The Half That You See

by Rebecca Rowland

  “Come up here, Dan,” someone said. Was it Lenny, up there? I moved towards the voice and the light, skirting plastic sacks and barrels, breathing the stench of grease and dirt and damp.

  “We want to see you try this,” someone else said. What was he doing up there, with Lenny? Did they know each other? But was it anyone I knew? The flickering light made puzzles of their faces, and I couldn’t seem to concentrate. Their eyes were shadows, their expressions indefinite. I took the joint from one of them, wary, yet hoping that the stuff they were smoking so secretively, so far away from everyone else, was old school astral, stellar. That they’d bought it from my dad.

  “Look at his face,” a voice said.

  Distended masses caved in upon the room. Magenta cups, drowned velvet swarms, crimson clutches. Overripeness split, releasing hammerheads of purple. Flesh cords and kaleidoscopes, spilled ink, marbled blood, crimson unfurling.

  “I knew he’d get it straight away,” I heard. “I’d say he’s been here before, wouldn’t you?”

  Damask leaves. Verdigris, violently spiraling, and spidered claws hanging scarlet, and white enfolding sweet rot. The smoke steps, moving inwards.

  “Perhaps he’ll never go back though,” the other one said. “Look at him.”

  “Christ, he’s really lost.”

  I was staring at my hand, now so small, and held within another hand, much larger and with a blue swallow tattoo between the first finger and thumb. “Sepia grass,” I said between breaths. “Sepia grass.”

  I awoke at the bus stop, propped awkwardly against the sloping bench and the toughened glass. I held my hand in front of my face to see how unsteady it was and saw its new translucent state, light shining across and through the thin, toad-colored skin. Behind it, wavering, lay the road, buff-colored, pebble-strewn, unsteadily held between the scrub and granite verges. Ahead, the river bled into the land and the land bled into it, at once liquid and solid, all awash with and part of the soft brown endless light.

  I took it all in slowly, not believing.

  My father thought he didn’t have a choice when it came to the decisions he made in life. Guided by an ineffable power, he took the routes left open to him, and they took him where he was meant to be. The universe, he said, had always looked out for him, and it seems that the universe was looking out for me. That power, not a place but a force, had blocked off all my roads but one.

  When I saw keys on the ground, I stooped and picked them up, and then I crossed to the open door of the old Ford Cortina. Inside, I put on the hat and then the coat I found there, and I let the door slam shut. I didn’t know how to drive, but how hard could it be? I put the key in the ignition and set off.

  Prisoner

  T. M. Starnes

  “Those damn wolves,” Virginia mumbled, covering her ears with both hands, “Can’t they just for once, just once, shut up!”

  Virginia stared up at the round hole in the roof of her prison. The moonlight was bright tonight, calling the wolves to howl louder and closer than before.

  The men who had taken her as she left an Edmonton coffee cafe hadn’t been back in at least two weeks, maybe three, maybe more. They had brought her far out into the wilderness to a cabin. Behind the cabin, they dragged her down a slippery rough-hewn stone staircase to a deep, circular, stone-walled storage area with an opening to the sky. It might have been a smugglers’ hideout. Or a dried well, or…or…or…Virginia had wracked her brain trying to imagine what this place was.

  Ten steps wide.

  Nine steps long.

  At least several meters high to the round opening in the ceiling where the goddamned wolves’ howls echoed down to her. Every single goddamned night.

  After the three men had…

  After they…

  “Shut up!” she screamed. “Stop howling, you bastards!”

  The men had left her a few days’ worth of food and plastic water containers. They had shoved her in her prison behind a large medieval-looking wooden and iron door that they chained behind them, threatening to return for more “fun and games” in a day or so.

  Virginia paced back and forth, trying to formulate how many days ago that had been.

  The wolves continued howling.

