by Tara Brown
I lift my phone again, and in the reflection I see a face I don’t know. A girl I don’t recognize. She looks pretty but different from me in every way. She’s got dark hair and puffy lips, the kind people pay for. Her different-colored eyes are sad, like empty pools. I blink and she’s gone. Then it’s just me and the annoyance that’s plastered on my brow.
“Ash?”
I lift my head, smiling when I see Michelle. She might be the devil, but I could use a familiar face. I wave at her and Leona, realizing they’re holding hands. Not something I expected, but it seems to fit. They both seemed like they were in the wrong place at the wrong time in the dorms, to me anyway, as if they were fighting to fit in. Mean girls are always that way—conflicted and angst-filled. “Hey, girls!” I hold my hand out to the empty table in front of me. “Have a seat.”
They plop into chairs, and I swear for a half a second Michelle gives me a challenging stare. But I smile, because her evil mean-girl antics are nothing compared to being handcuffed and masturbated on. Nothing. Not to mention my reaction to said masturbating and handcuffing.
Leona grins. “You’re here alone?” She reaches across and steals a cheese fry.
I nod, sipping my overly strong drink. “I am. What brings you two in here?” It is the saddest place on earth, possibly. There’s me and one other guy in the whole place. He’s been at it longer than I have and is considerably drunk. He has grinned at me a few times, but I haven’t returned his smile. That hasn’t been super lucky for me lately.
“We were headed downtown for some drinks and some dancing. You wanna come?”
Michelle gives her a look, making me smile wider and nod. “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”
“What about your mystery man?” Michelle’s eyes narrow.
I almost congratulate her on the exact wording one would need to describe the piece of shit in my life, the lying sack of shit. Mystery man is bang on. But then I would have to talk about the masturbating, and that might get weird. Not to mention, I would also have to reveal just how naive I am to a girl I am certain despises me because I have a cat. “He’s actually not in the picture.” I wink at her and chug back my drink. “Too mysterious.”
Leona laughs. “Dudes suck.”
I lift my glass. “If only we could all be gay. You girls have it made. Two chicks, no nonsense.”
They roll their eyes exactly the same. “Twice the nonsense is what you mean.” Michelle nudges Leona, and they grin at each other, having a full moment. One where I doubt the validity of their claim of twice the nonsense.
I lift my glass, signaling the lame bartender who hasn’t even offered to listen to my problems. He brings a round of overly strong drinks, assuming my friends also want to get drunk.
Michelle wrinkles her nose at it but Leona tosses hers back like it’s a shot. I realize then it is. That’s why it’s so miserable to sip. I shoot mine back and grimace. “Gross.”
“You don’t like liquid cocaine?” Leona asks softly.
I don’t know what she means, and nearly look behind me to see if she’s talking to someone else.
“The drink is called Liquid Cocaine. It’s a couple of types of schnapps and something else. It’s a shot.” Michelle rolls her eyes again and shoots it back calmly.
“Oh, no. I’m not a fan. I told him to bring me something strong and he did. He said it was trendy with the ladies.”
Leona’s eyes glisten as she nudges Michelle. “It’s my favorite. It makes her sick, though. Drank too many. And Jägerbombs too.”
I know that drink, and it makes me cringe with Michelle, who slaps down cash and nods, getting up quickly. “Let’s do this.” She walks out, not even checking to see if she’s left enough money. I scramble to keep up and follow her out the door. The weird guy with the grin waves, but I try to ignore him.
When I get to the sidewalk I realize where we are going—it’s the bar across the street, the one we went to last time. I still cringe when I pass it. The feel of getting sick haunts me.
She walks right in, nodding at the bouncer. It’s early and there is no line, not yet. The music is playing already, though, when we get inside. The lights are flashing too, lighting up the near-empty bar. I almost stop and walk back out, but Leona laughs at my face. “It’s going to fill up in like half an hour. Line around the block. If we come now there’s no cover and we get a booth.” These are things I would know if I didn’t spend my weekends with a psychotic douche.
We sit at a booth, and immediately a couple of servers are there. They’re clearly desperate for someone to talk to. Michelle orders three beers, just assuming I want beer. I don’t care, but the option to have water might have been nice. It’s then that I realize I’m downtown with the two girls I had to assume hated me, all because I wanted to change rooms. But here, in the flashing lights and weird smells, they don’t seem bad at all. I send Angie a text, telling her where I am. The message finally delivers. I get a read receipt but she doesn’t answer.
