by D W Marshall
“We will get through this together, baby,” she promises. I am so overcome, I can only nod. There are no words.
Mom calls the police and she agrees with me that I can tell them whatever I feel they need to know to keep us safe. I don’t mention the money to them, fearing it will raise too many questions that I cannot answer.
I’m beyond exhausted; fortunately I manage to get by only sharing the bare minimum with the officers—the location from where I was snatched, the fact that everyone in the place I was kept used a fake name, that I only saw the outside for the first time today. I told them that I traveled a great distance by plane, but have no idea where I was being kept for the entire year. My mother sobbed quietly while I spoke to the officers, who could only tell me how lucky I am to be alive. I see a look on my mother’s face that worries me. It’s a combination of fear, pity, and sadness. She tries to mask it, but I catch a glimpse before she can turn away.
One of the officers gave us his card in case I remember more. If only they knew just how much I remember. They also gave my mother some information on places I can go if I need emotional help. And just like that, they were gone. I hope I don’t receive any more visits from the police. I am willing to bury any memories of the last year. If I am lucky, my name and case will get filed away under unsolved crimes.
My room looks just like it did before I moved into the dorm two years ago. I feel like I’m back in my last year of high school. My walls are plastered with the heartthrobs of that time and my many photo collages from high school. I was really into pastels my senior year. My room looks like an Easter basket exploded all over the walls and floors.
All of my belongings from AMDA, the American Musical and Dramatic Academy, are back in place in my room. Damn, I had a sweet spot in the bungalows, too. I’ll bet my friends and teachers all think I’m dead. Whatever. I’m too tired to think about my life. I hope my mom calls Logan for me, if he is even still in Los Angeles. It was bad enough just popping up on her doorstep after all this time. I can’t do that to him. That thought frightens me. At least if she calls him first and gives him time to process the fact that I’m home, he won’t have to stare at me like a ghost come back to life when he sees me. As much as I can’t wait to see Logan, I fear the look in his eyes.
What if he has moved on? He could have a whole new life, complete with a girlfriend, by now. What if he has a girlfriend? I can’t be upset with him if he does. It’s been a year. Snap out of it, Brinley. If he moved on there is nothing you can do.
Today I will sleep and recharge. Tomorrow…life.
When I stare down at my bed, my stomach becomes queasy. The light purple comforter thrusts me back to The Chamber and my life as Violet. I run into my bathroom and deposit what little I have in my stomach into the toilet. Closing the lid, I sit on top of it and run cool water into the sink. I don’t fight the tears that stream down my face. I have grown accustomed to crying this past year. You will be okay, Brinley. It is just a color. It doesn’t define you. It never did. You are a survivor. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. I grab a towel, dampen it, and wipe my face. I gather myself, walk back to my room, and remove the comforter. I drop it in a heap in the hall outside of my room and shut the door on any memory it might force me to recall of Violet.
I pull a quilt from my closet, wrap up in it, and lie on my bed. Right away, I feel the pull of sleep. My body is spent from a very emotional reunion. I am almost out when my mother knocks on the door.
“Honey. Sorry to disturb you, but I saved these for you. I knew you would come home to me.”
I glance up and see that she has a stack of journals.
“I planned to give them to you for your birthday last year. I know how much it helped you to write in them when Dad died. I just thought maybe…”
I sit up in my bed and take the journals from her hands. She plants a kiss on my forehead. After everything, being home still doesn’t feel real. I think I’m numb. I stack the journals on my bedside table. “Thanks, Mom. I think I can use them.” She’s right, and she knows me well. When my father died a year after he was stricken with cancer, my journals were the only thing that kept me sane. I let it all out on paper—the anger, the fear, the pain. I did the same in The Chamber.
“Would you rather talk to a professional?” she asks.
“How about I try these first, Mom?”
“Okay, baby. What do you want me to do with the comforter? Was it dirty?”
“Throw it away. I don’t like purple anymore.”
