Travesty

by Carrie Thomas

  “I’m going to the library,” I said walking out the back door.

  I didn’t need to go to the library, but I wanted to get out of the house. I tried not to call Courtney every time something disappointing happened at my house because I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me—any more than she already did.

  I had nowhere to go, so I casually strolled through town, listening to my iPod, taking in the scenery. I enjoyed moments like these, when I could take a deep breath and block everything else out. I loved seeing the trees, the grass, the flowers—anything living in the same place as me. I loved taking in the old buildings downtown, wondering what year they were built in and by whom.

  I pulled my camera out of my satchel. I couldn’t help it. My mind's eye went into overdrive when I had so much available at my fingertips. I held my camera up to my eye to focus on a green neon sign that was supposed to say DINER, but the N was out, so it read DIER. That wouldn’t be a big deal to most people, but for me it was an amazing opportunity. For what? I didn’t know, but I felt like I wasted something if I didn’t take advantage of moments like that.

  As I brought my lens back, I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I always got so lost in my own motions while behind the lens, I was never sure of what I’d missed. Something odd grew deep in my belly, making its way up to form a lump in my throat. It was creepy. I swallowed, wondering how much time had passed since I started taking pictures. The sun had long past set, but I knew it wasn’t that late.

  I glanced around, hoping to shake the uneasiness I was feeling. A guy taking a smoke break sitting on a couple of boxes behind the diner was engrossed in his phone, puffing away like there was no tomorrow. He seemed harmless. He couldn’t have been the reason for my feeling. He was engrossed in his moment from work and was probably less interested in me than I was in him. An older couple passed me on the street, but they looked happy and content, only having eyes for each other.

  My eyes darted from side to side, barely able to connect with anything. I was trying to look at too much at once. Something told me the reason for my uneasiness was behind me, but I didn’t want to see what it was. I just couldn’t make myself turn around. I pulled my iPod out of my ears. I needed my hearing. I looked from street corner to street corner and didn’t see anything. I could feel something was out there, I just couldn’t see it. That’s what I got for walking alone at night. My mind sometimes took off on me and I would freak myself out. Probably from watching too many scary movies by myself.

  The streets were quiet, the wind blowing on my face. I untangled my long hair as I walked back the way I’d come.

  My phone beeped, scaring me.

  Fitch: We’re leaving. Be back in three days. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. ;)

  I snorted. They couldn’t even wait for me to get home before they’d left? No surprise there. I clicked my phone on vibrate and shoved it into my pocket. I realized I was at least a mile-and-a-half from home. I never even made it to the library because I’d gotten so caught up taking pictures. I didn’t respond to Finley’s text. There was no need. I knew she didn’t care either way.

  It took almost fifteen minutes to make it home. Shutting the door behind me, I bee-lined to the kitchen to make a sandwich, then headed to my bedroom. It was time to edit. Editing my photos was almost as fun as taking them.

  I picked at the crust on my bread as I removed my SD card from my camera and put it into my computer. I couldn’t wait to play around with the photos I’d taken. I smiled to myself with excitement, as I remembered all the images I’d shot. Many of them were taken at sundown. I loved the bright colors the sky provided and how they all swirled together.

  I sat at my computer, one leg folded into me with my arms wrapped around it, and started editing the pictures I had taken. It seemed daunting at times, but I knew I needed a college degree in order to become a commissioned photographer. I’d been working diligently on a portfolio for six months. I hoped to take better pictures before I had to actually turn it in anywhere, but it would be easier to go through a couple every few days if I had it all organized.

  My phone vibrated on my desk, bringing me from my thoughts. I looked down hoping maybe it was my dad and saw that it was Courtney. I picked it up, still waiting for some of my images to load. “What’s up?”

  “Please tell me that your dad is not out of town again with Fitch, and you are not sitting in front of your computer working on the pictures I’m sure you were out taking on a Friday night instead of accompanying me to the biggest party of the year.”

