stationed directly next to the door lit up in a green neon glow. A small iris in the middle of the panel flashed red. The digital display above the panel
read: Please Swipe Access Card.
"Access card?" Samantha said.
She took a step back from the door. Things were beginning to become clear. Over time she had indeed become Senator Bryant's captive, and it wasn't long before he would come after her again. She had to find an access card if she was ever to have any chance of escape. Samantha turned from the door and walked back down the hallway. The hem of her cocktail dress that Bryant had given her swayed through the artificial air of the bunker as she hurried back to her quarters. "Tomorrow," she said.
More than two weeks underground and Samantha began to grow fully wary of her surroundings. One of the reasons, she had discovered, was that someone was contaminating her meals each day. Something was being put into her food that made her sluggish and complacent. That was her suspicion. She could barely gather the energy needed to go to the exercise room at the end of the day. After a week of this, Samantha stopped eating prepared meals, and instead rummaged the kitchen late at night for whatever she could find.
Senator Bryant and his fellow dignitaries needed people like Samantha and the "help." She was the only one among the people in her barracks that didn't fill a specific role. She didn't work and nothing was asked of her. But with Bryant on the prowl, her role soon became clear. She was to be his. The "help" never complained. She had trouble engaging any of them in conversation. They were as unsure of her as she was of them. Ten persons in all, they were made up of six men and four women. Some spoke Spanish, some French, and others Italian. It was pointless trying to get answers from them. They were far too complacent to do whatever was asked of them by Bryant's entourage. In the meantime, his advances grew heavier. Each day Samantha would ask to leave and would be told that it was too dangerous for any of them to leave in response. Nuclear war was on the horizon. They had strict protocol on who could leave and who could enter. He talked endlessly about the need to stay underground until some determined time frame, until she gave up and walked away.
The circumstances Samantha found herself in were by design, courtesy of Senator Bryant. Manipulation was one of his strongest traits. The more the "help" ignored her, the more uncomfortable she would feel, eventually having nowhere else to turn. That seed had been planted. His next plan was to rid her of concerns for her family. He would devise a story of their deaths, eliminating the source of her desire to leave. If she cited any other relatives, Bryant would find a way to spin their deaths as well. It was all part of his carefully designed plan.
But Senator Bryant failed to see that Samantha, herself, had a plan of her own. She needed to find the access card. It felt like she had been underground for over a month. It had actually been nearly three weeks, but her perception of days was hazy. The day of her planned escape, she sipped coffee from her bunk, and pondered what she would do. She gladly accepted food as to not raise suspicion, but got rid of it the first chance she had. After lunch, she waited for the kitchen to empty and searched in cabinets high and low for sedatives. Deep within one of the cabinets, she found a small unlabeled case of twenty small white pills.
Later that day, Senator Bryant called her to his private quarters before dinner time. This time, she was excited, as the prospect of an access card awaited. She entered his room wearing the fancy dress given to her days before. It was a short-sleeved glittering red dress that stopped only inches above her knees. She had a black vinyl belt around her waist that shined as well. Her black sandals clicked on the hard tile surface when she walked. Her toenails were painted red, her black hair swayed gently to the sides as she approached his doorway, a stunning picture of beauty.
"Very nice to see you. I'm glad you came," Bryant said looking up from his computer desk. He was surprisingly dressed down, wearing glasses, a bathrobe, and slippers. He looked to be in his forties
, though still youthful in appearance. His eyes projected a combination of passion and sadness. Bryant ached for her, never more than at the moment she walked in.
"Are you coming to dinner?" she asked, trying to take charge of the situation.
Bryant looked around, first at his laptop screen then to Samantha.
"I was hoping that maybe we could talk for a little bit," he replied. "Why don't you have a seat?"
Samantha scanned the room and saw that there was conveniently nowhere else to sit other than on his king sized bed.
"Sure, why not?" she said.
Bryant looked a tad taken aback by her amiable mood, even a little suspicious. Once she sat at the foot of the bed, Bryant stood up and walked over.
"I know," he said, clearing his throat. "I know that things have not been easy for you here, and I apologize. I would hope that you understand that I'm only looking out for the safety of you and the other guests."
"I understand," she said.
He sat close to her on the bed, causing the mattress to slightly sink in.
"Under normal circumstances I would meet a woman like you at a convention center, offer a handshake and understand that we would never see each other again."
Bryant thought to himself then continued.
"But these are not normal times, Samantha. Certain measures have to be taken. I assure you that we're working on something great. Something that, for me, has been a lifetime in the making."
Samantha sat, unresponsive. Where was he going with this? He inched closer to her, speaking not above a whisper.
"I know you had a life out there. So did I. Now that we've been brought together, there's nothing we can't accomplish. After all these years you have returned to me."
Bryant breathed onto her neck. He was inches from her, nearing a complete embrace.
"Perhaps some champagne," Samantha said, trying to cover-up her nervousness.
"I think with a glass or two I'll feel better about this whole thing," she said.
Bryant stopped and shifted around looking for a bottle.
"I don't believe I have any here. I'll have to go to the kitchen."
"Oh, I don't want to make you go through any trouble," she said.
"No, not at all. Wait here, I'll be right back," he said.
Bryant scurried off in his bathrobe. Samantha waited patiently on the bed and listened for the sounds of his soft footsteps trailing away. She stood up, slipped her hand under her belt, and pulled out three tiny capsules. Though she wasn’t sure if the pills were sedatives, she felt that a couple in Bryant's glass was one way to find out. She listened again for the sound of his approach and heard nothing.
She looked around. The room was small and sterile, with only a bed, desk, and a few small tables. The walls were made of metallic gray steel, different from the concrete wall in the barracks. What little space existed was cluttered with piles of paperwork, as if Bryant was conducting some type of massive research project. On his desk sat a laptop computer and coffee maker, among other stacks of paperwork.
