by J. A. Huss
“You have to understand who you are and then decide what you want.”
I look over at Case, oblivious to what I am.
The man on the screen says, “There, all ready to go,” and then walks away from the trap he set.
“We’re on a tight timeline here. You need to do your job and I need to do mine. I won’t always be here to help you.”
“Help me,” I whisper as my whole body begins to tremble.
“What?” Case sits up, his feet hitting the floor. I look back up at the screen and now there’s a rabbit hopping down a bunny trail. “Sydney?”
Garrett has the rabbit in the live trap. Not a snare. He likes them alive. He told me before we came out here in the woods. He likes them alive for training purposes. I’m gonna learn how to skin a rabbit today. He walks out towards the wire cage and picks it up by the handle. Like he’s carrying luggage at the airport and not bringing some small animal to its death.
Case shakes me by the shoulders. “Syd,” he says, his face right down into mine. “What’s happening?”
“Have you ever heard a rabbit scream, Sydney?”
I look up at the rabbit on the screen again. It’s getting closer and closer to the snare. A little hop this way or that way, and it might go around it. But its nose is pointed in the direction of the bait.
“Have you ever heard a rabbit scream, Sydney?” Garrett laughs as he sets the cage down on the wooden table he has set up for butchering in the back of the cabin. “You’re about to.” He hands me a knife.
The bunny has no chance once it moves into the snare. The loop of wire slides along its thick, white fur. One more hop and he’s caught. The wire tightens…
“What am I supposed to do with that?” The knife is long. And sharp. “That’s not how you kill a rabbit.”
“You’re a fucking genius, I guess, huh?” The electrical shock stuns me silent as it jolts the skin on my neck. It’s so tender from all the training, I double over and push my head into the ground.
Garrett hands me the knife and I take it. I have no choice but to take it. And then he pulls me up by my hair until I’m standing.
“You have thirty seconds, Sydney. And then we’re gonna call this test a failure.”
The snare tightens around the rabbit’s neck on the screen.
I reach into the rabbit’s cage.
I scream, just like the rabbit on the TV.
I grab the rabbit by the fur, roughly, so it can’t slip away. I look up at Garrett, and he’s smiling, pleased that I’m finally doing as I’m told. And then I pull the rabbit out of the cage and fling it across the yard. It hits the snow with a thump, and then it’s off, those large feet acting like snowshoes as it makes its escape.
Be the rabbit, Sydney.
But I am not the rabbit. I am not getting away. My neck is burning with electrical shocks as Garrett pulls me back into the cabin by my feet.
“Answers come to those who seek them.”
– Sydney
I think this is it for me.
“What?” Case is next to me. I’m in bed with him. I can feel his bare chest up against my feverish back. His arms tighten around me as he repositions. I want to open my eyes and see if we’re in the crow’s nest room or some other room, but I can’t quite do that yet.
“Sydney?”
I hope we’re in the crow’s nest. And it’s daylight still, so maybe I only lost a few hours? I really like it up here. It feels good to be tall, looking down on things, instead of small, always looking up. It feels like a watchtower. A place where you can see the bad shit coming from a distance and prepare.
“Syd,” he says, a little softer now. “I didn’t want to drug you again, but you were hysterical. It was the only way I could calm you down. I won’t do it again, but I need you to help me out here. OK? Can you do that?”
Help him out. I bet. I tuck my head into the soft pillow and will myself not to cry. “Just be someone else, you say?” I croak out the words. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. How many times have I been drugged since he’s had me? “But all I’ve ever done is be someone else. I don’t even live in the real world anymore. I can’t imagine any more versions of myself, Case. I have tried so many times. I have lived in my head for days on end. I have refused to see the truth in hopes those memories would just fade away. I have been the good girl, the bad girl, the defiant girl, the sexy girl, the compliant girl. And it gets me nowhere.”
I turn my body so I can see his face when I open my eyes. We are in the crow’s nest, and that just makes me sad. Because no matter how nice this place is, he’s still the guy who left me to die. And I don’t know what he’s doing right now. Or why he’s being nice. Or why I’m even still alive.
But I know none of that is because he sees me. He doesn’t see me. He says I need to change into someone else. And that’s all they’ve ever told me. Change into someone else. Split me in half, that’s what they’ve done. But maybe it’s not just half. Maybe I’ve been quartered, like an elk when we hunt it down and kill it and then have to carry it back to camp in pieces.
“I am not the rabbit.”
He swipes a finger down my cheek and I realize he’s wiping away tears. I look up into his eyes. How many times have I wished I could be this close to those eyes? They are bright, like the room. Not brown, not green, not blue. Hazel. With specks of yellow in them that make them that amber color when he’s standing in just the right haze between dark and light.
I take a deep breath and let it out.
“I don’t know what that means, Sydney. The rabbit thing. It was a trigger for you? You saw the rabbit on the TV and it triggered something?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, wishing I could just curl up and die. But what’s the point of fighting him anymore? What is the point? Who do I want to protect here? I run the list of names in my head and only come up with one.
But it’s not fair. It’s so not fair that I will be fucked when this is all over. So I opt for answers before I give in. Maybe I can die peacefully if I at least get some answers. “Did you turn that show on to trigger me?”