  “You already know the answer to that,” I said, rolling my eyes. I was thankful for the fact that she didn’t mention me ignoring her request for me to join her family for dinner earlier.

  “Damn, Soph, that’s just sad. Sam Credy is having a party. Daniel asked me to go with him. Come with?”

  “I’m not really feeling it, Court.” I had already eaten and was ready to wind down. Plus, my dad leaving without saying goodbye, yet again, hadn’t exactly put me in the best mood. I didn’t want to put a damper on Courtney’s night.

  “What about tomorrow? Sophia, you are a warm-blooded, hot-as-hell, body-for-days young female. As your best friend, I cannot allow you to sit there in your damn empty house and allow your girl parts no action whatsoever,” she huffed.

  “Umm, my girl parts have never seen any action.” She often talked like we were twenty instead of sixteen. Granted, she’d had sex before, so she definitely knew more than I did about girl parts. Or guy parts. Any parts, really.

  “That’s not true. Luke got to third base, right?”

  I cringed at the memory. “Yeah, but it was weird. I could tell he didn’t know what he was doing and he kept talking in the middle of it, asking me every two seconds if it felt good. I don’t even count that time, as I’ve convinced myself to try and forget it. Besides, it would be super diffican’t to look cute tonight. I’m already in my pajamas. You do not want me feeling inferior to your hotness, do you?” I joked so she wouldn’t be mad at me.

  “Fine. You win. And I wouldn’t consider going out with your best friend diffican’t. I believe the mash up you’re looking for is boregasm, because you are totally giving me one right now.”

  I chuckled into the phone. I’d forgotten about that one. “Have fun, dummy.” I hung up and smiled. Sometimes, I wished I could just not worry about my feelings associated with my father, or my dead mother. I wanted to want to go out with Court. I did. But being in a room full of teenagers who were so judgmental made me panicky. Not necessarily because they judged me, but because I seriously couldn’t relate to them. Their lives seemed so easy, like they truly had nothing to worry about, other than buying the latest outfit or video game.

  My mother was gone, and my dad may as well have been. I hated to wish my life away, given that I’d personally endured loss so early, but I just existed here. I wanted to thrive somewhere. I didn’t know where, but I felt dormant in my father’s house. Completely invisible.

  Not wanting to commiserate over my past any further, I busied myself with editing a few of my best photos. Hours passed by, and before I knew it, it was already after midnight. Stretching my arms above my head, I got up and walked downstairs to get a drink. I heard a noise as soon as I hit the stairwell. Then again, I’d always had an overactive imagination. Sometimes, when I laid in bed at night, I pictured someone in my room. My mind liked to play tricks on me. I turned back around and grabbed my phone off my desk. I felt better having it near me.

  Making my way downstairs, I could feel a lump in my throat and uncertainty in my bones. Out of all the times I’d thought I’d heard something, it had always turned out to be nothing. A cat outside, a tree branch hitting my window, or four thirteen-year-old boys who’d snuck out and thought it would be funny to dig through the neighborhood trash. I shook my head and talked myself into continuing, reminding myself that nothing had ever come from my serial killer fears.

  I tried to refocus my eyes to the d
ark, as I tiptoed down each step. I flipped the light switch on when I reached the bottom, but nothing turned on. The eerie quietness troubled me. I didn’t know why, it wasn’t as if I had the television on or any music playing, so there shouldn’t have been any noise.

  I kept my eyes on the little bit of light coming from the kitchen on my left. Turning my attention to the living room, nothing seemed out of place. My gut clenched as panic took over. It rippled through me fast and furious. Something wasn’t right. But even though I felt frightened, I couldn’t see anything or hear anything, so I chided myself for being such a scaredy-cat.

  Slowly making my way into the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. As I flipped on the light, I glanced over at the back door. Good. It was locked. I then looked over at the pantry, debating on opening the door. Just do it. You’re making it worse. Clenching my phone in my sweaty palm, I considered calling Courtney, just to have someone to talk to while I found the courage to open it, but she’d be out having fun. Taking small, slow steps I finally reached the door knob. I took a deep breath and opened it . . . nothing but snacks and sodas. Gosh, I’m an idiot sometimes. I shook my head and let out a long breath.

