by JA Huss
I let it go. I have no clue. Maybe I’m in a slaughterhouse and they hose the room down? So I just crawl. Nothing to bump into until I get to a wall. The dripping is to my left now, and I let the wall guide me until I reach out and feel the unmistakable cold of a porcelain sink.
I use the lip of the sink to stand myself up and feel around for the source of water. There are no knobs, just a single spigot with a steady drip.
When you have nothing, you take what you can get. So I lean my head into the basin and open my mouth. It takes whole minutes to let enough water pool inside my mouth to swallow it. But it’s the best feeling in the world when my constricted throat opens up. I repeat this again and again, and then my legs are shaking from standing so long. I slump to the floor and take it in.
Concrete. Not the smooth concrete you find in a home. Rough, unfinished concrete like a sidewalk. Or a slaughterhouse. And very cold.
The wind whips outside. I listen for any other sounds but all that comes is a chorus of howling in the distance. Not the high-pitched yipping of coyotes, but the low, deep, mournful howl of wolves.
I swallow down the fear. But there’s no denying it. I’m somewhere no one will find me.
The wall is behind me. Every room has four walls. So I get on my hands and knees and begin to crawl along it. My fingertips find a few dried leaves as I make my way forward. Webs too. And when I stop crawling for a moment, I hear a scuttling sound. Bugs, probably. I crawl a few more paces and then scare the shit out of myself when my hand hits a metal dish and it clangs loudly, breaking the silence. I sit back on my butt and close my eyes, my heart once again beating fast.
And then I bend over and reach around until I find the dish. There is nothing in there, but when I bring it to my face I can smell it.
You don’t grow up in Wyoming and never smell the stench of house mice. There are far more house mice in my home state than there are homes. I toss the dish aside. If there was food in there, it’s gone now. Eaten by the rodents.
The dish, the water dripping, and the discovery that I am untethered is my signal to call out in the dark. Who’s there? That’s a good one. What do you want? is another.
But I’m not the kind of girl who cries out pointless questions.
A shuffling noise off to my left stops me dead.
Someone is in here with me.
Whoever it is made that noise on purpose, trying to make me react. But I’m not the kind of girl who reacts, either.
Instead I stand up and press my body against the wall. My heart rate jacks up again—anything seems to trigger it right now—and I have to hold my breath to make the room go silent so I can listen.
“I know you’re there.” It’s my only option. Whoever it is is waiting for me to react. But it’s a statement, not a question, so that puts me on the offensive.
I wait in the stillness, my arms at my side, my eyes closed so I can concentrate on listening.
But I stand there so long I grow tired, and after some indeterminate amount of time, I slump to the floor. My head becomes heavy and I realize my mistake too late. The water was drugged.
I fall asleep wondering why they’d bother letting me wake up if they were only going to put me back to sleep again.
Garrett and I are in the woods now. Not on the river. It’s fall, which is winter up here in Montana, because summer is absolutely over by late August. I look over at him in his green camo camp gear, then look down at myself. We match and that makes me happy for some reason.
He flashes me hand signals and I nod, moving off to the left of him. There’s a moose up ahead. We’ve been tracking it for most of the day. If we can get a moose, we’re set for the winter.
Those are Garrett’s words in my head, but they are mine now too. Because we need food.
I move off, as silent as I can, as Garrett does the same in the opposite direction. The moose is directly in front of us, hidden by a thick group of pines.
A twig snaps, and for a second I panic. But it’s not me. It was Garrett and the moose is on the move.
Don’t let it get away, Syd. Garrett’s voice in my head again. You know what will happen if you do.
We’ll starve out here. We are sixty miles from the nearest ranch. We have a snow machine but no gas. We have firewood, but no food. We have water. That’s about it.
The fear any normal person would have when they see a two-thousand-pound bull moose coming at them falls away and I take aim. Right for its heart.
I squeeze the trigger and the round blasts out, the kick powerful enough to make me step back before I can steady myself.
The beast roars in front of me and then stumbles and falls to its knees.
Garrett is there, gripping my arm.
“Nice going,” he says. “You almost fucked it all up by stepping on that branch.”
I look up at him, but he’s smiling. I smile back.
Chapter Five - Sydney
“Pain is in the mind. Just think of a good moment and go there—an alternate reality is not the worst way to go.” – Sydney
This time when I wake, I’m tethered to the table thing again. My mouth is dry, my stomach is rumbling, and I need to go to the bathroom.
I close my eyes to go back into my memory of that day’s hunt. I didn’t even get to the good part. After we quartered the animal and carried it home, we stuffed our faces with meat for the first time in weeks.
But a sound wakes me back up. I can hear something. And I can smell something too.
Food. Meat.
Whoever this is must be a mind-reader.
No, Syd. They know how long it’s been since you ate, that’s all.
“Garrett?” The word comes out before I can stop it.
“Try again,” the deep voice says from behind my head.
I gasp in surprise.
“Not Garrett.” His boots thud on the floor as he steps out from behind me. It’s still dark, and I can’t see anything. But his hand brushes against my shoulder, and then he squeezes. I cry out in pain before I can stop myself. “You smell like piss.”