“No,” he says. No hesitation. “I do not know Garrett’s triggers, Sydney. If I did, this would be a whole lot easier. I could help you. If I did. I could try to set this shit right. Do you know the triggers?”
“Bobcat.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Case lets me go, pulling his arms away, and stands up. “I don’t think that’s it. If bobcat or wildcat were triggers and releases, we’d be making progress. Climbing out of that dark hole. But we’re not climbing out. You’re still falling in, cowgirl.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble into the pillow. “How much farther can I possibly fall?”
He sits down on the edge of the half-moon bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and then his face in his hands. I guess he has no clue. And neither do I. “More drugs,” I say. “Just give me more. Give me so much I never wake up.”
He doesn’t even answer me. Just walks away. I listen to each step as it creaks on his way downstairs. And then I listen to noises that have no meaning to me. Finally, after about twenty minutes of this, the door slams.
He walked out.
Isn’t that what he does? He says he’ll save me, but then he walks out.
I close my eyes and go back to sleep. This room is too bright. I need the dark.
When I wake, it’s twilight, which isn’t quite as good as dark, but I can’t make myself go back to sleep. So I sit up and look outside. It’s snowing again. But there’s a trail from a snow machine still a little bit visible.
I kick the covers off and then make my way to the edge of the bed and swing my feet over. I’m not dizzy. Whatever he gave me, it was a small dose. Just enough to calm me down, like he said.
I am hungry and thirsty. So I make my way down to the second floor and stop off at the first bathroom I see, relieve myself, and then gulp water from the faucet.
I pull back, wiping my mouth, and look at myself
in the mirror. My hair is long and dark and it hangs down my front in tousled waves. It’s messy, but cute. That makes me smile for a second. That I can be here, looking at my hair at a time like this. My face is marred with scratches, a bruise that is one of the remnants of the many head punches Case delivered. And my eyes are tired, but bright.
I wouldn’t say I feel bright. But I do feel better than I have in days. Weeks, I guess. Since he took me weeks ago now.
I touch the bruise and wince. But the hatred I feel for Garrett each time he made one of these appear doesn’t manifest for Case like it should.
I should hate him. But I don’t.
I should want to plot revenge. But I don’t.
And it’s not some sick Stockholm syndrome thing, either. I tried to love Garrett. I tried out that Stockholm shit on him. Thought it might make it easier if the man who was beating me was sexy and liked to fuck me.
But it never worked with Garrett. So I think I’m immune to Stockholm syndrome.
Besides, I have loved Case for years in my head. Long before this. He was my savior. So fuck it. I’m allowed to love him now too. He has no idea what’s happening. He’s just doing his best to figure it out. And if I wanted to make him stop hurting me, I could just tell him.
But I’m not some magnanimous do-gooder. Like it or not, I’m just as ruthless as him. And I want what I want.
I want him to like me. I want him to say, I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I fucked up. I want him to want me the way I want him. I want him to love me. I want to be loved so badly.
I flick the light out and see a large bedroom through a pair of open double doors. I step forward into the room. I know he’s gone. And I’ll hear the snow machine if he comes back.
Oh, God. What if he doesn’t come back? What if I go downstairs and there’s a pile of clothes and a note telling me to get lost? He’s moved on and so should I?
Instead of dwelling on that, I start looking around the room. He’s got a connecting bathroom in here. All his shaving stuff is out on the counter. A cup to hold soap. I pick up the cup and smell it—sandalwood. And a nice brush to lather up his face. I swipe my fingers along the soft bristles and picture what it would be like to watch him do that.
Nope. No Stockholm syndrome for me.
I flip the lights off and go back to the bedroom, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. There are nightstands on either side made out of a highly polished wood that is so dark it almost looks black. His house is not decorated like you might expect a huge luxury log cabin to be. Most of the elements are contemporary and new.
I open the drawer in the nightstand and find guns.
Of course you do, Syd. He’s an assassin. I pick each one up and handle it, checking the weight, the chambers—they are all loaded—and then put them back and close the drawer.
I never want to use a gun again. Ever.
The second nightstand on the other side of the bed has a closed black case and a first aid kit with a selection of drugs. None of them are the cocktail he’s giving me, because they are all antibiotics, heart-rate things, antagonists, and epinephrine. A crash kit. To save a life.
Nice to know the man whom I am lusting over, not for Stockholm-related reasons, is prepared to save me from too much anesthetic, should I ever require it.
I pick up the black case, spy a lock, and therefore expect it to be locked when I trigger the mechanism.
But it isn’t. He must not get many visitors up here.
That makes me let out an involuntary cackle. I think I might be losing my mind for real. Like, irretrievably for real.
The two guns inside are… magnificent. Black matte FN Five-SeveNs with custom grips and an aftermarket laser. There’s writing on the grips, so I pick one up and turn it sideways to read it.
The only gun you’ll ever need. Happy birthday, Merc. ~ XXOO - Smurf
I have no idea who Smurf is, so I just put it back inside the case and look at the three cartridges, which are also lined up, like this was made for a display. They have writing on them too, so I take one out to get a better look. With love, Sasha, it says three times over.
