You Are Mine

by Ricky Fry

  Something flashed in front of me, a flutter moving out of the trees and over the gravel drive before disappearing again into the blackness of night. From somewhere nearby, I heard the familiar hoot. It was the owl, come to wish me luck perhaps, or warn me of dangers yet to come.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours spent shuffling along in the dark, I reached a two-lane county road.

  Which way should I go?

  I didn’t even know which state I was in, let alone how close the nearest town or wayward gas station might be. In one direction, the road went up, winding along the side of the mountain. In the other direction, it went down.

  I chose down, figuring towns were usually in valleys. If there wasn’t a town, then a farm or ranch house maybe. It didn’t matter, as long as there was someone, anyone, who could help me.

  And so I shuffled down the road, tripping here and there, without so much as a car or the light of a warm house in sight. But no matter how tired I felt, I kept going, pulling my black hoodie around me to shield against the cool mountain air.

  Hours passed without a sign of life, and I became increasingly desperate. If I could just hold out until morning, until the light of day, maybe a car would pass, and I’d be saved.

  That’s when I saw the headlights approaching, beams of light penetrating the darkness.

  My first instinct was to hide. But I was so awfully tired. I was certain my ankles were bleeding. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I would be able to go on. I had to take the chance, no matter how risky it might have been.

  “Help!” I stood in the middle of the road, waving my arms above me and signaling for the approaching vehicle to stop. “Oh, please help! I’ve been kidnapped. You have to help me!”

  The car slowed to a stop, the cool night mist reflecting in the headlights. It wasn’t until they switched off that I recognized the rusty chrome bumper and saw him smiling at from behind the windshield. I screamed.

  “Hello, Spencer.” Travis stepped out from behind the driver-side door with a bloody rag wrapped around his shoulder. “You’ve been a very, very bad girl. Now, what are we going to have to do about that?”

  I took a step backward and tripped, crawled along the rough pavement in a desperate attempt to get away.

  It wasn’t long before his weight was on top of me, jerking my arms behind my back and snapping a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. Then he picked me up and threw me, kicking and screaming, over his uninjured shoulder.

  I thought he might kill me right there, toss me over the guardrail and into the ditch the same as he’d done to Ruby. But instead, he dropped me into the back of the pickup and started up the road toward the cabin. I wondered if maybe it would have been better to die than to find myself back in the basement. At least if I died, I would be free of the pain, free of him. But Travis had other plans.

  I’d spent hours shuffling along in the darkness, but in the truck, it took only a few minutes to reach the cabin. As he carried me inside and toward the basement, I noticed the blackened walls of the kitchen, no doubt from the fire I’d set ablaze.

  He didn’t even wait until we were all the way down the stairs before tossing me from his shoulder. My chin slammed into one of the steps and busted open. Blood ran down my neck and stained my hoodie.

  Then he grabbed me by my ankles and dragged me, still bleeding, into the corner. I already knew what would happen next. The cuffs tightened around my wrists. I was trapped, once again a prisoner in this place where I was ever more certain I would eventually die.

  He took a seat on the chair and pulled back the bloody rag from his shoulder. “It was all going so well, Spencer. Now just look at what you’ve done.”

  Please, just leave. Leave me alone.

  I couldn’t stand the sight of his face. “Are you going to kill me?”

  His face twisted up like he was considering my question. “I should kill you, especially after what you’ve done. But that would be too easy. It’s like I told you, Spencer, you are mine. And I’m never going to let you go.”

  I spit in his direction, a big mess of phlegm and blood that landed at his feet.

  He laughed. “Now, that’s not very nice. But you’ll come around after you’ve had some time to think about what you’ve done.”

  Maybe it was what he’d said, or the wine, or the blow to my chin, but I suddenly felt very sick. I crawled to the bucket and vomited, my stomach heaving in and out with each retch.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Get it out.” Then he stood and flicked off the light before limping up the stairs.

  I hovered over the bucket for a long time until I was sure there was nothing more left. Then I crawled into the corner and scratched another line next to the one I’d made the night before.

  Day two.

  I didn’t know if I’d survive one more.

  SEVENTEEN

  I hovered over the bucket and retched up the contents of my stomach again. The smell of vomit and bile still lingered from the night before, and my stomach twisted up in knots.

  It was mid-morning when the door at the top of the stairs opened. Travis appeared with his flannel shirt unbuttoned, a clean bandage over his shoulder.

  “Spencer,” he said with the tone of a middle school math teacher speaking to a failing student, “what am I going to do with you?”

  “I hate you.” The words erupted from my lips. It wasn’t smart to risk setting him off, but I couldn’t think of anything better to say. “You’re a monster.”

  He cocked his head to one side and considered me for a long moment. “Oh, then I guess you don’t want this bottle of water.”

  I was desperate. My throat was dry and scratchy from all of the vomiting, and I caved. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so thirsty.”

  “That’s better.” He smiled and placed the bottle on the ground between us before taking a step back.