  I felt better walking into the living room. I needed to check the front door before going to bed. As my eyes zeroed in on the deadbolt, doubt swallowed me whole. I felt panicked and sick. The door was unlocked. I didn’t know how I was one hundred percent positive someone was in my house, but I knew. My instincts told me to run up to my room, lock the door, and call 911.

  I turned around to run as fast as I could, when something hit me so hard in the head, it felt like it cracked my skull. My ears rang and a blood-curdling scream stuck in my throat. My lungs stung with the air trapped inside of them. I clenched my teeth at the sharp, intense pain shooting down my neck from the right side of my brain.

  As dizziness took over, my body crumpled to the floor and my sight left me. The last thing I remembered was the slow trickle of warm liquid running down my temple and seeping into my ear. It muffled my hearing just before everything faded to black.

  My head hurt so badly, I couldn’t think straight. I tried to open my eyes, then closed them, wincing in pain. The ache behind my eyes was almost unbearable. It felt like tiny needles poking and prodding, one right after the other. My breathing came in rapid, shallow pants. Just breathe.

  I went to lift my left hand to my head, only to find I was bound to something. I opened my eyes and looked down to see myself handcuffed to a chain. I followed the chain from my hands to a dirty white freezer. The kind some people kept in their garage or basement.

  Fear engulfed me. It swept over me so quickly, I felt faint. I concentrated on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I didn’t understand. Confusion racked my brain. I had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten here. A thought occurred to me that I didn’t even know my name. I had no recollection of anything. Panic ensued, as I realized I couldn’t concentrate on just one thing. My thoughts were like a kaleidoscope of varied colors, traveling at the speed of light through my brain. Awareness seemed like a lost cause. Blankness surrounded my fear.

  I sobbed, making it harder to breathe. My legs felt heavy. The cotton of my yoga pants was torn in two places and once I noticed the hole in the knee, my chest shook, knowing I’d been hurt. My hair was ratty and sticking to the side of my face.

  I tried to listen, for what felt like ages. I couldn’t hear anything, other than a few creaks and grumbles from what I believed to be a water heater. I knew I was in a house, a basement. That’s what it looked like anyway. Sunlight sliced through a worn out sheet hanging over the window. The sheet looked like it had been there for years. I focused on two small holes at the top. I assumed gravity and time were the reason for the rips.

  My head was pounding and the thud of my heartbeat thumped in my ears. The volume increased as I took another look around. I had no idea how long I’d been here, but my mouth was dry. Saliva filled my jaws, as bile raced its way up my throat, leaving me no choice but to vomit right where I sat. I heaved once, twice, but nothing came up.

  I desperately tried to cling to some memory; my name, anything. I couldn’t imagine who would have done this to me. Why would I be handcuffed to a deep freeze?

  A soft buzz echoed throughout the dark, making me shiver. I quietly tried to refocus my eyes, hoping to be able to recognize something. Realizing the noise was coming deep from my throat, I snapped my mouth shut, swallowing the silent cry. Why am I humming?

  I pushed up to my knees, so I was facing the freezer. The change in orientation was too much for my pounding brain, and it caused me to throw up. It took me a few moments to collect myself, and once I did, I evaluated my situation. I had no gag over my mouth, so my captors were not afraid of anyone hearing my calls for help. I am on my own.

  The freezer clicked on. It was running. I was able to place my forehead on the side of it, feeling the heat from the compressor. It was warm, and felt somewhat comforting. Knowing there was electricity seemed important to me. For what reason, I couldn’t say.

  I bent my arms so that I could reach each pocket in my yoga pants. There was nothing in them. Frustration swallowed me whole. I had no answers. No solid reason to be in a basement, trapped.

  I tensed up when I heard the door at the top of the stairs open. It creaked slowly, almost as if the person opening it was toying with me. Like they wanted me to question whether there was someone there or not. I held my breath, lips trembling. I counted each step, cowering down low as they approached.

