by catt dahman
John and Tom were both chasing her, but she could do this. She had to get away and find help for them all. She had a knife and a head start, and she could run.
Without a plan, she bolted for the path, stretching her legs out to run full on along the path, ignoring any pains she felt. The knife swung from her fist as she pumped her arms. At home, she ran every morning, and this was just like that, only she was running for her life.
John made a wild, desperate lunge, his fingers catching her sweatshirt. It was enough to knock her off balance so that she skittered to the side; he adjusted and fell on top of her as she slid on the dry grass and pine needles.
Maybe she knew she couldn’t get away and had headed purposely for the well.
Her upper body was headed right for the open well, so she closed her eyes and prepared for the long, painful fall. The knife she had stolen, that most valuable utensil, hit a rock and plummeted into the well.
For a second, there was no sound, but then there was a watery thud as it struck the bottom. She could have easily stabbed any of them, except John; it would have taken a bit more effort to kill him.
Maria kicked once to propel herself faster and harder to get in the well’s mouth; as bad as it would be, anything was better than being raped, beaten, and tortured for years to come. The hurting had to stop. She ducked her head into the well.
And she was gone.
7
John sighed and sat back in a small sitting room with Alice, his face curious. He gave her chocolate ice cream and then allowed her privacy in the bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind her, she looked under the sink and in the medicine cabinet but found nothing more lethal than extra rolls of toilet tissue.
Still looking over the small room, she got under the hot spray of the shower and massaged shampoo into her hair. Maybe the lid of the toilet would be a good weapon, but she ached so badly, she didn’t think she could lift it and swing it at John.
After drying herself, she slipped on the panties, long tee shirt, and gym shorts that were neatly folded and waiting for her. There was nothing here to help her.
John took her hand and led her up a staircase to a second floor.
She paused at the top of the stairs and thought about long ago when she had stood at the top of a staircase, looking at her mother, lying, broken below.
She thought back to swinging her baseball bat and hitting the banister, taking a half step to reach for a broken-off corner of wood. She could almost see the faded stain of blood on the wooden floor in the shape of a man; she could see herself stabbing a man in his heart with a jagged piece of wood.
In the room were bookshelves and a tidy desk on one wall, a closet with open doors on another wall; she could see it was a neat closet with everything on hangers and shoes lined up on the floor.
Curtains covered a large window, which was framed by paintings of the woods on either side. Something about the pictures was creepy, as if the trees hid secrets. “Who did those?”
“Mike.”
She nodded. “It reminds me….”
“Of?”
“I don’t know.” The bed covers were pulled back, dressed in soft-looking pale green sheets and soft feather pillows and covered with a quilt that matched the curtains made of stitched blocks of various shades of green: a pale yellowy green to a deep, rich green. The bed was an antique, with a tall, gleaming ornate headboard.
On the final wall stood an antique chest polished to a deep shine next to a chair covered by a green and rose-colored floral print. A soft rose motif rug was under the bed. This was not what she had expected.
It wasn’t girly, but a soft, masculine room that felt like a haven, clean and pleasant.
“Is this your room?”
“Yes.”
“Have you read all those books?” She saw many were history books, as well as classical fiction, mysteries, science, and science fiction.
“Yes,” he told her. “Alice?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you like it…the room, I mean.”
She didn’t resist him when he pulled her gently to his bed and sat down beside her, rubbing her sore neck and shoulder muscles. She didn’t pull away or slap at him when he kissed her but allowed it without protest or a fight. She was so tired of being beaten and of fighting.
There was no problem when he gently removed her tee shirt and kissed her throat and breasts, but she broke out in goose bumps after she was naked and he had stripped and moved partially on top of her. She didn’t fight, but she didn’t respond either but allowed him to moan her name and touch her.
She guessed she was being conditioned and that her mind was being reshaped, yet she didn’t fear John anymore but felt safe alone with him.
His was the only kind touch there was now.
He took a very long time relaxing her, waiting until her body betrayed her, and sliding into her easily. What he did was to make love to her; it wasn’t a violent rape; he kissed her.
Alice cried after her orgasm finished, and he groaned as he finished as well, loving the fact that he had made her respond to him.
“It’s okay,” he told her as he wiped away her tears. “Alice?”
“Yes?”
“I love you. I want you to be mine.”
She didn’t say a word. How could she have responded? How had that happened?
“I need you to be okay and have your wits about you.”
“Oh.”
“You have to stay with us, I mean your mind and body. You have to start living again.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“I don’t know if I can stay here.”
“Some people have come and gone, haven’t they? It’s been hard to take?”
“Yes.”
“Who vanished?”
“Sadie.”
“What did she do? When and why did she go away?”
“She touched Aaron like…like a whore? She fought with him? She never came back downstairs. I guess Aaron killed her. She didn’t like watching…some bad things.” She couldn’t deal with seeing me hit Tara, and she just went away.”
“She wasn’t as strong as she thought. She was terrified,” Alice said.
Okay. Then who?”
