Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  I make my way to the bathroom. I ran out of water the day before and in a moment of wishful thinking, I yank on the chain from my shower, hoping for a trickle. I don't expect the water that drenches me. “Shit!” I hiss as I jump back. This is good, though. He filled my water stocks!

  I look down at my naked body and decide I should just finish the job, pulling the cord all the way and hoping into the stream of water. I open my mouth, hydrating myself and my baby.

  My baby. Our baby.

  I clear my mind of the thought. The responsibility I am undertaking. I don't want to think about how I am using this child as a tool for my own survival. Or how I am bringing it into a terrifying and uncertain world. I can't afford to labor over moral ambiguity. I can only focus on what needs to be done for survival.

  I close my eyes and soak in the warmth of the water when I hear footsteps. He wants me to hear. He can be a damn ninja if he wants, so when I hear him, it's because he's either taunting, doesn't care, or maybe in this case (I hope), showing some kind of deference to my space.

  I push the door open with my toes to peer out as I rinse off.

  He's there, in his full glory, face exposed, dressed in a well-worn t-shirt and jeans, setting a tray of food on the table. My stomach goes queasy, unsure of how to act around him after last night. Now that I can see his face, he's so human, and it's like I am getting to know him all over again.

  He must know I am watching, but he doesn't acknowledge me. Maybe it's weird for him too. Then he moves out of my line of sight. He can't be leaving so soon. I turn off the shower and grab my towel, chasing towards the door like a curious puppy. He's already gone.

  I sigh with disappointment. I have to build on last night before he erects his walls again. But the door reopens, and he's back, this time with another small table.

  I freeze, standing there, dripping wet, wrapped in my thin towel, caught staring at the door from which he departed.

  “Good…morning,” I utter awkwardly, like some girl who is seeing a boy she first kissed the night before.

  He nods. This is the first time I have gotten to see him in the light of day. Some of his thicker scars are almost opalescent with the sun shining through the skylight. But the sun shines on his other features just as brightly, and he is even more handsome than I thought.

  He sets the table against a wall and steps back out. I wait patiently, wondering what he has up his sleeve. This time he returns with…a record player. A record player!

  I haven't felt like this since my grandmother surprised me with a trip to Disneyland when I was ten. I desperately try to play it cool, but a smile fights its way to the surface, and then I'm just grinning like a fool.

  He places one album upright, behind the player, against the wall. The soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. It's a small glimmer into who he might be. I doubt he had time to go buy it this morning, so it must be from his own collection. I never would have guessed.

  I run over to the record player, but he puts a gentle hand on my forearm and points to the other table.

  Eat.

  Of course. The excitement had made me forget the pain for a moment. The plate is loaded with fruit and bacon—a rare treat—hard boiled eggs, toast, oatmeal and pulpy orange juice. This is a feast by the standards here. I grab the toast first and take a few eager bites.

  “Thank you,” I say through a full mouth.

  He doesn't say anything, but looks at me, almost coyly, from the corner of his eyes. As I shovel oatmeal into my mouth, I observe the small pleasure he has afforded me. Maybe something did change last night.

  Unlike my other feedings, he doesn't leave, instead, he sets up the record player and then sits in his chair. Once I have enough food in my belly to slow down, I figure I should say something for the both of us.

  “You like the Bee Gees?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  “Did you see the movie?”

  He nods.

  “Did you like it?”

  He shrugs.

  “I saw it with”—I stop myself before mentioning Carter—“friends. It was fun. I actually had a friend who was obsessed with the movie. She's in love with John Travolta. She saw it, I think, ten times. One night, when we were studying and needed a distraction, she taught me one of the dance routines.”

  He raises his eyebrows a bit, I can't tell if he's feigning interest or not.

  “It would be nice to have a name for you, you know?” I ask. “A real one.”

  He shifts in his chair and doesn't acknowledge my request.

