by catt dahman
“I can try.”
“Good girl,” Jake told her, “I’m right here. You aren’t alone.”
“Why would anyone do this, Mike?” Ruth asked.
“No idea, Ruth, but let’s add that to the list to work on later. Right now, let’s find out about the cages and who is here and what is going on with the cages.”
“Dumb ass.”
Mike ignored Mr. Personality. As Mike began exploring his cage, he found an arm stretched out and locked in his cage. He gently patted the hand, trying to convey comfort. “Can anyone feel me touching your hand? I know it’s a lady. Can you feel this?” Mike asked as he spoke softly.
“Mmmrrrrr?”
“Hi, I’m Mike. Maybe, you’re just waking up, right? Just stay calm because we’re trying to find out who is here.”
The woman caged next to him came awake in the dark, screaming and thrashing. She railed over and over, sometimes shouting obscenities, but never letting up. Mike heard the man who had been name-calling, the one who was there next to the woman named Ruth, shaking his cage and screaming as well. Mike held his hand over one ear.
It didn’t help. Mike knew this panic storm would have to pass. He waited.
For a while, there was nothing but a cacophony of screaming, thrashing, profanity, fear, and pain. All around, Mike heard people making deafening noises. He wanted to yell and fight, but he was logical and knew that keeping his head was the smart thing to do; he had to wait, but it was difficult. Panic was contagious.
A few yelled for the rest to shut up. Every storm reaches a peak and then rolls on and away; this one did the same, and slowly the noise settled. All the energy was expended. Mike was surprised it passed as quickly as it did. The loud noise from all over did convey to him that there were more than seven or eight people locked in cages. With a sinking in his belly, he knew that there were maybe twice as many people as he had first thought.
When it was quieter, they could hear people sobbing. One woman, the one in the cage next to Mike where his foot rested, kept repeating a mantra, “Why? Let me go. I’m scared. Why? Let me go. I’m scared.” She prayed loudly in between her mantra.
“Shut up, ya dumb bitch,” called the man from before.
“Knock it off,” Ruth snapped. She slapped his hand angrily. He called her a barrage of foul names. Instead of taking offense, she laughed bitterly and continued, “You may be something normally, but face it, you’re in the same trouble as the rest of us, so just knock it off. You aren’t helping by calling people names, are you? Nope? Still stuck? Well, then just stop. Shut up, or contribute helpful information.”
Jake snickered again and added, “I think this means all of us are awake. Everyone, please stay calm, and listen. Mike has been calm so far, so let’s follow his lead and find a way out of this,” Jake said. “Okay, Mike, even though a few are quiet or are upset, I think we can say all of us are in cages and there are a lot of us here. I’m an EMT, so I want to know how all of you are. Ruth, you said you have a headache?”
“I do. It’s a deep throbbing headache. It reminds me of a hangover, not that I have had many.” She struggled to find a better position for her body. She wore her panties and an oversized tee shirt. All of her struggles had made her sweaty; drips of sweat ran down her back and into the waistband of panties, making her itch. Her dark hair hung in her face, and she flipped it back, hating the wet tendrils that bounced. The air was chilly, so she shivered as she sweated.
“What do you remember last ?” Jake asked.
Ruth frowned in the darkness and replied, “It was night, and I was asleep. I went to bed early and was out like a light. I don’t remember dreaming or anything at all until I woke here. I felt a little sick for a few seconds, and now my head aches a little. I’m thirsty, too. I don’t remember anything in answer to your question. I went to bed, and everything was normal. Nothing stands out as anything that would cause me to awaken here.”
She had been exhausted and barely managed a shower and a tooth brushing before she had yanked on a tee shirt and panties and fallen into her bed. How she missed her bed now; it was a luxury with a thick foam topper and sheets with a high cotton count that had been laundered many times, making them buttery soft. She kept her thermostat in her bedroom low, so she had several soft blankets on her queen-sized bed.
With a dark room that was chilly, falling into her bed was relaxing, like curling up in a soft, warm womb. She knew it was humorous, but she loved her bed: loved sleeping and loved being in the comfort it gave her; right now, crawling into her safety zone would have been a balm for her body and her mind. Thinking about it made hot tears come to her eyes.
