The Lonely

by Tara Brown

Page 15

 

  I almost cough but I hold my breath. I hear his footsteps. He's still running. My back is against the cold hard car. My muscles are trembling from the crouched position and my vision is fuzzy. Lack of oxygen and too much adrenaline.

  "I know you're here. I'm tracking your cell phone. " He has an accent. It's English. No Australian. I glance around and think of what to do. If I pull the phone from my pants he won't be able to find me. But then neither will Stuart. I decide to risk it. I fish my phone out of my pants and check the signal. I have a bar. I text as fast as I can.

  'HELP! BAD GUYS! PLEASE COME FIND ME!'

  It delivers. I hear a ping in the parking lot. My stomach sinks. I close my eyes and wonder if he IS the bad guy or dead at the hands of the bad guy.

  My breath is gone. My legs become concrete. His footsteps get closer. I slowly place the phone on the ground. I back up silently, fighting it as it starts to over. His feet crunch the old dry snow. I'm trembling. I back up. My exhale makes mist in the air. I try not to breathe. I hold my mitten over my mouth. It makes me sick, but I don’t have any other choice. It all feels familiar. The mitten and hiding amongst the cars. I start getting lightheaded.

  I lean into the car more, needing the support.

  I need to keep backing up.

  "Emalyn Spicer. Such an odd name for a girl who was adopted into a Catholic church. Don’t they usually name you after a saint?" His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It burns and hurts. He isn’t my benefactor. I would know his voice anywhere. This is a bad man, who wants to hurt me to get at my benefactor. Just like he said they would. I was foolish. Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I stay with the car? I had to walk and be stubborn because I didn’t want to see Stuart. Stuart who is now fighting for me. No doubt out numbered and hurt. My heart is aching.

  I'm panicking, as his steps get closer. I can hear him stepping in between the cars next to me. I look around. There is nothing. Nothing I can see. I count to three and jump up. I sprint behind the cars and jump over a small barricade. His shoes slap the hard road behind me. It's the moment I've trained for.

  What I haven’t trained for hits me in the butt cheek with a stabbing pain. I slam into a building. The lonely comes fast and hard. My feet won't move. They're concrete boots. It's like I'm wading through the water, clutching the side of a building. His feet are crunching on the crusty ground behind me. I fall into the cold snow. My knees scrape on the hard crust. I'm still dragging myself when I see dark-brown shiny leather shoes walking up to me. I see his shoe come back, like he's going to kick me. I blink but my eyes don’t open. The shoe connects with my stomach. I grunt and cry out. I hear it but it doesn’t feel like it comes from me.

  I feel something woolen pull down over my face. And then I'm out.

  Chapter Nine

  The dark is a quiet place. Reflection and contemplation are the only things to do in it. Well that, and imagine the worst things possible.

  I don’t have to reflect or contemplate or any of those things. I know what the worst things possible are. I know about the things that hide in the dark. Insanity is the least of them.

  I am curled in a ball in the back corner of the room.

  It's stressing me out that I don’t know where he is.

  Him or Stuart.

  I don’t have my phone. The thing I never imagined loving, now feels as if an appendage is missing. I miss the feel of it when it vibrated and I knew he was there. He was always there for me. I pray they're both okay.

  I hear a scream cut through the silence. My heartbeat quickens. It sounds like Stuart. He screams again. My back is pressing harder into the concrete. His screams worsen. He is brought closer to my door. He is sobbing. I cannot imagine the horrors he has seen, or the pain he has experienced, to make him sob. But he sounds like a child. Weak and fragile. They have hurt him badly.

  My jaw is trembling. The sounds are gone again. It is my heartbeat and exhaling breaths that keep me company in the dark.

  The darkness keeps me awake.

  My butt hurts, my heart hurts, my throat burns from the tears in there and my eyes burn from the lack of sleep. The door opens. The light is harsh and white. I squint to see a hand rise in the open space. A gun is lifted. I don’t have time to flinch or cry out. The dart is sticking out of my arm and I am sliding down the wall. The door is closed again. My throat gets thick and my limbs feel like they're getting fatter. When I hit the floor I cannot move. My eyes flutter and then close.

  When they open again I am alone in the dark. I put a hand down on the cold concrete floor and rub it back and forth. I dreamt I was back in my dorm. The cold hard floor tells me otherwise.

  I push and lift myself up. My arms tremble and shake. I'm weak. Hunger and thirst are brutal. I push myself back into the corner again. I hate how dark it is. It feels like a vast empty space.

  When I rub my eyes I feel like my hands are bonier than they were. I don’t know how many days have past. My stomach is pulled in and I can feel my ribs when my arms sit on my belly.