  I am stuffed like a piggy by the time I scoop up the last bite of food and fall back on the bed. “Ugh, I think I'll explode,” I say. The satisfaction of the meal only last seconds, before my new friend, morning sickness, returns. “Oh no,” I mourn, covering my mouth as I run to the bathroom. I bend over the waste hole and nearly all of that delicious food purges from me.

  I rinse my mouth out and exit the bathroom, feeling wobbly on my feet. I don't look at him. I don't know how to navigate anything relating to his child with him, so it's easier for me to pretend it didn't just happen. I walk over to the record player, and slide the record out of its sleeve. The fuzzy sound of the record brings a childlike joy in me as I wait for the song to start.

  I feel him behind me. Still draped in a towel, I know what he wants. He places a hand on my shoulder. It's almost tender. I turn to look at him, ready to drop my towel and let him do to me the things I must allow to keep the gift he brought, but when I look into his turquoise eyes, they shift over to the bed. There's a bag there.

  “For me?” I ask.

  He nods once.

  I dip into it, and pull out several beautiful dresses. Some long, some short, all flowing and floral. I had been wearing nearly the same dress for so long now. It seemed like the least of my worries, but having these pretty dresses, all for me, reminds me of the little things I miss from out there.

  “They're beautiful,” I say. “I'm going to try them on.”

  He steps back, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me as I slide on a lightweight floor length white dress with pale pink and blue flowers. I spin around so the hem takes flight.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  He gives an approving frown.

  I lay the dresses out onto the bed as How Deep is Your Love begins to play. I hum to the song as I stretch out the beautiful fabrics in all their glory. For a moment I allow myself to feel good. To think that one night and a pregnancy could change this baby-faced terrorizer. And in that moment of momentary peace, he comes up behind me.

  “Shhhh…” he whispers in my ear as he wraps an arm around my waist.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my relaxed demeanor already dissolved into trembling terror.

  He doesn't say a word, but places a dark cloth over my eyes and ties a knot behind my head.

  “Wake up,” my dad whispers as he shakes me.

  I rub my eyes, looking around for a fire or some other reason he would be waking me up this late into the night. But it is dark and silent. There is no sign of danger. No emergency.

  “Put these on,” he says, passing me trousers, boots and a sweatshirt.

  “Wh-wh-wh—”

  “Shhh! I don't want to wake your mother or Scoot. I'll explain when we're outside. Don't put on the boots until we're outside, they'll make too much noise.”

  I follow his orders, tiptoeing down the stairs, sitting on the porch steps. The sky is clear, the moon shines bright and tonight it's silent except for a few crickets.

  “Let's go,” he shoves me to my feet. I follow him along the dark pasture and towards the woods. As we near it, I stop.

  “Come on, Sam.”

  “Wh-wh-what are we doing?” I ask. He’s been making me build something with him, in the woods. It’s supposed to be our secret. But today he doesn’t have any tools or supplies with him. The woods seem blacker and scarier than they have before. Tonight feels different.

  He sig
hs and crouches down on one knee. “Your mom wants you up here. When it comes to you, she's always gotten her way. I know you want to be with her, so I won't take you away, but I will make sure you become a man. You will learn the things my father taught me. I've been too easy on you, and you need to toughen up. And like everything we do here, it's our secret. You tell no one. You understand?”

  I nod.

  “I mean it, Sam. You tell your mother, it stirs up problems. You know what happens when she gets stressed. I'm doing this for your own good. You won't always have her and you need to learn how to fend for yourself. Now let's go.”

  He pulls me along, finally shining a flashlight in front of us. We walk and walk, past the brook so I know where we're headed. Once we reach the lake, he stops.

  “Take off your clothes,” he orders.

  I don't move.

  “Do it,” he says, louder.

  I strip down to my underwear.

  “I want ten laps tonight.”

  I look over at the water, black except for a few strips of silver moonlight. It looks cold and like there are millions of monsters underneath. He's trying to kill me, just like mom thought.

