Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 4: Stuck

  After a gushing waterfall of hot tears, I make myself stop. Get yourself together, I tell myself. If I’m to survive, I have to keep my head cool so that I take advantage of any, any, opportunity to escape. I fight the grogginess my medication inflicts on me as I survey the room I’m in. No windows, I frown. Not even one. Surprisingly, though, it is actually a pretty place—very colorful. The walls are violet, my favorite color, and the covering on the bed has pinks and purples. This is definitively not a government approved space. It jars me a bit that there is no silver anywhere. I’ve had it all around me for so long that it seems surreal and completely off putting that it’s nowhere to be seen.

  I suddenly notice that the ceiling has a beautiful mural of the universe. The art on the ceiling is intense with a world in chains while the glittering galaxy is dotted with stars. In the middle of the mural is an exploding star—a supernova.

  I check every corner for anything I can use as a weapon. Nothing. The room is bare. Even the bathroom only has the basic necessities. I take the toothbrush—maybe I can find a way of using it to save myself. I hear a shifting sound, and I rush back to the bedroom just in time for the steel door to be closing again. Apparently, it was slightly opened to throw another green plastic bucket through the bottom. By the time I get to it, it’s completely down and I angrily start banging the bucket on the steel. A wide, long slot opens on the door at about face level.

  “Stop that!” demands Peter, parts of his face showing through the slight opening. “You’re going to break it like you broke the other one.”

  “What do I care if I break a stupid bucket,” I retort.

  “You’re going to need it.”

  “Need it?”

  “I guarantee it, Madrigal.”

  “What for?” I ask, puzzled.

  “You’ll see.”

  “I’ll see! I’ll see! You keep saying that!”

  “I keep saying it because it’s true.”

  “You’re a kidnapper!—why should I believe anything you tell me?!”

  “I can’t say too much, but you’ll understand all of this later.”

  I let out a deep, frustrated breath. “I guess I don’t have a choice but to wait for answers.”

  “That’s right, Madrigal.”

  “So what’s next for me?”

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, his voice turning cheerful.

  I wish I could tell him that I’m not going to eat until he lets me go, but my medication makes me so famished that I can hear my stomach growling. Still, I stay quiet.

  His lively hazel eyes sweep over me. “Well, are you?”

  “What is it to you?” I ask quietly.

  “Believe it or not, your well being is very important to me, Madrigal.”

  “My well being?” I ask with disbelief. “You abducted me. How can you care about me?”

  “You’ll und—”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll understand later. I’m getting tired of you saying that.”

  His hazel eyes frown deeply while his hand sweeps over his tawny hair. For the first time I notice that Peter isn’t much older than I am. He must be close to seventeen years of age. I’ve got to admit to myself that the guy is nice. Even when he was cutting my wrist open with a sharp knife, I could tell he was trying not to hurt me. How did he get involved in something like this?

  “Madrigal, are you hungry?” he persists.

  “Peter, why are you doing this?” I ask with a pleading tone. “You don’t seem like a criminal.”

  “I’m not a petty criminal,” he snaps, his voice offended.

  “But you’re committing a horrible crime. How can you steal a person?”

  “It had to be done, Madrigal,” he rushes. “We had no choice.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “You just don’t know . . .”

  “Peter—”

  “Madrigal,” he says impatiently, “are you hungry or not? I’ve got lots of good food here for you.”

  “I don’t want your food,” I state, practically hating myself for uttering the words.

  “Are you sure? I can hear your stomach growling even from here.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m sure,” I squeak out.

  “Okay, I’ll give you the food anyway, and you can throw it in the bucket if you want.”

  Peter slides a tray of food through the slot. I’m about to slam it against the door when I see what it is. Tacos! My favorite meal. At least I think it’s my favorite since I can barely remember my real mom making them for me. And there are pinto beans and Spanish rice too. I immediately stuff the crispy corn taco in my mouth and taste the spicy ground beef. M-m-m! It’s heaven!

  “Bon a petit,” Peter says, laughing as he pushes a button that closes the slot on the door.

  I stuff myself, eating so fast that I hardly give my stomach and intestines time to catch up. After I finish, I take a look at the tableware. The tray is a plastic beige color and the utensils are also plastic unlike the wooden ones the government has authorized except in my house where we use actual silver. I put my head in my hands feeling like a traitor to myself for pigging out on the enemy’s food.

  At least now I have a fork, even if it’s flimsy plastic, I tell myself.

  Unfortunately, they hadn’t given me a knife, but maybe later they’ll mess up and give me one. I can only keep trying to escape. What choice do I have?

  Arthur! Arthur! I persist in calling him but nothing comes back. Maybe he’s imaginary after all—just like my logical self always knew he was, and it took this tragic event to get him out of my system.

  But I don’t want him gone! Come back to me, Arthur. Please come back to me.

  I curl myself in a fetal position on the floor, and the drugs in my brain take over as I groggily fight sleep in the midst of droplets of water slipping slowly from my eyes. Get it together, I tell myself over and over as I quietly doze off.