Samantha walked to his computer desk and tossed the paperwork aside, looking for anything that resembled an access card. She felt doubtful that the card would be lying around in the open, but decided to take the chance. His soft footsteps grew closer. Samantha hurried back to his bed and took a seat. After gaining her composure, she held her hand up and squeezed tightly, grinding the pills together until they became a powdery substance.
Bryant entered the room carrying a bottle of champagne with two glasses. He strutted around the room in his bathrobe like he was at the Playboy mansion. There was no doubt that he had certain expectations on how the evening was going to turn out.
"Fortunately I found a bottle already on ice. It's slightly chilled," he said, while setting the glass down on a nearby glass table.
Bryant grabbed a corkscrew and opened the champagne which emitted a loud popping sound. He flashed a smile at Samantha as suds bubbled to the top of the bottle and onto the hard steel ground, then gently poured two glassed, handing one to her.
"Thank you," she said.
"My pleasure," Bryant answered.
He resumed his seat next to her on the bed, over his silk white comforter. The bed was soft and comfortable; certainly a step up from the mattress Samantha had been sleeping on. Bryant stared into her eyes and raised his glass up.
"To a new age," he said.
Samantha raised her arm up to halt the toast.
"Wait, I'm sorry. Do you have any music?" she asked.
Bryant held his glass in the air awkwardly as he displayed an uncertain expression.
"Music?" he asked. "Well, I might have some on my laptop."
He seemed more interested in completing his toast than searching for any tunes, but Samantha was insistent.
"It's just; I always like to have a song playing in the background during a special toast. It always makes the moment more memorable, you know?"
Bryant set his glass on his bedside table and looked around.
"I think that I do."
"Just something that sets the mood," Samantha said.
She was taking a risk in sending out such signals, but his glass was close within reach. She opened her hand slightly and examined the powder cradled within her palm. Hopefully it wouldn't leave a trace once she put it in. Bryant reluctantly rose up and went to his laptop. The blue light from the screen reflected onto his face as he closed the many windows on his desktop in search for music tracks.
Samantha saw that he was distracted and took her chance. She leaned slightly over to her side and released the powder into his glass. It floated on the surface, highly noticeable to even the casual eye. Nervous, she looked over to Bryant. His eyes were still on his laptop screen. She took his glass carefully and swished it around. The powder would not dissolve. To his satisfaction, Bryant found some Marvin Gaye tracks and played the first song. The song's soothing horns and bass reverberated out of the laptop speakers.
He glanced over to Samantha and noticed her holding his glass.
"You must be very thirsty," he said snidely.
Surprised, Samantha dropped his glass onto the floor, shattering it to pieces.
"No! Shit," she said in frustration.
"Relax, it’s okay. There are plenty of glasses where that came from."
Samantha stared at the broken glass and sizzling suds of evaporating liquid on the floor. Bryant grabbed the bottle and took a seat next to her on the bed. She hadn't taken her eyes off the mess below. She mentally scolded herself. I should have tested the pills first to see if they would have evaporated! Now she wasn't sure what to do. Bryant rested a hand on her shoulder.
"I told you that it was okay, I'll clean it up later," he said with a reassuring smile.
"Jeff," Samantha said, holding her champagne glass. "I'm not feeling very well; I think I'm going to go to bed."
Bryant's face dropped in confusion, but he remained undeterred.
"Nonsense. Why go back to the crowded barracks when you can have all the privacy you want here? Besides, we haven't even completed the toast yet."
"I'm fine, really. Just a sudden headache. I get these sometimes."
Samantha started to get up, but Bryant clutched her arm.
"Sorry, Samantha, you're not going anywhere..."
"What are you talking about?" she asked nervously as his grip tightened.
"Until, that is, you have your champagne," Bryant said with a laugh. "Come now, you didn't have me go all the way to the kitchen to grab it for no reason now, did you? Let's finish my toast."
Samantha thought for a moment, and decided to give in.
"Okay," she said. "I'll have one drink."
She raised her glass as Bryant raised the bottle. "To the future," he said.
They clinked glass against bottle and took a drink. After a sip, Samantha set her glass on a small circular glass table in front of her as Bryant did the same with the bottle. After a moment, she stood up and brushed off her
dress.
"I'm going to lie down now. Thank you for the drink."
She would try again the next night, though she was still upset for blowing it.
"Now wait just a minute, you have to finish you glass. It's a sin to waste fine champagne."
"It's quite alright, thank you," Samantha said turning away.
Her resistance made Bryant furious. His face reddened as he grew angry. He lunged at her arm once again and jerked her towards him, startling her.
"Senator Bryant, please let me go," she pleaded.
He pulled her to the bed by her thin, white arm reddened by his grasp.
"Stay with me tonight and I promise no harm will come to you," he said with fire in his eyes.
Samantha pulled her arm away as hard as she could, nearly falling off his bed as a result.
“Enough!" she said, pushing herself up. "What is it that you want from me? I'm married, don't you understand that? Nothing you say or do is going to make me forget about my family."
Bryant recoiled slightly from her outburst. His face wore an expression of disappointment and sadness. Samantha continued.
"I want to leave this place and I don't care what is going on outside. Please, Senator, just let me leave here so I can find my husband and child."
Bryant leaned back in his bed casually and smugly rested his arms behind his head.
"Sorry, can't risk the contamination."
Samantha paced towards his bed in a fury. She leaned forward, getting within inches of his face.
"No more excuses. Let me go now, or so help me God--"
Suddenly, Bryant lunged at her with intense rage. He wrapped his hands around both her arms and yanked her towards him.