I don’t say anything as he lets go of my wounded shoulder and walks along the table. His fingertips stroke along my ribs and I realize my hoodie is gone. I’m still wearing the nightie Brett’s sisters gave me. And as soon as that realization hits me, my nipples perk up. His light touch pauses for a moment, like he knows. And then he rounds his palm and places it over my stomach. “Hungry?”
I close my eyes and hiss in a breath.
He moves on. His whole hand this time. He drags it down my hip and I can feel the heat of him even through my jeans. He pauses there, lingering on the bone that protrudes out, then slips his hand in my front pocket and pulls something out.
“Hmmm,” is all he says. He lifts the nightie up so my stomach is exposed and it’s only then that I realize how cold it is in here. When he places it gently over my belly button my whole body erupts in a shiver.
A whimper escapes.
“Why do you have an acorn in your pocket?”
His tone is hard. Like this is important. I can’t think of a single reason why this might be important, so I tell him. “It makes me feel better. I always carry it.”
“Everywhere?”
I nod.
“Hmmm,” he whispers.
I swallow hard and keep my eyes closed as his palm again rests on my hip bone.
“I asked you a question that you didn’t answer.”
My mind races. What did he ask me? I can’t remember.
“Are you hungry?”
I nod and he stays silent. But his hand is on the move again. He drags it down to the top of my thigh and stops one more time. His fingers spread and then his large palm stretches out. He will rape me. I know this as soon as I feel the tingle of his touch get too close to the v of my open legs.
“Get used to that feeling, Sydney. You’re gonna stay hungry for a while.”
I hold my breath to prevent the fuck you I really want to scream at him.
> He leaves his hand on my leg for what seems like minutes. Like he’s waiting for me to cry out or beg him to stop. But I stay silent.
“Are you cold?”
I nod again, even though I know he’s gonna say I should get used to that too. I don’t know if he sees that movement, or feels it, or what. But he does not repeat himself. Instead he moves on. His fingertips trace down the inside of my thighs, a light touch that might be provocative and hot if I was not strapped to a wooden table being threatened with rape. He stops once more when he gets to my knee.
“Why are you wearing a nightie under your clothes?”
That is not a safe question, so I don’t answer.
This time his hand slides back up to cup my pussy.
I moan, but not out of desire. I moan because he’s threatening me without using words. Letting me know he is respecting my boundaries. But he doesn’t have to. “It was the night before my wedding. My sisters-in-law gave it to me to wear.”
“Was?” he asks in a curious tone. “Was the night before your wedding? How long do you think you’ve been here?” I shake my head but he doesn’t accept my passive response this time. He unbuttons my jeans.
“I don’t know,” I answer quickly. “A few days ago? I was drugged.”
“Hmmm,” he says again, pulling down my zipper.
“Please,” I whisper, my heart beating so fast.
He pulls the fly of my jeans apart and slips his hand inside. “Please what? Please continue?” I shake my head quickly. “Please make it feel good? Please don’t stop? You’re gonna have to give me more than please, cowgirl.”
“Why are you doing this!” I scream it. There, he did it. He broke me. I give in. I can’t take it anymore. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I’m—
“Who am I?”
“Case,” I say immediately.
“How do you know that?” I can hear a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
“I don’t.” My voice trembles. “I just guessed. You sound like him.”
He lets out a little grunt. “Do you remember how you begged me that night, Sydney? Because I do. Did you think I’d save you, cowgirl? Did you think I was your hero in the dark? Did you think I’d take you home to your daddy?”
I did think all those things. I was desperate for them. “I’m so glad you left me. Leaving me was the best thing that ever happened.”
His hand slips inside the waist of my jeans. “Was it?” He tugs them down until they are at the top of my thighs and won’t go any further due to the fact that my legs are tied in an open position. He feels my pussy through the thin lacy panties. I instinctively clench my legs together and try to limit the space he has available down there.
He backs away, withdrawing his hand. But then I hear something being unsnapped, probably from his belt. There are a few more noises that I can’t place, and then he’s slipping his hand around my right ankle. His touch is soft. Softer than I expected. I stifle a whimper by biting my lip.
“You’re gonna want to hold still now, Sydney. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to cut you, but you have enough blood on you for now. So let’s try to get through this without adding much more.”
“What?”
A cold shiver erupts up my leg when the metal touches my skin. I hiss in a breath to stop from screaming, but I hold still. He cuts the denim starting at the inside of my ankle and slices it all the way up to my knee.
“Be very still now,” he says as he repositions the knife on my inner thigh. “You’ll bleed like a motherfucker if I cut you up here.”
I can feel it this time. Either he’s not careful or he’s doing it on purpose, but he cuts me over and over again. Poke after poke. I hiss out in surprise each time. He apologizes but doesn’t stop. By the time he’s to my crotch, I can’t hold it together.
I sob. My whole body shakes. The acorn he placed on my belly button rolls off me and thuds onto the wooden table.