  The sliding of the slot wakes me up. Peter’s hazel eyes stare at me through the open space. He frowns.

  “You know, Madrigal, the bed is so you can sleep on.”

  “The floor’s okay.”

  “We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to make you comfortable.”

  “Comfortable?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Yes, comfortable.”

  Then I realize why he inspires a bizarre sort of trust in me—one that I have to work against. He reminds me of someone. But who? Who could this monster who’s abducted me remind me of? Am I going crazy?

  “I’d be really comfortable if you let me go,” I ask hopefully.

  “You know I can’t do that. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Sorry, I really can’t.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve brought some more food for you. Again, if you’re not hungry, throw it in the bucket.”

  “What is it?” I ask with curiosity.

  He slips the tray through the slot. This time it’s my second favorite meal—chicken fajitas. Rogue snippets of memory tell me that my real mom used to cook them for me with plenty of pepper and guacamole. I sigh when I realize that my abductors hadn’t forgotten the avocado side dish. This whole nightmare is getting stranger by the minute.

  “How did you know what my favorite food was?” I ask, baffled.

  His lively hazel eyes sparkle. “We have our ways.”

  “Why are you seducing me with food?” I ask, my voice squeaking.

  “I already told you, we’re only trying to make you comfortable. I wish you’d believe me.”

  I can’t let my guard down, I tell myself. I can’t be taken in by them. They are trying to harm me, but they’re grooming me for something. I have to be smarter than them. I can and will outsmart them!

  “Eat up because I doubt you’ll be able to stomach much of anything for the next few days,” Peter announces.

  “Why do you say that?” I a
sk, worried.

  “Just trust me on that one.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “You’ll learn to. You’ll see,” he assures. “I’m not such a bad guy. I even doubled up on the portions because that’s it for the night. I’m not coming back.”

  I don’t know why what he said makes me sad. Even though he’s my captor and a villain in my book, I hate the feeling of being alone in this horror story. For some reason, it’s a small comfort to know that he is somewhere near.

  “Bon a petit,” he says for the second time that day as he closes the slot between us.

  And like it or not, I’m all alone.

  The noisy opening of the slot wakes me up, and I sit up from the bed. I had slept more fitfully than I should have due to the drugs coursing through my system. Then I have a huge realization. The medicine! What’s going to happen to me without it?

  “Wake up, sleepy girl,” George’s voice rings out.

  “Where’s Peter?” I ask, panicked as I rush to the door.

  “I’m bringing you your juice today.”

  “I need to speak to Peter.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s important,” I plead.

  “But—”

  “Get him,” I demand, my voice breaking.

  He sighs in frustration, but then he closes the slot and leaves. A few minutes later, Peter shows up.

  “You need to speak to me?” he says, his voice in a smile.

  I’m relieved he’s not upset. Maybe now I can have a serious talk with him. Maybe he’ll listen to what’s at stake—my life.

  “Peter,” I start, gulping. “I don’t know if you’re already aware of this since you seem to know a lot about me, but I’m very sick. I have a disease, and I have to take medicine every day, or I’ll die.”

  “Madrigal,” he mutters, “don’t worry about your medication.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to give it to me?”

  He pauses for a few seconds. I don’t like this uncomfortable silence at all. “No,” he finally says.

  “You’re going to kill me,” I declare angrily.

  “We’re not going to kill you,” he insists.

  “Without that medicine, I’m dead. I’m really sick. I have Estrapheria—do you know what that is?”

  “Don’t worry, Madrigal. You’re going to be fine.”

  “Peter,” I say more forcefully, “It is a rare disease that only hits one in a million, and I’m one of the lucky ones!” My voice is getting shrill and desperate. “I’ll die for sure if I don’t take my Estraphil. I need that stuff every day, every day.”

  “You’ll be fine, Madrigal,” he repeats, making his voice sound comforting. “Just fine.”

  “I hope you know that you’re murdering me.”

  “Let’s not be so dramatic.”

  “That’s easy for you to say—you don’t have a life threatening disease.”

  He slips a tray through the slot. “I’ve brought you something to drink,” he informs, his voice lighter.

  “Where’s my breakfast?” I grumble, taking the tray with a small paper cup of orange juice. “If you’re going to kill me then at least let me have a full stomach.”

  “This is all I can give you.”

  “But—”

  “If I feed you anything else, you’ll be cursing me later.”

  “What are you talking about, Peter?”

  “You’ll thank me later,” he assures, closing the slot.

  The shaking and the nausea start a few hours after my morning juice. I knew that I’d be lost without my medication, but I didn’t know that the deterioration in my health would happen this fast. I was hoping I’d have at least a day before the world caved in.

  The slot suddenly opens, and I hope against hope that my captors have changed their minds and will give me my medicine. Peter’s hazel eyes stare at me through the empty space in the door with a worried expression. Maybe I’m saved.

  “You don’t look too good, Madrigal.”

  “I need my medicine,” I implore.

  “It’s starting to kick in, right?” he asks, his eyebrows knit together.