“There was Joanne.”
“She wouldn’t talk, would she?”
“She wouldn’t speak. I think she was scared of saying the wrong thing; she was so afraid, so she stayed quiet.
“ Father was mad at her because she wouldn’t talk. She was beaten, but she didn’t say a word, and Aaron was so angry, wasn’t he?” John asked. “Then she was just gone.”
” Why was he asking her this?”
“And?”
Alice thought. For some reason, it was difficult to remember everything. “Maria, Oh, she got away and ran up the stairs.” She laughed, feeling a little inspired and naughty.
“She took off, didn’t she? She got a knife from the drawer and ran down the path to the old well and was going to get away, wasn’t she? But you grabbed her shirt.” That part was sad.
“She went away.” John prodded.
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“She decided she would rather die than eat people or be punished and beaten, and she went head first into the well.”
“Did she die?”
Alice frowned. “Of course, she did. She fell a long way.”
“So, she’s gone forever,” John added.”
“Yes. She’s in the well.” Alice was puzzled at his tone and why she had to clarify.
“And who else?”
“I saw the name Amy in a corner. She was one, but I can’t recall much about her. Her name was scratched with a nail from the smokehouse that was hidden and sneaked back to the basement.” Alice could remember some of that now. The hidden nail. That was why she had thought of that when she was in the smokehouse.
Amy was so pleased to have gotten it. “But then something happened…someth
ing bad; Amy watched it, horrified, and she used that little nail to open her wrists, didn’t she? There was blood everywhere. I know that. She killed herself.”
“Yes, she did,” John said. “It was a very tiny nail; it shouldn’t have caused her death.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” John repeated.
“And Nan. Her name was there. She was given to Cain. She wasn’t there for him to…to….”
“Not for sex. He wanted to spend time with her. He didn’t hurt her.”
“But she was scared, and she fought hard, and he didn’t get her. But he hit her; he just hit her, and Luke got mad and cut her hair off.”
Alice didn’t know why that memory almost made her laugh. “Then Tom beat her to death when she attacked Mike. She hit him in the eyes and nose. She fought so hard…maybe a day or two ago; she hit Mikey.”
“Yes, she did. She was all about fighting, wasn’t she?” John said. “He didn’t beat Nan; there were a few slaps.”
“She tried to fight.”
“Did you know Robin?”
“No. I don’t think so, did I? She wouldn’t eat though. I think she starved and was thrown in the well.”
“Jodie was thrown in the well after she died. Cain made her bleed to death when he took her. Robin isn’t in the well.”
“Oh.” Alice could imagine Jodie, in her mind: pretty, ‘think, pale blue eyes’, and the last she knew, before being in the basement, was riding the spook house ride with a boy she liked.
John reached for something under his side table. It was a hand mirror. “Look at yourself.”
Alice did as she was told. Her face was bruised: green and purple, puffy with swelling, her nose had been broken, and her hair was cut off short.
“Oh,” she said again.
“How did you know what happened to Maria if you were locked in the basement?”
Alice thought about that. “I don’t know.”
“You called yourself Sadie.”
“No.”
“Yes, you did. You went by that name and acted tough and flirty for a few days.”
“I…she…what do you mean?” Alice asked.
“She fought for you, and when she was forced to watch me hit Tara, she went away when she was so scared. She was just a personality you claimed.
Then there was Joanne. You called yourself that and refused to speak. You were beaten for it, and then Joanne gave up and went away.”
“I didn’t do that. That’s not true. This is another trick.”
“Yes, you did. I don’t lie, Alice,” John sighed.
“Then you were Maria. That’s how you know what happened at the well and the only way you could know. You tried to kill yourself, but I grabbed you. How would she know where the knives were? How would she know that path? How did she know about the well? Maria was you. When she pushed herself into the well to die, she vanished.”
“No. I don’t believe that. She died.”
“When you couldn’t handle things, other personalities tried to help.”
Alice shook her head.
“You lost control and called yourself Amy after you saw Nate in the smoke house, and you found a tiny nail that you sneaked downstairs.
You wrote your name, and then you tried to cut your wrists open; there were just scratches. We saw the nail and got it away.” John turned her arms over to show her the still-red lines on her wrists. Alice rubbed them, flummoxed by all John had said.
“My arms….”
“Nan, you were Nan, and you scratched that name, too, and fought Cain. He was just meeting you and trying to get you to come back. I promised you that you were never going to be taken by him, but you, Nan, were terrified. You hurt Mike. And Tom chopped off your hair when he was angry.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We don’t either for the most part. You came here first; you and Jodie were first.
You stole a spoon, and both of you etched your names into the floor. Robin tried to starve herself after Cain had Jodie, and she was made to watch. You watched; you were Robin.
Jodie chewed her own arms open and bled to death because of the damage Cain had done to her. She was a separate person. We used the meat, and you saw her hanging in the smokehouse. That’s when you quit eating, as Robin. We tossed Jodie’s remains in the well.”
“No.”
