by Owens, Molly
I took a long deep breath, and then another, and then one more before commanding my body to move onto the stairs. I walked quickly, knowing that if I didn’t act fast, my looming claustrophobia would get the better of me. After seeming to descend for an eternity, the stairs finally came to an abrupt halt. Before me was a deep hallway, my flashlight’s beam disappearing into endless darkness. The walls were made of concrete and no more than five feet high and barely two feet wide. The top of my head brushed the ceiling and I could barely extend my arms to my side before my hands came in contact with the cold wall. Ninety-nine percent of my brain screamed at me to turn around, but that one crazy percent won, and I moved forward with the stanch determination of a lunatic.
In middle school Hannah and I made a Skinner maze for my pet hamster, Helix. We used a cardboard box and strips of poster board to create narrow passages for Helix to run through. At the end was a piece of apple. We spent an entire afternoon timing the hamster as he ran hurriedly through the maze toward his prize. At the time I’d assumed that it was the apple he was so desperate to get to, but as I stumbled forward in this human sized Skinner maze, I began to consider that maybe poor Helix was claustrophobic himself, and just wanted out of that tiny tunnel.
The narrow passageway twisted and turned through the basement like a labyrinth. Off of the main hallway were more passageways, some of which ended in locked doors. At each door, I pounded my fist and yelled out to Bryce. Panic began seeping into the pit of my stomach as I moved deeper and deeper into the depths of the basement; my call for Bryce becoming more and more frenzied, “Bryce! This is Chelsea! Can you hear me?”
Maybe I’m wrong, I thought, or maybe he’s already… “Chelsea!” I heard his voice. It sounded terribly weak, but nearby. My heart jumped in excitement, I was almost there.
“Bryce! Say my name! Loudly!” I yelled out.
“Chelsea!” I moved toward the sound, “Chelsea,” I turned a corner toward his voice. At the end of the passageway was a small door, no larger than a cupboard. I raced forward, tripping inches from the door and feeling a hole rip through the knee of my jeans on the rough cement floor.
“I’m here,” I said. The door was made of metal and had three holes the size of quarters drilled in its front presumably for ventilation. As my flashlight shown on it, I could see one of Bryce’s eyes staring eerily out at me.
I slammed my hand against the heavy metal bar that secured the cell and pulled the door open. Bryce came tumbling out. His face was covered in bloody gashes, and swollen with deep purple bruises. His lips were crimson and nearly three times their original size. I bit my tongue so as not to gasp in horror, but the boy looked like a Halloween freak show.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered, sounding almost annoyed.
“I’m trying to save you for God’s sake!” I retorted, “Let’s go!”
We began hurrying back the way I’d come. I could hear Bryce crawling at my heals as we rounded the corner and headed toward the stairs. Suddenly, there was a creaking on the stairs. I swiveled around and shoved Bryce backwards, my hands pushing at his shoulders, forcing him to retreat down another passageway. We moved soundlessly to the end of a tiny hallway, and huddled at its dead-end. I flicked off my flashlight. My hand searched anxiously for Bryce’s wrist, which I grabbed tightly between my fingers. We both held our breaths.
The scrapping of shoes dragging against the concrete floor cut through thick silence. The footsteps approached slowly, step by step, by step. The passageway was absolutely black, not a sliver of light seemed able to penetrate the thick walls. The footsteps passed the hallway where we were hidden, slowly, pausing slightly, as if they sensed our presence. But they continued on toward the empty cell where Bryce had once been held captive.
“Run!” I whispered frantically in Bryce’s ear as I pulled forcefully at his wrist. We sprinted forward, Bryce on his hands and knees with me leading, crouched down so my head wouldn’t hit the ceiling. We rounded the corner. I could hear the footsteps of the unknown feet register our presence and turn to pursue us. We dashed down the long, low hallway, making it to the stairs and bounding up them, two at a time. Just as Bryce exited the cellar door, I slammed it shut. I forced my body against the door as it nearly came off its hinges with the weight of the person on the opposite side pressing against it furiously.