  I was already thin from the sprints, but now I am skinny. It has to have been at least seventy-two hours to get me to this point. No food. No water. I am going to die soon. I want to cry out. I want to beg. But I don’t. I sit and wait. I don’t wait long when the screams happen again.

  My hands shoot to my ears, covering them. I sob along with him. It's Stuart again. He cries out words. I don’t know what they are but he is begging. Pleading. It sounds like they're ripping his fingers off. Maybe they are. I sob dry heaves and shake.

  "Please god. Please save him. Please make them stop. " I whisper into the darkness, desperate to drown out his screams and pleas.

  A movement catches my attention. I almost crawl up the wall. "Who's there?" I whisper.

  A chuckle lets loose. It fills up all the air and space. It's a man.

  "Who are you?" I wonder for a second if he's real. I could be so hungry that I'm hallucinating. I'm starving.

  "Emalyn Spicer. Such a interesting name. "

  It’s the man who chased me. My stomach still hurts where he kicked me. I cling to myself and turn my face away from where he is.

  "What do you know about your life before Emalyn Spicer?"

  I hate the way he's saying my full name.

  "I know who you are. It's all very fascinating. I know you aren’t Emalyn Spicer, are you? Fascinating indeed. " His voice is harsh and cruel.

  A loud bang breaks the quiet of my harsh breaths and his soft chuckles.

  The door opens.

  The bright-white light is there.

  I see something in the gap of the door and the frame.

  It's Stuart. He's unconscious and being dragged by my room. His hands and face are bleeding heavily. I cover my eyes quickly.

  The slapping footsteps fill the gaps between my shuddering breaths. They draw closer for a second. They're right in front of me. I avert my gaze and tremble. He bends down. I can hear everything he does. He grabs my face softly and turns my rigid head to face him. I can't see his face. The light behind him ensures that. It stings my eyes still.

  "Such a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore. " He laughs, standing back up.

  His footsteps slap back across the floor.

  I hear a scratching sound. A hand shoves a tray of something in as he leaves the room.

  The door is closed.

  It's dark again.

  I don’t wait. The smell of the food invades my space. I scramble across the floor to the tray. I reach out, savagely. There are no utensils. No napkins. I lift the small tray off the larger one. It's a hot dinner. Maybe a TV dinner. I lick from the tray, without using my hands. The weight of it makes my arms tremble. The first taste is gravy. It's divine and salty.

  I don’t think. I revert to my old ways so quickly. I lap at the food like a dog. Like before. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I get a piece
of meat in my mouth. I chew the grizzled meat and choke a bit when I swallow before I'm ready.

  I get a mushy pea in my mouth. I almost gag but I force it down. I force it all down. Mushy peas and meat and gravy. I lick the tray until there is nothing left.

  I reach out into the dark for the drink I swear I saw. I knock something with my hand. It sloshes. I grab it and gulp back the liquid inside of it. It's stale and funny tasting, but it is amazing. It's fluid. I finish the drink and realize what it was. Iced tea. Unsweetened iced tea. I shiver from the flavor. I place it back at the door and scramble back to the corner.

  I can't help but wonder what it is all about?

  Is it Emalyn Spicer they're looking for?

  I sit there and wonder, how? How he knew I wasn’t Emalyn Spicer. No one but Emalyn and me knew that little secret.

  It dawns on me he wasn’t asking me about my life before. He was asking about my life, before Emalyn Spicer.

  I close my eyes and try desperately to remember the memories I have blocked out.

  There is nothing but blue eyes peeking from a hole where tiny fingers reach. Sunlight glinting off blonde hair. Everything else is shut down.

  I know I told them I was Emalyn Spicer. I know who she is, I know who she isn’t as well. I can see her face staring at me. Her blank stare haunts me. She is me.

  I've lived for her. I had to. I owed her that. I remember the gunshot. I remember the debt but I don't remember the cause of it.

  I look down at the floor and laugh. It's hysterical and demented. It takes away so many things. It's the kind of laugh I have never had. I laugh harder. Tears form in my eyes. They don’t come out. They never come out. I won't even cry for me, or Emalyn.

  I think it's days before I get a tray again. I'm starved and sick. The smell of my own urine and shit in the other corner is making me sick. I'm dying from the phobias and the nervous ticks the nuns gave me.

  They bring a tray, but when I reach it I discover the food is in a bowl. My hands are filthy. I can't eat with them.

  I heave dry sobs and hold the bowl. I try tilting it but the food is thick. It won't come out.

  Finally I put it on the floor and hold my long greasy, stringy hair back. I eat from the dish like a dog would. My nose rubs in the food. It doesn’t smell good. It's a stew but it smells gross. Like it's old and freezer burnt.