  “I don’t feel very good if that’s what you mean,” I say, shaking. My skin is starting to throw out globules of perspiration.

  He eyes me carefully. “I’ve got medication for you.”

  “You do?” I respond, excited. Maybe my life will be spared after all.

  “Take this,” he says, shoving a bottle through the slot.

  I stumble over to it from the bed where I had been laying down. While I pick it up, Peter stares intently at me. I don’t recognize the bottle, but I hope that the Estraphil is in a different type of container. Twisting it open, I’m surprised that it’s not in a liquid form. My hand shakes as I empty some of the small black pills on my unsteady hand.

  “What’s this?” I ask with desperation.

  “Medicine.”

  “Medicine?” I question, disbelief in my voice.

  “Take one pill. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “This isn’t Estraphil, is it?”

  “It’s better than that.”

  “How can it be better? The doctor told me that Estraphil was the only thing that could keep me alive.”

  “Your doctor was wrong,” Peter says simply.

  My patience reaches its end. “You’re lying to me!”

  “Madrigal, I could’ve said that the pills were Estraphil in solid form, but I don’t want to lie to you. Now, please take them. They’ll help you.”

  I hurl the bottle at the steel door, and the pills spill all over the floor.

  “I knew that this was how you’d react,” he states, sighing. “That’s why I ground one up and put it in your juice earlier.”

  “You what?!”

  “You would’ve started reacting a lot sooner if I hadn’t. As it is, it only took a few hours for you to start feeling like you do. You’ll thank me later.”

  “I can’t believe you poisoned me!”

  “I bought you a few hours, Madrigal.”

  “Bought me a few hours?”

  “But now even the pills won’t take away what you’re starting to go through.”

  The shaking is getting heavier and larger beads of perspiration slide off my skin. “Then why take the pills at all if you say they can’t do anything for me?” I ask, between tattering teeth.

  “They’ll help and some help is better than nothing.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Madrigal, you’ve got to—”

  “The lights!” I cry out, sliding to the floor. The fluorescent lighting above me thrusts into my head, causing explosions of pain.

  “I’ll dim the lights from out here,” Peter murmurs. The room is soon opaque.

  “Thank you,” I manage to mumble.

  “Madrigal, you’re being so stubborn,” he announces with frustration. “Take the—”

  “Stop talking, please.” I place my hands over my head, trying to keep the resounding thuds of his voice from bursting it open. The vibration of his words sound thunderous, and I need them to stop.

  “Madrigal, please take a pill,” he pleads.

  My mind is in a painful, swirling fog and every piece of me is in the most severe agony I’ve ever been through—at least physically anyway. Nothing would ever compare to the death of my real parents.

  “Just leave,” I demand.

  “Okay, but If I were you I’d keep the bucket close by. When you stop being so stubborn, you know where the pills are,” he announces, closing the slot.

  The stupid things are on the floor—where they’ll stay, I say to myself, between spurts of pain. Either they’re to brainwash me or to poison me or to kill me or . . . or whatever! The pills can’t be good.

  I barely make it to the bucket a few feet away from where I am. The nasty vomit comes fast and relentless. My body goes into crazy spasms with me helpless to
stop them. I drag myself to the bed along with the bucket, and I squeeze my eyes shut as if to keep away what’s happening to me.

  So they knew I’d throw my guts out and even gave me a bucket. How considerate of them, I sarcastically say to myself. I’m either dying without my medicine or having a reaction to the drugs they gave me—probably both.

  An hour later, I’m in even more agony when the slot opens again. Peter’s hazel eyes look at me with concern. I no longer believe in their sincerity.

  “Madrigal, please take the medicine.”

  “Go away!”

  “Madri—”

  “Go away!”

  “Please,” he says. “I promise they’ll make you feel better.”

  “liar!”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You are!” I insist, the nausea trying to tip me over.

  “I’m not—please take one.”

  “Stop trying to trick me!”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “You’ve already hurt me,” I growl.

  “I’m helping you.”

  “In what universe would abducing someone and then poisoning her be helping?” I ask, my head throbbing like a marching band in my head.

  “You don’t understand,” he blurts.

  “Make me understand.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to—not now.”

  I squeeze my arms around my body to see if I can stop some of the earthquake-like shaking. It doesn’t help much. “You’re not making any sense, and I shouldn’t be listening to you. I won’t be brainwashed!”

  “I wish you’d believe me when I tell you that I’m not trying to hurt you,” he pleads.

  “If you want to help me then get me my Estraphil!”

  “I can’t do that,” he expresses.

  “You can’t, or you won’t?”

  “I—”

  “I’m dying . . . I’m dying,” hemorrhages from my mouth.

  “Madri—”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Go away! Go!”

  “But Madri—”

  “Go!”

  “Okay,” he says, hurt in his voice.

  “Get out of here!”

  He lets out a deep breath of frustration. “Things are going to get worse before they get better in the next few days. Brace yourself,” he announces as he starts closing the slot. “I’ll be here for you.”