“Will do. Let me know if you need anything.” She heads for my door. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
I think I’m asleep before she closes the door.
2
The Chamber
One by one, we are named—branded like cattle. We’re all given names of colors or objects that represent a color. Raven, Sunshine, Flame... The Monster has literally stripped us down to nothing, destroying our souls and essence.
My heart is beating in my throat as he makes his way down the line toward me. There is no escape. I can only stand here and suffer my fate. I watch in horror as five antique bookcases slide open along the circular wall, revealing hidden staircases. Five girls slip into the darkness and the bookcases close behind them.
Then there are two—me and the dark-haired girl standing to my right. I can feel her fear because I share it. Mason, The Monster, wants to have fun with us. He flashes us his serpent-sized erection, and I almost pass out. He calls us his “two virgins.”
Mason named the other girl Flame. She and I are led to another area. With every step we take, I’m closer to having a full-blown panic attack. She must be just as scared. The only thing keeping me from collapsing is the picture of my mom that Mason showed me and what he told me would happen to her if I don’t cooperate with him. He has me, and he knows it. I would never sacrifice my mother for a very slim chance to escape.
We follow a blonde named Ivory down a series of corridors and tunnels. Her white stilettos clack loudly against the stone floor. I look around at my surroundings and see that we are in a castle-like structure with high ceilings and stone walls and floors. With each echoing step, my head aches more and more. We turn the corner, and come to a door with a sign that says: DEFLOWERING CHAMBER.
Shit. Ivory ushers Flame and I through the door. There are naked guards on either side of the entrance. Their erections are at attention, for us, I assume. It doesn’t seem like we will have a choice about what happens next. I want to die. I don’t want to do this. I don’t deserve what is about to happen. Neither of us do. Tears fall heavily down my face. I have never been a fighter.
The room is stark white. The only color accent comes from the blood-red and lavender pillowcases on top of two of the three beds.
Tyson and Gabe, two guards who have also flashed us their enormous erections, come into the room. Tyson leads Flame to one bed, and Gabe takes me. I don’t fight or try to run. I should, but where would I go? I do as I am told. Before I have a chance to prepare, Gabe removes my clothes and lays me down on the bed with the lavender pillows. His tongue begins to sweep over my sex. He takes his hands and pushes my legs as far apart as they will go. I squeeze my eyes closed as tight as I can. If I hold my breath maybe I can make myself pass out, or better yet just stop breathing entirely. Relentlessly, he sucks and licks until I feel something come over me. Heat floods between my legs as his tongue pushes forcefully inside of me.
I lose my train of thought and focus only on the feeling down there. An unwelcome moan escapes my lips naturally. I am a woman with hormones, and with every lick and suck, my body betrays me. When his lips latch on to my clitoris, I come undone. The intensity of his relentless sucking is unnerving. I scream out and my body explodes with violent, uncontrollable shaking. Gabe doesn’t stop. He is unyielding with his punishment. He drives his fingers inside of me. I try to scoot my body back away from him, but my efforts are pointless. I feel my innocence tear away from me as he
continues to thrust his fingers inside me and devour me with his tongue until I come apart again.
He stops. “You are fucking amazing. I will take extra special care of you this year,” he says before walking away.
“My, my, Violet. Your personal guard sure did warm you up for me.” I open my eyes and see Mason, The Monster. His dark hair, nearly black eyes, and fair skin symbolize pure evil to me. He looks to be in his thirties, and for the briefest second, I wonder what makes a man decide to kidnap women and run a place like this. It doesn’t matter what his motivation is. I hate everything about him. To me, he will always be a monster.