“Lumps or cuts?”
“No,” Ruth said. Jake was ‘the here and now’, unlike the dreams she was having of her bed and being comfortable. She adjusted her mind to that as best she could. “Just the headache, but it feels as if maybe I was drugged. I don’t know. But I don’t think it was anything but that. I wasn’t hit.”
“I was, but it’s good that you are okay.”
“You were hit?” Ruth asked Jake.
“Yeah, I had just come home from work and was headed for the kitchen to fix some pizza rolls; I love pizza rolls, and I eat way too many. But that’s what I remember: being hungry for them. I remember pain right in the back of my head, and now, I have a headache, too.” Jake felt carefully, parting his hair with one hand and feeling with the other. It wasn’t a fresh wound but felt a day or two old at least, maybe several days old. He didn’t explain all of that. He did say, “I was hit. I seem to be okay, but like you, I am sure what knocked me out.”
“You were at home? Like me?” Ruth asked, “and were all of us at our home?”
Several said no.
The angry man spoke, “I was at Miller’s Bar. You were alone at home, but I was out in public, and I was kidnapped. Abducted, damnit. What the hell is up with this?”
“Miller’s? So was I,” said Lovie as she joined in the conversation again.
“What happened?” Jake asked.
“I left with this guy. It was early, but he was fine as hell; okay, I screwed up. I was excited because he was cute, smart, and funny. I thought maybe he was someone special, right? I know better. I do, but I left with him, and in the parking lot, I felt drugged or something…you know…dizzy and woozy. That’s all I remember, I guess. Was I drugged?”
“I guess you were,” Jake said, “but did you leave your drink at any time?”
“Yes, I went to the ladies’ room and left my beer. It was open, damnit. He slid something in my drink! Oldest trick in the book. What an idiot.” She mentally kicked herself. The guy had been dressed nicely and was classy and attractive, the sort that always hits on the vapid beauty queens with big smiles and simpering personalities, the ones looking for a sugar daddy but too loose with favors.
But this guy talked to her, Lovie, and was not put off that she had an edgy look, had a few community college credits, and was immune to the bullshit these type men dished out. She worked blue collar, but she was smart and held her own. Despite her gut warning, she warmed to the guy, and they had a great time, laughing and talking about subjects other than which starlet was in detox, the weather, or silly stuff. When he suggested they find a quieter place to chat, she didn’t get a bad vibe; she was too thrilled to be the girl that a classy man was interested.
“Slut, you fell for an old trick,” Mr. Personality said, his voice still full of anger.
Lovie didn’t argue that. First, she wasn’t a slut. Second, yes, she did fall for the trick. But she really, really wasn’t a slut, she told herself, and had her situation been better, she would have counted that as the worst thing of the night: falling for bullshit when she knew better. However, given she was in a cage, she thought, the worst thing of the night was still with her. Even if the man didn’t know her and was flinging insults, Lovie felt ashamed.
“What were you doing, Mr. Personality?” Jake demanded. He tried to get back on track and sto
p thinking of pizza rolls. He knew that he was a slave to food and cravings. “And again, stop the name calling. We’re in the same place, and that doesn’t help. Anyway, tell us what happened. What were you doing?”
“Closing Miller’s Bar. I am a bartender: Skot. With a k. One t.”
“I know you,” Mike said, “you were an ass there, too.” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but Skot was a jackass. It slipped out of his mouth before he could filter it.
The bartender never said anything racist, but if there were a racist joke on the television at the bar, Skot always laughed hard, making sure people noticed. Many saw him laughing and banging his hand on the bar as he noticed something on television that was politically off. He jeered at sexist jokes and hooted when shows had half dressed, dumb women acting foolish. It wasn’t so much that Skot liked whatever the program was, as it was that he wanted people to see he was agreeable without saying it.
Skot didn’t engage in small talk with the patrons but always gave a nod to his tip jar, hinting that he deserved a tip, and he had a way of making people feel small with disapproving looks. He rolled his eyes and made a big deal out of trivial details. That was how he operated. He made it seem as if he ruled the bar.