  She had tried to climb out. She had. Yes, she had. Over and over. Climbing. Climbing. Climbing. One hand over the other. Rock by rock. Bare feet. Fingers bleeding from the effort. Manicured nails worn down. She tried to wipe the slick moss off the stones with the tattered remains of her dress. Her bra. Her panties. Rub, rub, rub. Scrub, scrub, scrub. Virginia tilted back her head and howled.

  She giggled as the wolves increased their song.

  “That meant shut up, you bastards!” she giggled, digging at a scar on her arm.

  Less than a meter up the walls, the stones were just too slick, too close together, too packed, too damn tight, too slick, too moss-covered, to really do any type of sustained climbing.

  As she paced, she slapped absent-mindedly at her unshaven, hairy legs.

  She had been in this place long enough for her legs and private area to sprout a good patch of hair. Long enough for her smooth calves and thighs to be more than stubble and become soft and long.

  She giggled thinking how Darren, her boyfriend, would comment on her hygiene now.

  The wolves howled.

  She slapped her hands against the stones.

  “No one cares where you are!” She shouted at the wolves. “No one cares where your pups are! Or if you’re horny! Or if you’re telling others to keep out of your hunting grounds! No one cares!”

  She stepped on something squishy and pounced on it.

  The slug went down easy. Her gag reflex was long gone, her belly no longer rejecting any sort of nourishment.

  The rats were no longer coming into her cell. Her nest. Her prison. Her home. Her hole. Her cave. Her retreat. Her dank, musty, crotch hole.

  Virginia giggled as she moved her hands around the dirt floor for more slugs. Finding a snail, cracking it open, and devouring the small chewy creature.

  At night, moisture collected on the walls and dripped down into the small, empty water container where she placed it at the base of a small drip, drop, drippity, droppity, splishity, splashity trickle.

  Just enough to wet her throat. It gathered just enough. Her piss could barely come now. Not enough to drink anymore. Just enough. Just to wash her meal down. Just enough. Just.

  Flies also were good. Mosquitos too. Attracted to her bowel movements where she chose to relieve herself until her bowel movements became rare. She had tried to eat her waste but that was not happening. No. Not happening. No. Tried it. No.

  Why hadn’t the men come back?

  The wolves?

  Virginia giggled, wiping her nose with a grime-covered hand.

  That would serve them right. Serve them up. Munch. Munch. Crunch.

  “Bastards!” she shouted to the world.

  “Fucking bastards!” she repeated.

  The wolves momentarily paused their song, then quickly resumed.

  Virginia pulled at her hair and began her circular pacing.

  How long does it take leg hair to grow? How long does it take her leg hair to grow? How much time had passed? How long does it take for people to notice you’re gone? For your boyfriend to begin looking. Bosses to call you. Her parents to wonder where she was. Police to check videos. Cell tower records? Did they have her cell phone? Did they dump it? How long does a battery last? How long until you starve to death? How long to decompose? How long for slugs to eat you? How long before what you eat, eats you?

  How long? How long? How long?

  She had her period before the men…

  She ran at the wooden door and slammed her forehead against the wood.

  She screamed and clawed at the wood with her fingertips.

  Screamed.

  Screamed.

  Screamed.

  In the first few days, she had screamed her throat raw. A few days later, her voi
ce came back. It left the day after. Then came back. Then left. She had her voice now. For now.

  Virginia collapsed to the dirt floor and licked the blood from her fingers. Rubbed the wound from her head and licked the blood from it. She stood and licked the slime streaked wooden door of moisture; hers, and the dampness from the door. She pulled another splinter out of her tongue. This one was much bigger and easier to remove than the previous one from…yesterday? A week ago? Earlier tonight? A moment ago?

  She pulled out one of her long black hairs and chewed it. Swallowed it after a few moments.

  She sighed, listening to the wolves.

  She slapped her forehead. Harder. Harder. Harder! HARDER!

  She screamed.

  The wolves sang to her.

  She swayed to their music.

  She moaned in time to their tune.