  “You ready to talk?” A man asked, coming into focus.

  “Who are you?” I mumbled.

  The swift slap across my face startled me. I wasn’t expecting it and the sting almost brought me out of my daze. I gasped, then flinched at the pain in my ribs. I wasn’t even sure how long I’d been in his home.

  “You’re gonna make me work to break ya, huh?” He laughed, like the situation was humorous.

  I didn’t understand what he wanted me to do. “Please, just let me go. I promise—”

  “Let you go?” His face came closer to mine, slowly at first, then so fast his lips bumped into my jaw. I tried to pull back, but he just held me in place.

  I screamed, giving up on trying to cooperate. My throat was raw, leaving little sound to echo off the cinderblock walls. I felt like he was closer than ever to violating me. His eyes were so detached. I saw something horrific in them, making me feel like I might not see tomorrow.

  “You’ll pay for that, bitch.” He turned around and rustled around in a box sitting in the corner.

  I tried to stand, but stumbled and fell back into the window sill, crying out in pain. I could feel the blood dripping down my spine, collecting at the waistband of my pants.

  His dark chuckles made goose bumps spread over my skin. I hated it, feared it, and was repulsed by it, all at the same time. He was deranged, and it didn’t matter that I had no memory of how I’d gotten there, the fact was, I was there now and I probably wouldn’t be leaving.

  He walked back to me and tried to shove a helmet on my head. I fought as much as I could. The harder I fought, the louder he got. He liked me fighting back. With this recognition, I stopped, keeping my pleas inside, along with my tears. I tensed up as he slammed the helmet over my head, the chin guard snug against my lips. He didn’t want anyone to hear my screams.

  “Roll over.”

  Too busy concentrating on the leather belt in his hand, I didn’t answer or comply, trembling at the thought of him whipping me.

  “Roll. The fuck. Over.”

  I waited a beat, but eventually gave in. I had no choice. This man—this monster—was going to hurt me, no matter what I did. I cried out when the belt slapped across my back and arms. I stopped counting after six. My body gave out on me. I couldn’t even muster the energy to roll over when he finally gave up.

  Tucking my legs up to my chest, I sobbed, not even caring about the pain shooting up my back. I
wished for a way out. I felt defeated, at a complete loss. When it appeared he was done, and made his way back up the stairs, loss and emptiness bound me—making me feel even more tethered.

  I tugged once again on the cuffs, hoping to break them. They didn’t budge. I wasn’t strong enough. Hell, I didn’t even know where to go if I did get away. I rested my head on the concrete floor, hearing dirt crunch under the weight of the helmet. My back popped twice, and I tried my best to swallow my sobs. I had no other option but to wait.

  I got back from the job at four-thirty in the afternoon and headed straight to my room. I wanted to avoid Pat and Jim at all costs. They would only be after my paycheck.

  Taking my old bag out, I put it on the dingy mattress. I wasn’t even going to stay long enough to wash the dirty laundry I’d thrown in a trash bag from being on the road. Whenever I made it to wherever I was going, I’d deal with it there. Picking up the dirty socks I’d changed out of earlier, I shoved them into the bag, as my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, man. I talked to my cousin and he’s willing to part with the truck for four thousand. He needs the cash,” Mike’s voice rang through.

  That was cheaper than expected. “Perfect. When can I pick it up?”

  “Anytime. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I appreciate you doing this.” I hung up and grabbed another old bag.

  I looked around the room and sighed. I didn’t have much, but I planned on taking everything I had. The only personal property I’d managed to keep all these years was a block of wood with a quote on it. I wasn’t sure where it had come from, but my first foster mom told me it was in my backpack when I turned up to her house. I guess over the years, I’d managed to make myself believe it was from one of my parents.

  It didn’t look professional by any means. In fact, it looked like something a child would have made. It wasn’t pretty or cool, but it was all I had. It kept me going many a night. I would lay in a bed that never felt like my own, and trace the words with my fingers.