I guess she is the Smurf. Figures. That kid has had his heart since the night he left me out at that cabin. It makes me so furious to think that she got a cute nickname and her fairytale ending and I got…
I don’t want to think about what I got. It brings up bad things. Things better left buried.
I put the cartridge back and close the case and then the drawer. I don’t want to shoot Case. So I’m not even remotely interested in nabbing one of his guns.
The sound of a snow machine draws me out of my introspection, and I get up and make my way downstairs so I can meet him at the door.
God, I’m so pathetic.
“Eventually… you have to trust someone.”
– Sydney
I settle for the couch instead of greeting him at the door so I don’t look like I’ve been waiting for him. Or like I’m happy he came back.
The couch faces the living room window, so I peek over the back of it. He comes through the door, stomping his snow-covered boots on the mat, and then hangs his hat and takes off his gloves.
He sees me just as he unzips his jacket. “You’re awake. I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep. I didn’t give you much, I swear.” I can see his muscles through his long-sleeved thermal shirt as he hangs up his coat and kicks off his boots. “I had to go out and do some things,” he explains. Like I’m his wife, wanting to know where he’s been.
I do want to know, but not because I think he’s out hooking up with some chick. We are in the middle of nowhere. And Merric Case doesn’t strike me as a guy who fucks around a lot. Either on the side, or otherwise.
He walks into the living room in his socks. There’s sweat on his brow from the warm clothes and the heat of the wood stoves. “I just didn’t know what to do. Sorry.” He looks down as he walks to the kitchen and starts pulling out some food.
I want to say something, anything to break the silence, or change his mood, because he seems worried. And I don’t want that worry to be because of me. I’d like him to save me, yes. But I don’t want him to pity me. I’d rather die.
But I’m not a social girl, having grown up in the wilderness. Cheyenne doesn’t really count as a city, even if I told him it did a few hours ago. It’s a small place filled with small-place people. So I don’t know how to start this. I tuck my feet underneath me and stare at them instead of trying.
“You feel better?” he asks, unwrapping some meat from white butcher paper and throwing it in a pan. “Hungry?” He throws in some potatoes and then drops in baby carrots too. He puts it all into the oven and closes the door. I guess we are having a roast. He opens the fridge back up and pulls out two beers, pops the tops off with a bottle opener, and walks out into the living room.
I take the one he offers me and he plops down on the couch. Close. Very close. Like we’re together and we always have beers on the couch in the evening. Not like he kidnapped me a few weeks ago and washed me down with a fire hose. That should piss me off, because it fucking hurt. But it doesn’t. I’m not mad about any of it and I wonder if there are more drugs in me. Calming drugs. Anti-anxiety drugs. Things to keep me on an even keel.
I hold the beer up and he looks at me. “Should I be drinking this? Will it interact with the drugs?”
He takes a swig of his own bottle, but for a second there, I think I see a wince of shame. “I think you’re OK, Syd. I gave them to you this morning. I think they’re out of your system by now.”
He seems genuine, so no. Drugs are not the reason why I don’t give a shit about all the stuff he did. And since we’re clear that this is not Stockholm shit, I have no other ideas about why this might be.
“You wanna tell me about the rabbit?”
I close my eyes tightly, to keep the images from popping into my head. That noise, though. That scream the rabbit gave when I picked it up. It’s burned into my memory.
; Case puts a hand on my leg and gives it a squeeze. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I think I get it.”
I give my head a small shake. “No, I think you have the wrong idea about pretty much everything, Case. Be the rabbit.” I look up and he’s listening, but confused. “Be the rabbit is what I used to tell myself when things got bad. It gave me hope and calmed me down. I was supposed to kill a rabbit that Garrett caught. And I know how to kill a rabbit in a live trap, OK?” I search Case’s eyes. “I know how to do it right. But what Garrett wanted me to do was cruel. So I let it go.”
“It got away?” Case asks hopefully.
One more small shake from me. “No, the dogs got it. They ripped it to pieces.”
Have you ever heard a rabbit scream?
“I have seen many things in the woods. Nature.” I look up at Case. “You know? The rules of nature play out every moment of every day, and we hardly give it a thought. But I lived with that for a very long time.” I look down at my beer and realize I haven’t taken a drink yet, so I raise it to my lips and have a good long gulp. It goes down cool and soothing, so I take another. “Garrett treated the dogs better than me. At least they never got shocked with a collar.”
When I look back up to Case, he’s frowning. “Look,” he says, almost a whisper. “I am sorry I didn’t take you that night—”
“Stop,” I say. “Just don’t, OK? I saved myself, so forget about it. When things got bad, I just imagined I was living a different life. It got me through.” I gaze out the window, into the darkness hiding the beautiful view beyond. “It got me through. I’m still here.”
I can feel him nod, but I don’t see it. Because I can’t look him in the eye.
He guzzles his beer, gets up and walks into the kitchen, and then tosses it into the garbage with a clink that tells me he’s been drinking a lot while I’ve been drugged. The top comes off another and then he walks over to the stairs. “I’m gonna get a shower before dinner. Make yourself at home.”