  I struggled against the chains to reach it. My hands were too far behind me to pick it up, so I wrapped my lips around the cap and dragged it into the corner. I felt like an animal but quickly forgot my humiliation when the cool water soothed my aching throat.

  “Go easy,” he said. “That’s all your getting today. I’m going to give you some time to think about what you’ve done.”

  “Please, Travis. I’m sorry. I’m just scared, okay? You’re scaring me.”

  He scoffed. “Why should you be afraid of me? I love you, Spencer. I told you that. I’ll always love you.”

  You’re not capable of love, Travis. You’re a psychopath.

  “I love you too,” I said. It was a lie, of course.

  He brought his lips together and made a clicking sound. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you do. At least not yet. But you will. Believe me, you will.”

  At least he’s not planning to kill me. Not yet.

  “Rest now,” he said, turning his back to me and heading toward the stairs. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, you and I.”

  “Wait, aren’t you going to empty the bucket?”

  He only laughed.

  Three days passed this way. The bucket had filled near to the brim with vomit and urine and things best left unmentioned. Each day, he brought me only a single bottle of water. And as the hunger in my stomach grew, I become weaker. By the fourth day, I was delirious.

  The only measure of my sanity was the line I carved into the corner every night. Once, I’d nearly forgotten until the hooting of the owl reminded me of my duty.

  “Be strong,” I heard him say.

  And so I crawled into the corner and scratched my line before sleep finally overtook me.

  A week had come and gone since he’d first brought me here. Outside, in the busy world of jobs and coffee with friends and a twenty-four-hour media cycle, a week might not seem like much. It comes and goes with as much consideration as what to watch on Netflix. But in Travis’ basement, a week was an eternity.

  He appeared that morning with the usual water and something else. I smelled it
the moment he came down the stairs—a plate of toast, which he set down on the ground before me.

  I ate greedily as he watched, unashamed as I shoveled the toast into my mouth with filthy fingers. Maybe I no longer care what he thought, or maybe I was just so hungry I would have eaten scraps from a dumpster.

  I licked any remaining crumbs from the plate as he pulled up the chair, spinning it around and sitting with the back between his legs as was his usual custom.

  “In China,” he said, “the people tell an old folktale about a clever man named Liang. It’s a wonderful story. Have you heard it?”

  I wondered how a man like Travis had come to know a Chinese folktale. “No,” I said. “I’ve never heard it.”

  He smiled. “Liang is a common man, a peasant really, who makes wooden toys for the children in the village. One day, he sees a beautiful princess, the daughter of the emperor, and decides he will marry her.

  “But Liang’s father laughs at him. After all, he was born of humble stock. Why should the emperor’s daughter marry a simple peasant boy?

  “Now, in those days, dragons roamed the countryside. One particularly nasty dragon lived in a cave near Liang’s village. Several times a year, the dragon would swoop down on the village. He ate pigs, water buffalo, and any people unlucky enough to be around. The emperor had done nothing about it until one day, the dragon burned the fields with fire.

  “The people were despondent and pleaded with the emperor to dispatch the dragon once and for all. And so the emperor promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to any man who could vanquish the terrible dragon.”

  I listened as he spoke. I was still hungry despite the toast and hoped if I played along with his game, he’d bring me more food before the day was up.

  “Liang knew this was his only chance. He worked for three days and nights, carving a giant dragon’s head from wood. When it was finished, he carried it to the evil dragon’s cave and placed it on a rock outside the entrance so that it looked like the rest of the dragon’s body was hidden behind the rock. Then Liang gave a mighty roar, and soon the evil dragon appeared.

  “The evil dragon rushed from his cave. ‘Who goes there?’ But the wooden dragon only glared back at him with menacing eyes. And so the evil dragon wondered why the other was not afraid and thought he must surely be a very dangerous foe. ‘I’m leaving for a while,’ he said, as he spread his wings and flew away. ‘Make yourself at home in my cave.’ For you see, the evil dragon was really a coward and had no will to fight.

  “Liang was celebrated in the village as a hero. And the emperor, true to his word, gave Liang his daughter’s hand in marriage. The couple lived happily ever after, and people came from miles around to buy Liang’s wooden toys.”

  Travis waited a long time for me to respond, looking at me as though I’d somehow missed the point. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what point he was trying to make.

  “Don’t you get it?” he said.

  “Get what?”

  “Liang was a humble and poor man, but still, he found a way to marry the emperor’s beautiful daughter.”

  “No,” I said. “I still don’t get it.”

  “If Liang can marry the emperor’s daughter, then it means one day I’ll marry you.”

  I thought I might vomit the toast back up. “But what about the daughter, Travis? Did she have any say in deciding who to marry? Did she even want to marry Liang?”

  He looked confused like he’d never considered the story from the daughter’s perspective. It was like that with men, always assuming the damsel in distress would succumb to their valor and bravery. As if women were nothing more than secondary characters in their world.

  “No, you’re missing the point. Liang found a way, Spencer. Just like I’m going to find a way. You’ll see. Someday we’ll be happy.”