  She plucked a piece of mold off the wall behind her and chewed slowly.

  Darren would laugh at her. She hated salad. Salad sucks. She was a steak person.

  “Bastards!” she screamed. “Shut up! Shut up!”

  Darren would make them shut up. Darren would have shown those three assholes not to mess with her. She did as Darren told her. Fought back like Darren showed her. She did.

  “Darren! Goddamn it, I did!” She sobbed without tears.

  She had. She did. But they were three of them. Bigger than her. Two good-looking Italians and one Greek guy. Or two good-looking Greek guys and an Italian. Or three Middle Eastern men. Or two tanned men and a blond guy. Or three black men. Or two white guys and a black guy. No, a Latino man and his brothers. No, two guys from work and some other guy. No. it was…it was…it was two guys from the coffee café. It was…

  She thumped the back of her head against the stones.

  The wolves ceased for a moment.

  She blinked and looked up at the moonlight in the shaft above.

  The wolves began again.

  Virginia rolled to her side and screamed.

  She rolled onto her back and screamed one long scream up into the shaft until her breath gave out.

  Quieter. Quieter. Quieter.

  Darkness enveloped her.

  Her cramping leg muscles startled her back awake.

  She rubbed and rubbed, slapping the knots in both legs.

  The pain made her scream again.

  The moonlight was no longer so bright in the hole above. The morning was coming. Another day. Another song. Another howl. Another hurt. Another. . .something.

  She froze, there was a sound nearby.

  A rat?

  A cat?

  A bat?

  A mouse?

  She covered her mouth and suppressed a giggle in case it was more food.

  Something was at the door.

  She dug her fingers into her cramped, knotted legs and scooted her bare rear across the dirt to the other side of the hole.

  The noise sounded soft.

  Like padded feet.

  Virginia could pee after all.

  Something was listening at the door.

  Without thinking, Virginia wiped her moisture against her lips, staring in the near darkness at the door.

  Something sniffed.

  Virginia’s heart began sending her body into spasmodic convulsions with each beat.

  Something joined whatever was at the door.

  Something joined in with the sniffing.

  Virginia pulled at her hair until a clump tore free and she grabbed another handful.

  She was biting her lips; the pain was not even noticeable.

  Something scratched at the base of the door.

  Virginia held her breath.

  Something began digging at the base of the door.

  Two things began digging frantically at the door.

  Virginia crawled on all fours toward the door and lay on her dirty belly, pressing her face to the ground.

  The digging stopped and sniffing began.

  On the other side of the door, Virginia remembered, or did she imagine, a rocky staircase down to the door. Not much wider than the door. Large enough for two big men, or one man and struggling woman, to stand side by side as they came down.

  Sniffing continued and digging returned.

  “Hello?” Virginia whispered.

  The digging stopped.

  “Hello, doggies,” Virginia whispered.

  There was no movement for a moment. The wolves continued howling above.

  The digging began again, more frantic than before.

  “Go,” she whispered.

  Her voice would make the two things, the doggies, the nice doggies, to pause in their digging, but then they would resume.

  “Go away,” she whispered.

  The doggies did not.

  “I said go away,” she ordered quietly.

  The bad doggies did not.

  “Go,” she said louder.

  Bad doggies.

  Very bad doggies.

  She moved forward and slapped her hand against the door.

  “Go away!” she yelled.

  The doggies moved away from the door and sounded as if they climbed back up the stairs.

  Virginia relaxed.

  Then a growl came from the other side of the door and the very bad, naughty doggies began furiously excavating.

  Virginia loudly growled back at them from the base of the door.

  The doggies paused, then resumed.

  Virginia spun around onto her back and began pounding the door with her feet.

  Stomping, stomping, stomping the door as she screamed and shouted for the very bad doggies to go away.

  The rough wood tore the soles of her bare feet and bled, dripping fine drops of blood to the base of the door and the dirt. Growls grew in volume as the digging now began at the door as well as the floor. A chain clanked occasionally.

