“Oh, Jenny. I am so sorry.”
Her breakfast lay untouched on her desk, along with unused hotel bottles of shampoo. Travis stood just outside, watching through the bars on the window.
“She hasn't eaten in over a day,” He volunteered when Jenny didn't reply.
“I didn't ask you!” I spat in his direction. “If you want her to eat, then maybe you should give her back her baby.”
Travis sighed, shook his head, and disappeared from view.
I pulled the blankets away from Jenny's shoulders. She whimpered, feebly trying to draw them back up. “Jenny...no, Jenny. You need to get up. Let's get you a bath. You'll feel better.”
Jenny whispered something so quietly that I could barely hear. “Nothing helps. My baby's gone....She's gone forever....”
“No, she's not. If you ever want to see her again, you have got to stay alive. And you won't do this by lying in bed until you waste away from starvation.” I pulled her unwillingly into a sitting position, supporting her with an arm around her shoulders.
Slowly I helped her to her feet. She shuffled slowly alongside me, neither helping nor hindering my efforts. I sat her down on the closed lid of the toilet where she sat hugging herself, staring at nothing in particular. I turned the water on full blast until steam rose from the faucet, plugging the tub so that the water level was rising in the bottom. I went back into the main room and grabbed the shampoo bottles.
“Arms up.” I put her gown in the sink with some of the shampoo, scrubbing it between my hands. Usually we got a clean gown every couple of days, but Jenny had obviously been wearing this one a while. I scrubbed the days worth of dirt and sweat out of the fabric while Jenny soaked in the tub, not making a move to do anything for herself.
When the water from the gown ran clean I wrung it out as well as I could with my hands and hung it over the back of the folding chair to dry. I returned to the bathroom and washed Jenny's hair, scrubbing through the mats with my fingers.
“You're going to have to rinse it yourself. I can't do it for you.”
Jenny didn't bother to pinch her nose before sliding down until her entire body was submerged under the water. She stayed down so long that I had to put my hands under her arms and haul her back to the surface. “None of that. Are you crazy?” But the dead look in Jenny's eyes made the question unnecessary. Of course she was crazy...that irrational madness that comes from a mother losing her child.
Eventually the water ran cold and I got the unresisting Jenny out of the tub. She walked over to her bed and buried herself in the blankets again, not bothering to get dressed.
Then began the process of trying to force my friend to eat. I poured my anger at our captors into my determination to keep Jenny alive until she could see her daughter again.
Chapter 11: Life and death
Day 59: After doing what I could to help Jenny, I spent the rest of the morning working on the window. The snow is piled so high that all I can see through the glass is darkness, even during the day.
Sophie still yells and hits her door a lot. She's got a lot of anger and very little fear. Jenny seems to feel nothing at all anymore. I think she wants to die.
I didn't realize how much it meant to have that tiny bit of sunlight through my window...until it was gone. I miss the sun. I miss it so bad I feel like I can't breathe.
These walls are pressing in on me. Time is running out. I think whatever part of my brain produces fear has stopped working. I should still be afraid. I'm the captive of a man that could kill me on a whim. Why am I not afraid?
All I feel is a breathless urgency to find a way out before it's too late.
Day 60: Essie has started coughing. I am praying that it's not what her mother had. She cries if I'm not holding her and she feels feverish. Today she has spent all of her time in the sling I made from my blanket. I keep refilling her sippy cup and encouraging her to drink as much water as she will take.
On a gamble, I told Travis that my feet were cold even through my socks. He gave me some house shoes. They aren't much, but at least the soles are solid. I don't know how far I would get with them in the snow. It's got to be better than just these stupid fuzzy socks that probably came from a Christmas clearance rack somewhere.
He also gave me a sweater. He said to hide it on days Master is here. Not that Master ever comes in my room anymore. Guess he's too scared of killing his spawn.
Jenny still will only eat if I sit there and force her to take each bite.
That night Jenny was wailing, calling out for her daughter. She pounded on her door, crying out to God for help. I prayed too, either silently or whispered into the ears of the sick little girl that was cradled against my side. I swaddled her in my sweater, hugging her frail body to my chest as I listened to the frantic beating of her heart. Essie's breath rattled in her throat between coughs. Her pitiful wails joined those of Jenny in the other room.
A few hours into the night, Jenny became silent. I slept fitfully, holding onto Essie as if I were her only lifeline to this world. Travis had refused to give her any medicine, and I had refused to let him take her away. If she was going to die, it would be in the arms of someone who cared about her. As the hours passed and the little girl struggled to breathe, my tears joined the beads of sweat that ran down her porcelain face.
***
61 days into my captivity. I will never forget that day.
It was the day that Travis let me into Jenny's cell and I knelt down by her cot.
That was when I came face to face with the eyes of a corpse.
I stared into eyes cloudy and glassy with death, into a face as cold as the air around us. I stared at hands pressed to the blue lips, clutching a tiny curl of baby hair. I stared at the shoulder of the gown that showed from beneath the blankets, still damp from when I had washed it two days before.