  It was a nice thought, and if it was enough to keep me alive, I’d go along with it. I imagined myself in the distant future picking flowers in our garden, shackles still wrapped around my ankles.

  “I tried.” He threw his hands up and winced at the pain in his bandaged shoulder. “And I’ll keep trying. I’ll never give up on you.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  I watched him trudge back up the stairs and was glad to be alone. At least the toast had settled my aching stomach, though the stench from the near-overflowing bucket wasn’t doing much to help.

  I didn’t wait until nightfall to carve my line that day. It had become a ritual, something that gave me strength, so I moved on my hands and knees to the corner and used the bolt on my cuffs to scrape away at the concrete.

  I was nearly finished when a piece of the wall, no bigger than a quarter, crumbled away and fell to the ground. I brushed the exposed concrete with my finger. It was soft. Waterlogged. Decayed.

  Nothing lasts forever.

  An idea came to me. I traced my fingers along the wall to the place where the heavy chains from my wrists joined an o-ring, sunk deep into the wall with an even larger bolt.

  I took the chain in both hands and pulled up, then down. The bolt didn’t budge. It was useless, I thought. But I tried again and was surprised when a small amount of the concrete, no more than dust, fell away from the wall. Again I jiggled the chain, and this time a bigger piece, no larger than a fingernail, flecked and fell to the floor. I crouched down to pick it up.

  It had fallen into a narrow crack between the slab floor and the wall, and as I felt around for it, my fingers found something else wedged into the tiny space.

  It took some doing, but eventually, I worked it loose from the crack and held it in front of my face. It was a single tooth, stained with blood.

  I would have screamed—at least the Spencer from a week ago would have screamed. But I knew he was above me, lurking somewhere in the cabin. I had to be strong, hold my secrets close, and not give them away if I had any chance of surviving.

  I turned the tooth over in my hand. That’s when I knew, beyond any doubt, that I wasn’t the first girl to wind up in Travis’ basement. He’d played this game before.

  I stayed awake long past midnight, just enough light shining in through the high window for me to see the tooth I still clutched in my hand. I wondered what had become of her. Did her ghost linger there in the darkness? Was she watching me now, hoping that I might find a way to free myself, and in doing so, finally set her free?

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the empty room. “Whatever it was that happened to you, I’m so sorry.”

  I was sorry. I imagined her chained to the wall, no different than myself, hoping that any moment help would come to rescue her. But it hadn’t come for her, and it wouldn’t come for me.

  I would have to save myself.

  I put the tooth in my pocket, vowing that if I ever escaped this place, I’d give it to the authorities. I didn’t know much about DNA evidence, but I remembered reading somewhere about dental records being used to match the remains of victims to their identities. Perhaps there was a family somewhere, still wondering what had happened to their daughter, their sister, their niece. Maybe I could give them some kind of closure, put to rest whatever doubts and questions still lingered in the back of their minds. The thought bolstered my resolve. It gave me something to live for besides myself.

  And so when hours passed without a footstep from above, when I was certain he was asleep, I stood again and took the chain in my hands. I yanked up and down, taking care not to make too much noise. The bolt didn’t budge.

  It was okay, I told myself. I had to keep trying. If only I kept trying, it might loosen enough for me to escape, if not now or tomorrow, then maybe the next day. The next week. The next month. However long it might take, I would earn my freedom.

  Four inches of metal. Maybe six. And some old, decaying concrete. That was all that stood between me and escape from the monster who lay sleeping upstairs.

  I worked long into the night, careful not to make too much noise. I worked until I grew tired, but it didn�
�t matter. I’d found some purpose, and it was better than feeling sorry for myself. Better than playing the helpless girl.

  I worked until I could stay awake no longer. As I pulled the blankets around me and prepared for sleep, the hooting of the owl came again from beyond the window. He was speaking to me. Only this time, he said, “Don’t give up.”

  I dreamed again that night. Not of the lake, with its invisible hands pulling me down, or being buried alive in a wooden box. I dreamed I was walking alone along some rugged Pacific beach, staring out over the waves as they crashed into jagged rocks.

  I dreamed I was finally free.

  EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, he brought toast and salty scrambled eggs. I licked the plate clean as he told me another story about a young man who was in love with the daughter of a loathsome Turkish sultan. Her jealous father had locked her away in a tower on an island in the Bosporus. Each night, her young lover would swim the treacherous waters, risking sharks and the sultan’s wrath to reach her.

  “That’s a lovely story,” I said.

  “Don’t you want to know how it ends?”

  “Um, I guess so.”

  “He dies,” he said. “One night, the boy emerged from the water to find the sultan and his soldiers standing guard over the tower. They killed him and threw his body into the current. He was swept out to the Mediterranean Sea. And each night, the girl wept for him until she grew old in her tower and died.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s a sad story. I don’t think I understand.”

  “It’s not that hard,” he said. “You’re the sultan’s daughter, locked in a tower.”

  No, Travis. I’m chained up in your basement.

  “And I’m the young boy, swimming across treacherous waters night after night to reach my love. Nothing, not even sharks, could keep me from you.”