He is completely naked and I see that the large snake between his legs is prepared to strike. I dare a peek at the other bed and see that Flame is busy with her guard. Mason doesn’t give me another second to react or prepare. He flips me over onto my stomach and pulls me up onto my knees, causing my back to arch with his exaggerated pull. My breath escapes me when he slams the entire length of his erection into me. He isn’t patient, he isn’t kind—he is a wild animal, a real monster. He pounds into me relentlessly—impaling and filling me inside over and over. I am distracted suddenly by the sound of screaming. It is loud and horrific. I seek out Flame, but she is not screaming. She looks like she’s enjoying herself. Where are the screams coming from? Someone is utterly terrified for her life and needs help…
“Brinley. Brinley! Wake up.” Someone calls me from a distance.
I feel arms around me. I thrash, trying to break free of the binding arms so I can help the screaming girl.
“Brinley, it’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.”
I open my eyes to Logan, and realize the screams are mine. I’ve had my first nightmare.
“Oh my god, Logan!” I cry out and fold into his arms. I break down into heavy sobs. His hold is strong and protective. “I was back there all over again.”
“You’re safe, babe. I promise.”
He rubs my back and it is immediately soothing. It’s the first touch from a man I’ve welcomed in a year. I’m so relieved it was a nightmare and I’m waking up to Logan’s strong embrace. It felt so real.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
“Your mom called me after you went to sleep. I couldn’t wait for you to wake up, so I have been here for a few hours.”
“Doing what?”
“Watching you sleep.”
I gaze up at him and see that his blue eyes are red-rimmed.
“I thought I lost you forever. I died a little every day that you were gone.” He squeezes me.
I hope he’s right. I really hope that I am back. I don’t know how much of me I left behind.
“Are you thirsty? I can get you water or juice,” he offers.
I panic. “No. Don’t leave me. Please.” I feel the remnants from my dream tugging at me. My entire core is shaking.
“Never.” He kisses the top of my head.
I fall onto my side and Logan follows suit, holding me. “Where’s my mom?”
“She went to the store to get food for you.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
He kisses me on my cheek. “Well it’ll be here when you get hungry.”
I’m afraid to fall asleep again. I don’t want to go back there. Can a person die from sleeplessness? I am willing to try. I never want to sleep again.
3
I wake with a start. I fell asleep again without knowing it. No nightmare. No dreams at all. It was a glorious, dreamless sleep. Logan’s body is entwined with mine. I have no idea what time it is, and I don’t care. I’m home. My mother is safe, and Logan is by my side. Though, once he finds out what I went through over the last year, I wonder how many sleeps I can expect him to hold me through.
With my free arm, I shift myself and roll over so I’m facing him. Logan Wright. I used to joke that we’d see one day if he was, in fact, Mr. Right.
We were going on our second year of dating when I was taken. Logan and I met at USC. He was a film student and needed a blonde actress who didn’t require payment for a short he was filming. Through mutual friends, the news traveled over to me at my performing arts college, and I jumped at the opportunity. He takes filmmaking very seriously. He was all business when we met, but I was immediately attracted to him. When I first saw him, I thought he was another actor with his clear blue eyes, dark brown hair, and tall, athletic build.
Having so much in common, we easily fell into dating. He isn’t from L.A. like me. He’s from Denver. But he was born to live by the ocean. Our courtship wouldn’t be called a fairy tale, but I always loved that there was no competition between us. We both only wanted the best for each other. Before I was taken we had even begun discussing a future together. He was getting ready to graduate from USC, and I only had one year left. He was already accepted into NYU’s prestigious graduate screenwriting program, and I planned on moving to New York as well—so we naturally began speaking about the idea of marriage. We both decided that we would wait to become more serious after college.
Most guys would run for the hills from a girl who believes in abstinence, but not Logan. He always felt the same way about it as me. “Too much instant gratification in the world and not enough sacrifice,” he would say, especially when we would get cornered by some of our less understanding college friends who thought we were insane prudes. So the odds of meeting a guy who was into film and the arts and wanted to wait until he got married to have sex…I thought we were perfect for each other. It felt like fate to have found my Mr. Right.