One thing always clear was that he didn’t think much of women who were in the bar alone. He always had a certain way of showing disapproval even if it weren’t his business. He didn’t seem to be very fond of women.
But Mike got why Skot was employed at the bar: he was a fast worker, never seemed to get an order wrong, and made the best drinks in town. Despite his terrible attitude, when Skot served a drink, it was well made. For instance, Mike loved bloody Marys, and Skot didn’t cheat on the alcohol; he took time to mix the drink carefully, blend flavors, add a perfect slice of squeezed lime, and toss in a few olives, celery, and something else such as pickled okra or carrot sticks, always something to make it fancy. And Skot always ran the glass’s rim in a special, secret concoction of spices that Mike tried to figure out.
Skot was cold when asked what was in it, refusing to hint, never smiling when asked the ingredients, and took compliments on the drink as expected. He simply was a mixologist but a bad bartender. Total jackass.
Mike thought about a bloody Mary and wished he had one, ice cold, spicy, and delicious. It would hit the spot. But since he didn’t have that and likely wouldn’t anytime soon, he talked, “I wasn’t there. I was in the library, you know, right down the street from Miller’s. If you’re from around here, well then, you know where the library is. It was raining, right? I accepted a ride home with this very nice girl; only I guess she wasn’t very nice.”
He was impressed and offered to go get the drinks when she suggested it, but she went in the rain. He thought she was great. They had a nice conversation in a library, and that alone was unexpected and pleasant, and then she gave him a ride so he would stay dry. That was a huge bonus for the night. Stopping for soda fountain drinks was kind of quirky, maybe old fashioned in a 1950s way, and she had suggested it. What a sweet deal. He decided he was going to ask her out for a date since it was not often to meet a really cool girl. “I suppose she drugged me as well.”
“I live down the street from Miller’s. Be glad you were drugged. I don’t mean be glad, exactly, but I mean it’s better than the other way of nabbing someone. Being hit in the head isn’t much fun,” Jake said. His head kept throbbing relentlessly. At least, he thought, he didn’t have a concussion, but he probably had needed stitches a day or so before. He needed something for pain. And pizza rolls. And a cigarette.
A day or so before, Jake literally jumped as his own thoughts hit him. If his wound were a few days old, what in the hell had happened to those days in his memory? Where had Jake been and what had he been doing? Did he have amnesia?
“Are you okay, Jake?”
“I think I should have had stitches and at least an ice pack, but thanks, Ruth,” as he told her and the rest what he had remembered about the time he had lost.
“That’s…that’s crazy, right? Are you sure you’re okay?” Ruth asked.
“I guess. I hurt and am starving, but I guess I’m okay.”
“Red car? Did the woman have long dark hair in a braid? I mean the woman you met, Mike? Was she pretty but kinda…I dunno…severe lookin’? Was her name Julia?” a voice spoke up.
Mike felt the voice was closer to him than Ruth and the others, and maybe across. “Yes. Exactly. Very pretty but not in a show-off way. Like…smart-pretty.”
“Yes. Good way of putting it. Smart-pretty. Oh, I’m Kim,” she sniffled and spoke hesitantly now as she fought tears. “I was hitching, so she gave me a ride. Yeah, I know that was stupid, and it looks as if Lovie and I both made mistakes, but she stopped for me, and I got in the car.”
Kim had been cold and shivering in the rain, and when Julia stopped, she could only think of two things: the car was warm and dry and would feel wonderful, and the driver was a female and classy looking. She had been someone who looked very normal; Kim didn’t ride with the bad types. People didn’t understand how good their situation was until they were cold, wet, and unlikely to get a better deal, so they had to ride with some wild trucker man or a middle-aged, pudgy perv or a pasty dope head.
It did feel good in the car, and Julia turned up the heat so Kimberly would dry off a little and warm up. She even offered her a soft, warm blanket that smelled of roses and peppermint which she kept in the backseat. Kim felt every muscle in her tired body relax, and she could have cried for the pleasure of creature comforts and the kindness of a stranger who tried to make Kim feel better.