  “No,” I murmur.

  “Get in!”

  I shake my head.

  He grabs me by my arm and drags me into the water, taking himself in up to his thighs so that his pants are soaked. The water is frigid, shocking me out of my sleepiness.

  “We'll be here all night if we have to, Sam. You get to the other side and back. Ten times and if there's time, you get to go back to sleep. Now go!” he shouts.

  I start to cry. I don't want to do this. I want to be in the house, where mom says it's safe.

  “Your tears won't work on me. This is exactly the issue. You're a pussy, Sam! But you're going to be a man by the time I'm done with you.”

  He stands over me, arms crossed, an unforgiving giant shadow. I have to swim or he'll never take me back home. I've played so many times in this lake. But it's huge, and I've never had to swim across it without breaks, and definitely not ten times.

  I dive under, kicking and pulling the water, until I hit the top again and suck in air. I do it again. And again. Every time I think I'm going to reach the other side, I've barely made any progress. I keep pushing until I've made it to the other side. I want to stop and rest on the flaky rock face on this side of the lake, but I'm afraid I'll cramp up if I stop. I turn over and make it all the way back to him. This time I do rest at his feet, panting for air.

  “I…can't…” I beg as I roll along the smooth pebble.

  “One,” is all he says.

  “Puh-puh-lease.”

  “One.”

  He nudges me with his foot, so that I crawl back out until the water is up to my chin. I swim again.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  When I reach him for the fifth time, each limb feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. I cough up dirty water that I inhaled along the swim. I don't have any more in me. But he just says “six,” over and over until I understand that this is not a choice.

  When I get to the opposite side of the lake, I rest myself against the rock face, Everything hurts, my lungs burn, my head spins. Everything is dark except for the dot of light on the other side: my father holding a flashlight like a beacon. I take a deep breath and stroke against the water, towards his light.

  I wish he was dead, I think to myself as my body begs for me to stop. And then suddenly, as if a giant grabbed my leg and squeezed as hard as he could, it locks up. Pain worse that what I remember from my accident shoots along the back of my leg. I cry out and swallow a mouth full of water. The pain sets alarms throughout my body, but I can't move. I flail my arms as I sink underneath, the moon shrinking. I try to get to the top but can only do it for a second between the pulsing behind my leg. I swallow more water. It rushes up my nose and down my throat. I sink lower and lower. I hold my breath, wondering what mom will do when she sees my dead body. She was right.

  The moon is gray down here. I watch through the waves of the water. It's quiet even though I am screaming. Noises don't come out, just bubbles. Empty words full of air. My words were always my weakness.

  Then there's the sound of something strong boring through the water, like those big drums. An arm wraps around me and I shoot up to the surface like a rocket. I gasp for air, but it's not enough. Every time I try to breathe, I just wheeze and choke.

  “Relax,” dad says as he drags me the second half of the way back to shore. “You're gonna be fine.”

  He lets me go and I find myself on my knees, vomiting water and silt. Finally, I can breathe again. It's over. He's made his point. I'm more confused than ever. If he wanted to kill me, he would have let me drown.

  I roll onto my back, panting, shivering, wearing nothing but my white briefs.

  “I wanna go h-h-h-home,” I sob.

  “You're gonna be fine, kiddo,” dad says, brushing my hair out of my face as I sob.

  “See? You're tough. You've got it in you. Your mom wants you to think you don't. But you are powerful.”

  His words don't sink in, but fall on top of me like raindrops. I feel them, I hear them, I understand their purpose, but they glide off of the surface. I just can't make sense of this all right now.

  “Alright, get up,” he says, pulling me to my feet. I stagger up, still lightheaded from almost drowning. I scan the ground for my clothes.

  “This way,” he points to the water. “Seven.”

  I look at him in disbelief. I didn't hear him right. There's no way.

  “Seven,” he repeats.