Bryce joined me, placing his own body weight against the thumping door. I used my free hand to place the padlock into position and fasten it. I grabbed Bryce’s wrist and dragged him through the empty hotel. When we reached the broken window Bryce dove through with me only seconds behind. Once out of The Valencia, I ran as fast as my short legs could carry me until I found the white t-shirt I had left like a Hansel and Gretel breadcrumb. We began running through the dark trees. I didn’t bother retrieving my compass. I wanted to get as far away from that godforsaken hotel as humanly possible.
An hour or so later we were still alive and arriving at my car. As soon as we got in I locked the doors, and slumped over the steering wheel. Finally, I could breathe normally. We’d made it this far, and that was certainly something. I wondered who had been following us in the underground Valencia maze. Levi? Whoever it was surely had a cell phone and therefore I could waste no time getting Bryce to safety.
“This is crazy, Chelsea,” Bryce said angrily as I drove away from The Valencia, “They are going to find me.”
“Give me a little credit, I have a plan,” I shot him a dirty look, “I’m going to take you to Sam’s house. You need to hide out there. Convince him he can’t tell anyone you’re there, okay? Not until I tell you that it’s safe.”
“You don’t even know who you are dealing with!” Bryce shouted, frustrated.
I stopped my car suddenly and glared at him, “I am saving your sorry ass! Have a little respect. I know exactly who I am dealing with, and this is your only chance, so I suggest you shut your little mouth and do as I say. Got it?” Evidently my summer with Levi had taught me a thing or two about commanding authority.
Bryce nodded, keeping his mouth silent.
I zigzagged through town, checking my mirror constantly for signs that we were being followed. It took another hour, but I eventually pulled my car to a stop in front of Sam’s dark house, confident we’d made it there alone.
“Hey,” I called to Bryce as he stepped out of my car, “You’re going to have to lie to Sam about this, unless you want to put him in danger too.”
Bryce stared at me for a long moment, his face looking like he’d had a run-in with an angry cement mixer, a rainbow of swollen welts and bruises. He managed a tiny smile before saying, “Thanks Chelsea.”
38
Dawn was just breaking as I made my way out of town and toward the Bennett estate. The world had taken on a slivery blue hue: the mountains that surrounded me, the dried grass on the side of the road, a horse alone in its small pasture. My eyes were dry, blinking in an unsuccessful attempt to soothe them with moisture. In the pit of my stomach nausea mingled with jittery nerves; one part exhaustion to a hundred parts fear. Although I considered it, I knew I couldn’t turn back; I couldn’t return to my house, climb into my bed and sleep off this terrible nightmare. Nope, I’d made it this far; I had to keep going.
I pulled my car to a stop at the gate. A large man with a handlebar mustache and pants about three sizes to small judging by the distance between their hem and the ground, meandered out from his station, looking curiously at my car. I supposed it was an infrequent occurrence for cars with missing hubcaps to enter the Bennett’s property. The guard looked as if he were eager at this rare opportunity assert some authority.
“Hi,” I smiled as he neared my open window, “I need to speak with Alistair Bennett, please.”
The guard chuckled to himself and shook his head, “It’s five in the morning. Mr. Bennett doesn’t take guests at this hour.”
“Tell him it’s Chelsea Mallory, and that I have his map,” I said firmly and without hesitation.
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br /> The guard seemed unimpressed by my statement, and continued to shake his head, “Sorry little girl, I’m not going to wake Mr. Bennett. You’ll need to make an appointment with his secretary when his office opens.”
“Listen Chuck,” I said glancing at his name badge, “If Mr. Bennett finds out that you turned me away, it is going to be your ass, not mine. I’m trying to help you here. Tell him Chelsea Mallory has his map,” I looked at him sternly.
He seemed to consider his options briefly, and then returned to the guardhouse and made a phone call. I watch him nervously fiddle with the dials on the TV monitors as he spoke into the phone. Suddenly, the gate began to creep open. I waved politely to him as I drove by the guard house and toward the Bennett mansion.