The other thing in Kimberly’s mind was that Julia was gorgeous. The woman had thick hair in a severely braided hairstyle which accented her sharp white, features and pretty smile. In tailored, conservative clothing, Julia was more beautiful than most women; the modesty was attractive. Kim would have to be blind not to see how pretty Julia was.
Maybe she was way too classy for Kimberly, but as they chatted, they flirted. Kim was shy but complimented Julia and grinned at her when they shared a joke. She made eye-contact. Maybe Julia was straight, and the odds were that she was, but Kim’s banter could be taken as just friendliness and gratitude. She never pressed anyone for anything, and Julia gave no indication that there might be a reciprocated interest. Julia made a lot of eye contact, too, and she did make a few kind-of-sexy remarks. Julia teased back as much as Kimberly, and it made Kimberly’s pulse race.
Julia said she would pull over and let Kim dry and get warmer and they could talk. When she said that, she licked her lips and cocked her head in an appealing, flirty manner. Kim knew that meant Julia was interested.
“She pointed out some people who were in the rain, and I was trying to see, staring out the side window, and that’s all I remember.
I have one hand free now, and I feel some…I think it’s blood, Jake. It’s really sore there. Did she…did she hit me?” She felt a small lump on her scalp, and it made her feel very foolish. She flirted with a woman way out of her league and got hit on the head; wasn’t that just brilliant?
“Maybe. Don’t poke around if you feel dried blood or a lump. Do you feel nauseated or dizzy?”
“No, I just ache there a little, and it stings. A tiny lump maybe. My arm hurts more.”
“Is it injured?” Jake asked. He could feel everyone listening to him even as some cried softly. He wanted a cigarette even more.
If Kimberly could see where she was, it would be a little better, but like the rest, she had felt around and understood she was in a dog cage or something like that. She understood she had been hit in her head because Jake helped her figure that out. She tried to stop crying, but the tears still came. Some of the others had nice voices, and she knew they were trying hard to be calm. Some of the others scared her when they shouted.
“I yanked to get away. I tried to get free, yanno, and I guess I cut it or it’s raw around the freakin’ cuff.” She dissolved into tears anyway. She fel
t so stupid, and now she was in pain.
“I’m Nick. I am here by your hand, Kim. Shhhh. I’m going to be gentle. Let me feel and see, okay? Yeah? There? You’re bleeding a tiny bit. You’ve chaffed it. Don’t pull anymore. Relax. Jake, she’s just cut her skin a little, I think.” He dealt with the problems, but something kept tickling his mind. He knew without a doubt that something was missing. Several pieces of the puzzle were not on the table, so to speak. What the pieces were, he didn’t know.
“I was dumb and panicked,” Kimberly said.
“No, you’re not dumb. It’s normal to feel panicked in this place.”
“Okay. Now we know. Good work. Thanks, Nick,” Jake said.
“Thanks, Nick,” Mr. Personality, Skot, mimicked Jake. Then, he yelped in surprise and yelled, “Stop it, bitch.”
Ruth gently popped his hand only once. But she sure got a reaction. She hated the way he mocked people, and she felt sorry for Kim who was crying harder. “Shut up, and I won’t slap your hand again. It’s easy, Mr. Personality. Be polite.”
“Skot,” he snapped.
“Whatever. I don’t care what your name is. I care that you’re being crude and cruel. We’re scared. Do you get that, Skot? Everyone is terrified, and you’re making things worse. Try to be part of a solution, huh?”
“Whatever,” he mocked her, but she didn’t slap his hand this time.
“Ruth,” Mike called, “who is next to you on the good side?”
“I don’t know. Hello?”
“Hi, Ruth. Hello, Mike. And everyone. Jeez, what an introduction. I’ve just been listening and taking it in, waiting until I thought I could add something. I’m Andre. I’m here at your feet, Ruth. Mike, I am between Kimberly and Ruth,” he spoke with a soft, melodious voice.
“Got it,” Mike said. Mentally he had the spacing for eight of the cages. Whoever was between Jake and Skot hadn’t spoken, and neither had the person next to Lovie. That made at least ten who were in cages. He set the names with the cages in his head.