  He's leading me, through the forest, unresponsive to my pleading and questions. I trip and wince in pain every time I step on a small twig or rock, until finally, he swoops me off the ground and carries me. Cradles me. The only other time he carried me that way was when he chased me through this very forest the night he almost let me go.

  “Puh—puh—lease. Just tell me you aren't going to hurt me,” I plead through panicked breaths.

  He shushes me harshly.

  I cling to him, knowing any trip with him could be my last, and yet he's the one holding me protectively in his arms so that gripping him is instinctual.

  Finally we stop. When he lowers me, my feet rest on damp pebbly soil. I dig my toes into the cool mud searching for clues.

  He pulls off the blindfold. In front of me is a lake or a massive pond. The shallow bay is just inches from my feet gently beckoning me to dip my toes as it lilts forward and back. All around it's surrounded by forest. I haven't been outside during daylight hours in months. I haven't felt the sun directly on my skin since the day he took me.

  I turn to face him, unsure of how to receive this gesture. There has to be a catch, there always is.

  “Why are we here?” I ask, not expecting an answer as usual. But he pulls something out of his pocket. A small notepad and pen.

  For your mind.

  I chuckle half-heartedly at his response, but he's not laughing.

  I scan the open area as my heart rate slows back to normal. I feel so free right now, standing at the shoreline as the wind catches the skirt of my dress.

  “We're out in the open. Do other people come here?”

  He uses his fingers to make a large circle, then points to himself.

  “This is all yours?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Wow.”

  He shrugs, unimpressed by his station. But it stokes my curiosity. This young man with scars along his face and body, who likes the Bee Gees, who owns a huge property, who invades homes and does horrible things to his victims—it doesn't add up. And yet, I can't ask, at least not yet. I'd rather let him drop these little breadcrumbs for now.

  I look back at the water and suck in the fresh air, closing my eyes, so I can relish the sun on my skin.

  He picks up a stone and skips it on the water, the sound of it breaking me out of my meditation. He looks so…human.

 
; He catches me watching him. I look away, as if there's anything to hide from him. He waves his hand in the air to regain my attention.

  “Hmmm?” I ask.

  He points to me and the water.

  “You want me to go in?” I chuckle.

  He shrugs. If you want.

  I want to. So badly. To submerge my body in the brisk water. For my throbbing breasts to feel weightless.

  “Are you going in?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “Well, I don't want to go in alone!” I protest.

  He waves me off. Go. Go. Go.

  I bite my lips together skeptically. “Ah, what the hell. It's so hot out here.”

  I walk towards the water, but when the hem of my dress gets wet, I stop.

  “I don't want to wet the dress,” I lament.

  He gives me a smart ass look and makes a sweeping motion upwards at his own torso. Well, then take it off!

  It's different out here. Under the sun, in the full light of day. That's all psychology though. He's seen parts of me I didn't even know existed. Bits of me tucked into boxes inside of boxes stacked in shelves buried deep inside of my soul. My bare skin is just another shroud. So, I take a calming breath and pull it off. I tread into the cool water, up to my hips, meekly cupping my breasts. I take one more look back at him, my teeth chattering, hoping I can get a smile out of him. I must endear him to me. The more moments I create between us, the less he can see me as his prisoner.

  But he's not smiling. No, he's watching me, adjusting the waist of his jeans. He's already thinking of the things he'll do to me. His sexual appetite is insatiable, aggressive, ever present.

  I dive the rest of the way in, deciding to swim underneath for as long as I can. In those moments, submerged in the lake, moments that seem to slow in the resistance of these dark waters, I am free. So I stay under as long as I can, conserving my breath through each stroke. When I surface, I gasp as the water cascades down from my hair over my face. I'm farther into the lake than I thought I'd be. I look over at him, picking up another stone, and over to the opposite side of the lake. I could make it over there. I'd have to climb some rocks, but I would have a massive head start.