“How long have you been here, Alice?”
“A few days. A week, I think.”
John looked at her with pity in his eyes. “It’s been over a month. You are missing a lot of time,” he sighed.
“You missed Christy. She did everything we asked of her and was very meek. You were kept in the grey room for your own safety: Christy was, I mean. When she…you were taken to the basement and woke up with the other women, they had been here a few days, and you were Alice again.”
“I don’t understand this.”
“Imagine how we feel with your saying you were someone else all the time. Connie and Tara have been confused a lot by you.”
She was crying. “Why are you saying these things? You want me to go insane? Is that it, John?”
“No, I want you to be okay. I have chosen you. Aaron chose Connie.”
“Oh, so she’s real?” Alice huffed, looking at John with confusion.
“Yes, and so is Tara. Cain likes her. We’ve been hardest on you to try to make you well again. When you started this, we thought…maybe shock would bring you back to normal.”
“Right. Great tactics, huh?” She wiped away tears and traced the red lines along her wrist. “Christy, Robin, Sadie, Nan, Amy, Maria, Joanne. Is that all?”
“Audra and Brenda are real; they are for Tom and Luke.”
“Oh, and Mike?”
“We’re going to find him a very young girl so that he’ll have someone.”
“That’s sick.”
“It’s how it has to be.” John leaned back on his pillow. “I want you well, and then maybe you’ll love me one day and act like a real wife; I don’t want you beaten or used by my brothers. I don’t want you to be hurt. I’m trying very hard, Alice. You’re the one I want, but you have to get well and be compliant.”
“This is another trick to make me crazy.”
“Your wrists and hair. You can ask Connie. She saw it. Can you explain missing all of the time? Each one of them acted like a separate person with her own personality, and each said she had a job and friends and a family, but none of that was real; all was borrowed and made up.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. You have…problems.”
“I watched my mom die. I killed my stepfather with a broken baseball bat. I lost time and memories back then.”
“You watched…what?” John sat straight up.
“My mom. I think my step dad beat us a lot, but one night he was watching television; Mama was humming, and he was so angry and yelling. He hit my mother, and she fell down the stairs; the fall killed her. I tried to hit him, and maybe I did; then, the bat broke, and I stabbed him with it.”
“You saw your mother pushed?”
“Yes.”
John was quiet, thinking.
“What now?”
“You’re beginning to remember a lot of things. You need to get downstairs, think this over, and rest; tomorrow will be a new day. We’ll keep trying. I need some time to think, too, so we can get you back.”
She followed him down the flight of stairs, thinking about every thing he had said.
It was all a trick to screw with her mind, she decided.
But as odd as all of this seemed, after her step dad was dead, she did see that the name Sadie appeared in her school notebooks with a little heart topping the i. There were other names, but what girl didn’t fantasize about a different name? This was all a sick game to drive her insane.
She stopped at the doorway to the grey room where she heard muffled screams although the door was open.
Tara was on her hands and knees; pink panties were stuff
ed in her mouth and tied in place with a bandana. Cain was on top of her, raping her from the back, scratching and squeezing the inflamed and infected stripes down and across her back. Her eyes rolled with pain. Pus and blood coated her back.
He had to hold her up since she was so feverish and weak from infection and blood loss.
“Get off her.” Alice launched herself at Cain, beating at him with her fists. One big fist caught her across the chest, and she went flying into the wall, but she was back up and slapping at him as soon as possible.
“Alice….”
Tara rolled to one side, blood covering her legs.
She fought.
“Tom, Aaron, Luke,” John bellowed for help.
The brothers took turns punching until Cain came around to his right mind and walked away sulking.
Tara lay on the cold floor, lifelessly. Alice ripped the bandana and panties away, tossing them aside, but in those few minutes, she had strangled and died. Alice sank to her butt and wailed. She felt her mind slipping.
John patted at her arms gently, trying to calm her.
“Oh, no,” Luke said as he felt for Tara’s pulse, shaking his head as an answer.
“She’s gone,” Tom whispered.
“And he’ll want another one, and he can’t keep doing this…this is the third one he’s killed. Damn,” Tom whispered the curse word.
“He’s not getting Connie,” Aaron vowed, “or Alice.” He caught John’s fury.
“I’m keeping Audra,” Tom said and gave Luke a sharp glance. “We can’t keep taking them and having him kill them.”
“Time to have a talk with Father,” John said. “Come on, Alice, let’s go.”
She looked up at him, perplexed. “Okay. Whatever you say.” She hardly looked at Tara or the mess in the room.
She walked ahead of him, only pausing once to look into a room on the left where she saw Mike in a bathroom, surveying his shoulder where (presumably) Nan had raked her claws into him, leaving almost-healed reddish purple marks when she had attacked him.
Something made her wonder, but then she pushed it away, meaning to tell someone later, unsure why it was important, but knowing it mattered a great deal.
“You need sleep, Alice.”
“Of, course, I’ll do that. Sleep. But can I ask one thing?”