My car crawled past the front of Levi’s house. The colonial mansion looked entirely unwelcoming in the light of the morning. I half expected to see Mrs. Bennett’s cold eyes staring out at me from one of the large front windows. I followed the rode which curved around the left side of the house and parked my car between a silver SAAB and a white Mercedes. I wasn’t sure how I was expected to enter the home. This was the question that I was mulling over as I climbed slowly from my Volvo.
I was in the process of shutting my car’s heavy door when I suddenly felt a pair of arms grab me from behind and pull me to the ground, the back of my head slamming into the pavement. Another hand reached over my face and covered my nose and mouth with a rag that smelled of ammonia. I struggled helplessly as my eyes focused on a black masked face staring down at me. Then everything went dark.
I was standing in the center of a sterile white room, staring at a miserable barren bed in the corner. The white calla lily on its pillow was a dismal reminder of my impossible circumstances. I heard the door behind me creak open ominously. I instructed myself to stay still. I didn’t want to see what was coming next. Then I felt it, a stinging, burning pain unlike any torture I’d encountered before. The muscles beneath the skin of my low back tensed and twitched violently as the white hot metal was pressed against my flesh. I bit the sides of my cheeks to keep myself from screaming in agony. The taste of blood filled my mouth, salty and metallic. The small of my back arched away from the searing hot pain which was pressing against it. Then my sudden realization: I have been branded with the Delancey symbol, the sign of the devil. My knees buckled as they hit the hard cold floor. Blackness.
My head was pounding when I opened my eyes once more. Bright piercing light hit me like an electric shock and I instantly squeezed them shut. I tried to move my hands to cover my face, to help filter the light, but realized with terror that my hands had been bound behind my back. For an instant, I thought I was having another nightmare, but the burning pain on my lower back was too real for any dream.
I was lying on a thin mattress. I could feel the springs of the bed below, poking at me like tiny fingers digging into my sore muscles. My shoulders ached under me; the weight of my body pressing against my arms at an aberrant angle, cramping and tight. Keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I rolled onto my side. Mild relief spread through my wrists, arms and shoulders.
I focused on the sounds around me. It was nearly silent aside from the buzzing of florescent light bulbs and the pounding of my heart. I carefully opened my eyes a second time. Everything was white, stark, empty. There weren’t any windows in the tiny, closet-like room, only one small door without a handle. In one corner about six inches from the ceiling was a video camera, its lens focused on me.
Breathe, I commanded myself, breathe. I knew I had to stay focused on my mission. I couldn’t let my current dire situation infect me and drive me to insanity. I was certain that was Alastair Bennett’s intention. I could not allow him to win.
I sat up on the edge of the bed and rooted my feet to the cold ground. I found that beyond being barefoot I was also dressed in nothing more than a thin white nightgown. I forced myself to ignore my immediate concerns regarding this revelation, namely who’d put me in this outfit, and what privacy had they provided me in the process.
I inhaled once, looked directly at the camera and said in the most steady and strong voice I could manage, “If you want your map, then I’m ready to make a deal.”
The room remained silent, but in my mind I could practically hear Mr. Bennett’s harsh cackling laugh. I continued to stare at the camera, focusing my eyes at the unmoving lens. It was impossible to have any sense of time in that tiny, sterile, brightly-lit room. I began to count in my head, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. As I did this I kept my eyes fixed on the camera. I refused to put on any kind of show for whoever was watching me on a TV monitor somewhere. I would not let my fear, terror, complete and utter panic show on my face. I could control at least that much of this insufferable situation, I had that.
There were moments when my mind wandered, when I would lose my focus. That was when the walls seemed to be closing in on me; the space becoming smaller, tighter. I could feel my chest become heavy, like someone was pressing on my heart with all their weight. My breathing would begin to speed up; my heart pumping faster. I would then demand myself to pull it together, suck it up, remain centered.
Seven hundred twenty-two Mississippi, and the door clicked open. I turned my head slowly, trying desperately to portray myself as calm, totally nonplussed. A man in a black mask entered the room and grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly to my feet.