I rose silently. I backed up until my spine hit the wall. Maybe my heart stopped. I know my mind did. There was no thought, no emotion, just a shock like that of a lightning bolt, so sharp and overwhelming that for that single, agonizing moment, nothing in the body will respond.
Travis saw. He knelt in front of the body that had once housed Jenny's soul. He smoothed her hair back gently and looked at me with a strange expression in his eyes. Then he stood and gathered Jenny's body in his arms. When he left, he didn't lock the door, but I didn't care. I just stood against the wall and stared at the cot where my friend's body had laid.
After a while, maybe minutes or maybe hours, Travis returned and beckoned for me to come.
I crossed to the door. Once in the hallway I walked straight into my cell where I climbed into my cot and enveloped Essie's tiny, wheezing body with my own. I think Travis said something, but I don't remember what it was.
I lay there with Essie in my arms, breathing for both of us. When Travis brought my lunch he tried to take her from my arms, but I only held on more tightly. For every struggling breath she took, I inhaled deeply, as if to show her how to breathe. Every cough was like an electric shock in my body. He cries sounded like the mewling of a newborn kitten. She burned with the sort of fire that no human body could withstand, much less that of a fragile one year old.
God, please ease her pain, I prayed. Please let her rest.
And He did. For a few more hours, tiny Essie struggled to breathe, her cries growing weaker and more desperate. Her little fingertips turned blue and her striving muscles grew limp in my arms.
I was shocked out of a doze when Essie gasped suddenly. She pushed herself upright in my arms, her face so pale I could trace the veins beneath her skin. Her wide eyes looked into mine and she reached up to lay a hand on my cheek. She smiled.
Then she laid her head on my chest and put her arms around my neck. She sighed, long and deep.
She didn't breathe in again.
Slowly the muscles relaxed. The frantic, fevered fluttering of the tiny heart slowed and ceased. The intense heat of her skin began to cool.
I lowered Essie
's head into the crook of my elbow and cradled her like a baby, staring down at the delicate features. She was indescribably beautiful, like a porcelain doll or a baby angel. There was a peace on her face that nothing in this world could bring.
Essie had died in the arms of the only person in the world that loved her. Her last moments had felt the only tenderness that still existed in this place. At the last, God had given her peace and rest. No one could ever hurt her or abuse her.
In a strange way I envied her. She was free. She would never be troubled again.
Something changed within me that day. For the first time I understood. God had granted little Essie death, something we human beings hate and consider to be the worst thing that can ever happen to someone. God had known what was best for that little girl--to fly home and into His arms. In that moment I had an intense longing to die, not because I had no hope, but because I desperately wanted to see the face and feel the embrace of One who loved me enough that His son had died for me. I longed to see the face of Him who had gone through worse than I ever could, and had done it all out of love for me.
I gently took Essie's body and wrapped it in a blanket, the teddy bear tucked within her arms. And I held her like that, cradling her in my arms until Travis came with my dinner.
“Is she gone?”
“Yes.”
I kissed Essie's forehead gently as Travis took her from my arms. As he bore the tiny body from my cell I felt as if he took a large portion of my heart with him as well.
When he was gone I lay down on my cot. I couldn't eat. I lay there, staring at the wall.
God, I want to go home. Please take me home. I want to be with Jenny and Essie.
But no matter how much I prayed, I guess it wasn't my turn yet. I lay in my cot, unable to move, barely able to breathe. I don't know how long I lay there. I had no will do do anything. A hole gaped in my heart where Jenny and Essie had resided, threatening to swallow me whole. I stood on the edge, unable to jump but unable to step back either.
I ate when Travis made me. I slept, I went to the bathroom when the pain became too great. I bathed when I could no longer stand the dirt. My journal lay on my desk, ignored and unused. My hair grew matted and unmanageable without the aid of a brush. I stared at the box of Essie's toys until one day Travis took them away.
The only words that formed out of my mind were prayers. I prayed for God to take me. I prayed for Him to close this hole of pain that yawned in my heart. I prayed for the sort of peace that Essie and Jenny now had.
I know none of my thoughts made sense. I had new hope in God, yet I had no hope at all. I wanted desperately to live, and longed just as intensely for death. There was a hunger in my belly that matched only that in my soul. A coldness in my bones echoed by the ice in my mind. Even as I prayed for God to forgive my hopelessness, I prayed for Him to end my suffering. There was no fear, no joy, no sorrow. Only this all-consuming confusion of hope and despair.
Some nights I heard Sophie scream. Sometimes I heard her pounding on the door. Some days she called my name, and some she was silent. I never answered, not her, nor Travis. I didn't even respond one day when the Master came into my cell and stood there staring at me, fists on his hips and disapproval on his face.