  Virginia pushed herself away from the door, rubbing her throbbing feet, licking the blood from her feet and palms.

  She began howling, snarling, growling, at the very bad doggies.

  She charged the door and pressed her nose to the small gap between the very bad doggies and the floor, inches from the doggie’s nails.

  She growled and snarled at them.

  The doggies did not want to leave.

  Virginia began digging on her side of the door with her hands as furiously as the doggies on the other side.

  If they stopped to sniff, she bent to sniff and growl back.

  After a few seconds, Virginia’s digging fingers struck solid rock.

  The very bad doggies were clawing rock, too.

  Virginia laughed and crawled around her circular den, howling and growling, stopping at the door to lean down and bark at the doggies before she began crawling again. She found her discarded panties and stuck them in her mouth like a dog’s toy, shaking her head back and forth, growling until finally spitting them out.

  She crawled in a widening circle until she was bumping against the sides of the pit. The hole. The den. She found an old pile of her excrement and grabbed two handfuls of it. Then, kneel-walking across the circle to the door and shoved, smeared, pushed, plugged, the base of the door with the waste.

  She barked loudly, laughing, as she scurried back to her excrement and grabbed another pile, repeating what she had done.

  She growled with her face to the ground as she pushed the waste further against the rock and door base, inches from her nose.

  The sniffing turned to huffs and the digging slowed.

  Virginia howled against the door. Howled and laughed. Laughed and howled.

  The digging stopped. Howls joined hers echoing down the overhead shaft. Padded feet slapped up the stone staircase to the world above.

  Giggling, Virginia pushed herself away from the door to the middle of the cell and stood, laughing, howling, spinning in a circle until she passed out and dropped to the ground.

  She dreamt of cool winds and placid seas.

  Light woke her.

  She gla
nced toward the hole in the ceiling. The moon was still up. Where had the light come from?

  She turned her head toward the door, searching for the light.

  Dim light flashed through the base of the doorway.

  The men were back.

  Virginia rolled slowly over onto her hands and knees and pushed back against the opposite wall from the door.

  Human voices echoed down the staircase.

  Virginia had nothing to use as a weapon. The plastic containers were useless.

  “What’s that smell?” a man said. “It smells like shit.”

  Virginia crouched and rocked back and forth on her feet and rear.

  They were coming back.

  They were coming back.

  They were coming back.

  Virginia suddenly realized her body had just enough slug and snail in her to give her one more involuntary, minor, bowel movement.

  “I’m going down,” a man told someone.

  “Be careful,” another warned. “It looks slick.”

  Virginia’s mouth dropped open into a silent scream as she dug stinking, filth-covered fingers into her skinny, hairy, knees.

  “Geez, it stinks even worse down here!” the descending man said. “I found the door! Wow, it looks like some animal’s been trying to get in.”

  “Did something get in?” the other voice asked.

  “Nah. But they must have shit all around it.”

  There was the sound of a chain moving against the door.

  “The chain’s still wrapped around the handle. It’s warped, the door’s warped, I’m gonna have to shove it open.”

  Virginia’s mouth continued to remain open in her silent scream.

  The door flew open and bright light blinded Virginia.

  “Oh, dear God,” the man said. “I need help! Get down here!”

  Virginia launched herself, growling, at the light.

  The man began screaming as she clawed at his face. She tried to bite two fingers off that he accidentally shoved into her mouth. She yanked his hand away from her mouth, shoved his head to the side and bit down into the thick flesh of his shoulder and neck.

  The man screamed and shouted that she was biting him. She gnawed for a moment and saw more light at the top of the stairs.

  The top of the stairs.

  The way out.

  She slammed the bleeding man’s head against stone until he lifted his hands to protect his head and she crawled over him. She partly howled and ran/crawled up the stairs toward the light shining down into her face