With one hand, I brush his brown hair from his face. It’s longer than I remember. He is sleeping so peacefully, like an angel. I wish we could stay just like this. In this moment, he most likely still loves me. Right now, he is happy about my unexpected return. Once he wakes up, he will learn I’m not the pure love of his life that I was before I was taken. I love him so much, but I fear that my love won’t be enough. He is beautiful with his fair skin and soft, full lips. I wonder briefly if our kids would be brunettes like him, or blonde like me. I’m sure now I will never know.
Logan’s eyes open and a sweet smile crosses his face. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile back at him. I can pretend for now that everything between us is okay and that the last year did not happen.
He stretches. “You okay? Any more bad dreams?”
“Nope. Not with you around.” I give him a smile that is equal parts gratitude and relief.
“Good.” He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Are you hungry yet?” He jumps out of my bed.
It’s in this moment that I already know something is wrong. He hasn’t questioned me about where I’ve been. He already knows. My mother let the cat out of the bag. “Logan. Can I ask you a question?” I come up onto my knees.
“Anything.” He sits on the edge of the bed.
“Did my mother tell you what happened to me and where I’ve been this whole time?” I almost don’t want to know the answer, but I have to know how to proceed with him. I’m tense and nervous bubbles fill my stomach as I await his answer.
He clears his throat. “She told me everything you told her. What you told the police.”
“And?” I let the word drag out.
His brows furrow with confusion. “And what, Brinley?”
“You’re still here?” I ask, my brows matching his.
He leans forward, takes my hand, and pulls me closer to him. “Listen…”
I can’t bring myself to look at him. Fear of the words is causing my skin to crawl and my heart to race.
“I need you to look at me.” He guides my chin gently with his hand toward him. I drag my eyes to his reluctantly, doing what I can to hide the hope in them.
“When your mother told me what you had to endure, I wanted blood. I still want nothing more than for someone to pay for what happened to you. But, Brinley, not you. You shouldn’t have to pay. You have suffered enough. I loved you before you were taken. Nothing has changed.”
I can’t stop t
he waterfall that springs from my eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks me.
I shake my head no.
“Then we won’t talk about it.” Logan wraps me in his strong embrace.
I wipe my eyes, nodding my head in agreement. “I just want to forget about everything. I know that I’ll never be that lucky.” I pull out of his embrace. I do my best to clean my face up with my quilt and I force a smile.
“I’d rather hear about you. I missed you so much, Logan. Tell me what I missed,” I ask, wiping my eyes again, this time with the back of my hand.
I’m sure this is not what he really wants to talk about. How could he not want me to tell him all about the last year of my life? I am thankful to him for giving me some time. He loves me enough to give me what I need right now.
“Well, I graduated last May. My final film did very well. So well, in fact, that I landed a job with Bluest Moon Productions. I’m in the editing room, but it’s all good. I want to learn every aspect of the filming process.” He sighs, rubbing my back.
“Keep talking,” I say because the silence is deafening. “Tell me more about working for a big film company. I’m so proud of you.” I am. He has stayed focused on his dreams. But more than that, I’m happy to keep the conversation off of me. It keeps me out of my head. I know that I will have to talk about things eventually, but I just got home. I have forever to face what I will never forget.
“It’s amazing, babe. Everything I ever wanted. I’m learning so much.”
I’m a little surprised that Logan is this happy. We always planned to leave L.A. and head to New York together. New York was as much his dream as it was mine. We had it all planned out. He would go immediately following graduation and I would follow him a year later when I graduated. If, of course, I was accepted into Juilliard. It is now my belief that we are not the only ones in charge of our destinies, no matter how much as we plan our lives out. If we were, the last year of my life would never have happened. Being home now feels like waking up from a coma or being abducted by aliens for a year, only to be dropped out of the sky and back into my normal life. It feels familiar and strange at the same time. I missed an entire year of Logan’s life. I have questions. Why no NYU? Does he have a girlfriend?