After a while, Travis started talking to me. He would come into my room and force me to eat my food. As I slowly ate each bite, he would talk. I tried not to listen but it was impossible. He talked about his family, his work (He really had once been a nurse in the NICU), about some book he was reading. He told me how sorry he was about Jenny and Essie. He talked about other girls that had once been here. None had ever escaped. He said they buried them in the shadow of the mesas. He told me that if I didn't try to escape again, maybe he would take me to visit the graveyard once the snow had melted.
If he hoped to encourage me with this promise, it didn't work. I had no energy left to respond. I had no energy left to feel. I was numb.
Then one day, I woke from an uneasy doze to a strange sensation in my belly. It was like the flutter of butterfly wings on the inside of my skin. Like the feeling of soap bubbles popping against your palm when you try to catch them.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my hand going to the bump of my lower abdomen. The movement stopped, and I thought I must have imagined it. After a moment though, the sensation started again.
Like butterfly kisses. That's what Mom had always told me. Some people said it was like gas bubbles, but Mom said that was far too crude a name for such a glorious feeling. She described those first flutters like the feeling of a butterfly as it lighted on your hand, only to fly away a moment later.
I clutched my belly, staring at the faded fabric of my gown. I imagined it was my baby letting me know he or she was still alive, even if everyone else around me was dying. I'm here, Mama. Don't forget about me.
For the first time since Jenny and Essie's death, I cried. Huge tears rolled down my cheeks to splash on the space where my hands caressed the life within me. I wept until the fabric was soaked, great wracking sobs that left me breathless and my head throbbing with pain. I wept until my mouth was dry. I cried until I was exhausted and shaking.
And then I slept. For the first time since I had entered this place of nightmares, I slept peacefully and without dreams. No Master to chase me through the dark corridors of my mind. No Travis plunging that needle into my neck over and over. None of the most painful sort of dreams—those when I imagined myself escaping, running free over the plains, climbing the mesas to dance on their flat tops, free and exhilarated until the moment I opened my eyes.
Chapter 12: In the Darkness of the Moon
Day 95: If Travis is correct, I've been here about three months now. That makes me somewhere in the range of 14 or 15 weeks pregnant, I think. I write the days of my captivity instead of the date because that is the only number that matters anymore. It's somewhere around Thanksgiving now. I'm sure my parents have given up looking by now. They will sit around their table with extended family and the stuffed turkey and the casseroles and pies, and they will hold hands and pray. Will they pray for me? Do they still hold out hope that I'm alive, or have they given up on me? For their sakes, I hope it's the latter. Accepting the inevitable is always easier than false hope.
The snow doesn't stay all the time out here. I know it must still be cold, because frost collects on my window. I see the bush straining against some pretty stiff wind.
Travis always leaves the tray from one meal until he brings the next. I don't always get a spoon. I always give it back so that nobody suspects. I've started up working on the window again. The second side is almost free. I have started requesting oatmeal and soup whenever I can, but it seems like Master has been home a lot more lately because mostly I get the nasty toast and lunch meat sandwiches.
I have wasted far too much time in depression and self-pity. Brooding won't get me out of here. I have to work hard. Already I fear that by the time the glass is free, I will be too far into my pregnancy to fit through the window. It's probably already too late. I wasted precious time. I won't waste any more.
Day 97: The baby moves a lot. It still feels like little butterfly kisses. I feel horrible for even writing this, but I don't feel much of a connection with the baby. I know it isn't the baby's fault, but it makes me feel so unclean to be carrying a child that is part of him. Like even though he no longer touches me, he's always inside of me. It makes me feel sick to think about. Even though I know the baby is innocent of his or her father's crimes.
The Bible talks a lot about forgiveness. One time somebody asked Jesus if they should forgive seven times, and Jesus said not seven, but seventy times seven. Obviously nobody can keep track of that many times forgiving someone else, so it probably means to keep forgiving as long as they keep hurting you. But I don't know how to forgive Travis and Master. How do you forgive someone who does something like this? I want Master to go to hell. I want him to feel the pain that he's dealt to others. I want him to burn in fire foreve
r. God, forgive me for these thoughts, but that is how I feel. I know that we all deserve hell, but surely some people do more than others...
Day 100: The second side of the window is finished. It snowed again last night.
My belly hurts. It's a sharp pain when I stand up or cough. I don't know whether to hope everything is okay, or hope that it isn't. I think it would hurt to lose this baby, but wouldn't it be better for this baby to go straight to heaven instead of coming into this world? If the baby dies now, it will never feel pain or trouble. But that seems so horrible, to hope for a baby to die. I'm so used to feeling it there. I think I will miss it if it was gone.
Day 101: The snow must have broken a branch from the bush because I can see through it now. I can see the fence around the property and the top of a mesa in the distance.
The sight makes me fidgety. It's not hope exactly, but being able to see my goal gives me a little more motivation to keep going. Except I didn't get a spoon today so I have nothing to work with. I need to think of something to ask for that I might be able to use. Something that can scrape the plaster stuff without breaking or wearing down too quickly.
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