“How’s it going James?” I asked calmly, having recognized his amber colored eyes immediately. I wondered if his presence meant Levi was near. James ignored my greeting as he pulled me from the room.
He led me, less aggressively now, down a long winding flight of stairs, and into a room I knew at once to be Mr. Bennett’s office. He pushed me into the same chair I’d been seated in the last time I’d been there. James moved behind the chair, and stood silently.
“Seen Levi lately?” I asked as if I was making small talk at a wedding reception. Pushing James’ buttons was helping restore my equilibrium. I could feel my confidence build incrementally.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he growled at me.
“You know you even sound like Levi?” I said with a grin, “It’s kind of sweet actually. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head backwards. It took all my concentration, but I managed to just laugh at this action. I could imagine how red James’ face must have gotten under his ski mask. The door opened behind me and my hair was immediately released.
“Out,” ordered the unmistakable voice of Alistair Bennett.
“See you around, James,” I said with mock enthusiasm.
Mr. Bennett moved around to sit at his desk; taking time to trace the back of my neck with the tip of his index finger on his way. I forced myself not to shutter at his touch. He sat in his chair, leaning back slightly and stared at me for several long moments. I met his stare with my own eyes.
“Chelsea Mallory,” he finally said with a chuckle on the edge of his voice, “You have been quite a surprise to me.”
“Thank you Mr. Bennett,” I said, hoping to sound casual, though my legs began to tremble at the sound of my name passing through his lips, “I’ll take that as a compliment. I doubt you are often surprised.”
He smiled crookedly at this comment, but his eyes narrowed as he spoke, “What exactly do you think you are playing at?”
Here it goes, I told myself, you’ve got to get this part exactly right, “Oh I’m not playing,” I said firmly, “You see, I have something that I know you want. And there are a couple things I would like in return.”
“I don’t make deals with sixteen year old sluts!” he screamed furiously. I sat completely still, refusing to move my eyes from his face. My relationship with Levi had prepared me for sudden outbursts such as this.
“Then it’s your lucky day, because I’m not a slut, but I am positive you’re going to want to negotiate an agreement,” I paused for a split second and then added, “un
less you don’t want the map, of course.”
“How do I know you have my map,” he asked his voice sounding like he was struggling to contain a scream.
“I have proof,” I smiled, “If I could get my backpack from my car, I’ll show you.” He picked up the phone on his desk and instructed the person on the other end to bring my things. Moments of silence passed and a knock sounded at the door. My backpack and a pile of my clothes were placed on the desk in front of me by a masked figure that I didn’t recognize.
“So show me this proof,” Mr. Bennett hissed.
“I’ll need you to untie my wrists,” I said keeping my eyes fixed on him. He pulled a large pair of scissors from the top drawer of his desk, and came around to where I sat, but instead of cutting the zip tie that bound my wrists, he suddenly forced the scissors under my neck. I could feel the sting as a warm trickle of blood dripped down my neck. I sucked in my instinct to scream in pain or alarm, and sat completely still.
“I could kill you right now,” he said, pressing the scissors more forcefully at my jugular, his hot breath inches from my ear.
I inhaled slowly, “You could. But then you’ll never get your precious map,” I said between clenched teeth. In a flash the scissors were moved from my neck to my wrists and I felt the ecstasy of freedom as I pulled my arms around to the front of my body. My shoulders celebrating their release with a warm tingling burst.
Mr. Bennett returned to his seat behind his desk, while I stood up and retrieved my backpack. I could tell it had been searched thoroughly, which, having anticipated as much, did not come as a surprise. I was pleased, however, to see that the secret hiding space I had created was still intact. I used the edge of my car key to split the seam that held my backpack’s care label in place. I carefully pulled a small piece of folded paper from behind the label. I passed it to Mr. Bennett’s outstretched hand.
He looked at the tiny square I had cut from a corner of the map suspiciously, studying it silently. He eventually took out a magnifying glass to inspect it more closely. I was sure he was hopeful that it would hold some clue to the location of Charles Hawksely’s hidden treasure. This fragment of paper was my only evidence that the map existed and that I knew where it was.