He places a hand on my hip for a moment, and I force myself to imagine it’s a gesture of reassurance. This calms me and I take a deep breath. His hand moves away again, grasping at the open fly, holding it taut so he can cut.
The fabric breaks and the tension eases.
“Pretty good. Those pokes were on purpose. If you’d moved, there’d be slices.”
I say nothing.
“Let’s do the other one.”
He pokes me again. More than he did with the first leg. But this time I stay still. I let him do whatever he needs to. I can smell myself now. Blood, and piss, and sweat, and fear. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but the stench coming off me says it’s more like days than hours.
“And now the pretty panties.” He cuts those easily, one snip over each hip. “And the nightie.” One cut on each shoulder strap and then he sets the knife down, grabs my breasts for a moment, giving them a hard squeeze, before ripping the front of the nightie straight down the middle.
I am naked. I am bare. And never in my life have I ever been so happy to be in the dark. I sob, as silently as I can, as he walks around.
The room goes silent and I admonish myself for not paying attention. Did he leave? Is he still here? Why didn’t I pay attention?
The silence drags on as I lie there. Then a roar fills the room and I recognize it as the sound of water running through pipes.
A moment later I hear his boots. He was gone. That makes me feel better. He’s creepy enough. I don’t want to start imagining him as some psycho who stands in the dark pretending to not be here.
“I’m gonna clean you up, Sydney. You reek pretty bad.”
I don’t know why, but an image of a warm sponge bath presents in my mind.
That’s when he blasts me with the hose. A punishing stream of ice water that hits my body like a thousand stones. I scream, I can’t help it. It hurts. I turn my body away, so that the left side of me takes the most punishment, but he doesn’t linger in one spot for too long. He blasts me everywhere. Even between my legs.
That’s it. I sob uncontrollably. It hurts so much. My whole body is on fire from the raging water hose.
But then, as quickly as it started, it turns off. I can hear the water in the pipes still, so I know it’s only temporary.
“I’m going to wash you now.” And even though it was my first image when he said that earlier, I’m more surprised at the hot rag dragging down my skin at this point than I was the fire hose.
He is gentle. He dips the washcloth into a tub of water, squeezes it out, and then caresses my whole body with it. He washes me everywhere. But there is no hint of sexual meaning behind this gesture. He never says a word and neither do I. He just swipes away the filth of me and replaces it with something new. Something fresh.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, hoping he will untie me and give me some clothes.
“I have to rinse you off now. Feel free to relieve yourself as I do it.”
“How?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Please, not that hose!” I choke on a sob as the word comes out.
The ice water is my only response. It pelts me, erasing any soothing sensation from the washing. I close my eyes tight and let him do it this time. The piss leaks out of me from the fear and the need. I don’t even try to move my body away. What’s the point? I’m spreadeagled on top of a wooden table. I’m going nowhere. He’s made that very clear.
I lose time from the punishment, but eventually it does stop. I am not even crying now. I’m freezing. I’m in pain. I’m scared. I’m hungry. And I have no fight left. A chill runs up my body and I take deep breaths to keep the cold from taking over.
His footsteps appear again. Only this time they are not boots. Bare feet.
He comes up next to the table and stands quietly.
My whole body begins to shake uncontrollably again. My teeth chatter and all my muscles tense up as the fear takes over.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
I can’t even make myself relax enough to answer, but I grunt out a response to keep
him happy.
And then his hand is on my stomach. It’s so warm, like he just pulled it back from a fire. Nothing—and I do mean nothing—has ever felt so good to me.
“Is that better?” he asks.
I nod and open my eyes. It’s still black in this room. But I don’t want him to pull his hand away. It’s the only place on my whole body that feels good right now. And then he lays his chest over mine. His whole body feels like it was warmed from a fire. I crave the heat. I need it so bad.
“Do you want me to stay here with you? Wrap you in my arms and warm you up?”
“Yes,” comes out immediately. There is no hesitation.
He climbs onto the table and presses his body next to me for a moment. Then he sits up and leans forward. The tension holding my left leg open wide disappears. The same thing happens on the right side.
I close my legs and bring them up to my chest, trying to get warm. But he gently repositions them. He slides his body up next to mine and we scissor our legs together. He’s bare-chested, but he still has his jeans on. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me in tight against his body.
Everything else disappears. The thirst. The humiliation. The smell. The hunger. The cutting. The bath. The cold. It all goes away in a single moment. The moment when Merric Case leans in my ear and whispers in a deep throaty growl, “I own you. I think you forgot that, Sydney. But I’m patient. I will remind you. Over and over. Until you come to terms with what that means and I can finish what I started eight years ago.”
Chapter Six - Merc
“Do I believe in right and wrong? Sure. As long as we understand I’m always right.” – Case
She lies completely still as the words sink in. Silent. I reach up and pinch her nipple, making her squeal. “I never talk for the sake of hearing myself, Sydney. When I talk, even if there is no question, you will respond to me. You can choose the way in which you respond. I’ll correct you if it’s wrong. But you will always respond.”