Half an hour later, it’s just like Leona said it would be. The bar is shoulder to shoulder, and everyone is dancing. It’s only ten thirty but the place is crowded. We dance, meeting up with a couple of girls from class. We drink and we laugh. The night isn’t at all how I expected it to turn out. When the fourth beer lands in my stomach with a thud, I know I’ve had too much. I give Michelle a look and nod toward the door. “I need air and maybe a hot dog from out front.”
She laughs. “Me too. Let’s get a stamp so they let us back in. They have a spot for people who need some air, over this way.” She says something to Leona and leaves with me following. A crabby-looking girl gives us a stamp, and we mosey out into the cool night air. It’s damp, because apparently that’s the only season we are getting this year. Michelle reaches a ten-dollar bill across some ropes to the hot-dog guy and gets us both one. I slump into the patio furniture and take the hot dog. It’s awkward with just the two of us. “I’m sorry about the cat,” I say, not comfortable at all.
“No, I am. I get it. Being in the city and having no friends is tough. I should have been nicer. I was pissed when they roomed us together. I had specifically asked for one of my friends.”
I nod, taking the most delicious bite of food I have ever had. I close my eyes and moan into it. When I look at her she seems angry or annoyed, but when she speaks again I understand why. “I thought you and that girl you’re roomed with wanted to switch because you guys knew me and Leona were lesbians.”
I desperately swallow, wishing I could get it all down faster to explain. I shake my head aggressively. “Not at—all.” I nearly die, but I manage to get it out. I take a deep breath as the huge lump painfully makes its way into my esophagus. “I didn’t know. I actually didn’t know until you two walked into the bar.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I swear, I thought you hated me because of the cat. I felt awful.”
She rolls her eyes. “So your mom snuck a cat in the room, and you think I’m that crazy that I can’t adapt?”
I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t think she’s adaptable, but because that’s not how I recall it at all.
“Fine, I acted like a dick. I hate cats. I’m a dog person. But you switched, and I thought it was because you had the whole anti-lesbian thing like that girl in your room. She called Leona a dyke.”
My jaw drops. “Angie would never.” I don’t know that I believe my statement or hers. While Angie’s prejudiced as the day is long toward all other Europeans, quite savagely too, I have never heard her mutter a word against gays. It’s possible she is also homophobic, but unlikely, as all her rants involve nationality and their inferiority to Scotland.
Her brow furrows. “No, Steph is the one who did it.”
“Steph?”
Michelle shakes it off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad we talked about this.”
I’m stuck on Steph, but she leans in and hugs me before I can rationalize why Angie lied about her name to them. Her na
me is Angie, I’ve seen her real driver’s license. She stands up abruptly and points. “I’m going back in. You coming?”
I shake my head, feeling weird and sick, and the hot dog isn’t improving a single thing about my situation. I suspect that huge bite might try to come back up and that is how I will die. My greatest fear ever, choking on throw-up alone in the bathroom.
I nod at the street. “I think I’m gonna jump this rope and head home. I feel like ass. Really nasty ass too.”
Michelle chuckles, giving me another hug. “I’ll come with you to get a cab.”
“No, it’s fine. I can walk.” I don’t know why I don’t want to be vulnerable with her, maybe because she hates my cat and all other cats. It’s suspicious to see someone not love cats. They are the greatest companions a person could ask for.
She tries to argue but I get up and climb over the rope, waving my hand for a cab. The bouncer here in the roped-off area waves at the cabs for me. When he gets one, I climb in, waving back at Michelle as she goes inside.
I mutter my address and sit back, hoping I don’t get sick and die in the cab.
As the car stops in front of my school on the quiet side of town, I pay the man and climb out, working hard at not staggering. The staggering drunk coed is always the one to get raped and murdered.
“Ashley!”
I cringe when I hear the voice, and not because I just thought about rape. I take another step away before I turn back, giving him a scowl. He’s hurt my heart and now my pride too.
“Ash, wait up. We need to talk.” When he gets closer I step back again, trying to get a bit of distance. He stops about three feet away from me. “I haven’t been honest.” His eyes narrow, and the hint of the accent I have caught before is completely there.
“I know.”
He nods. “I saw you go to the school today—”
“You followed me?”
He winces but doesn’t back down. “I had to. It’s my job.” He takes a step closer. “I am trying to find someone, and I trailed you because you fit the person’s taste in women.”
His story sounds insane, but I don’t say anything. What could I even add?
“Me and a few others have been hoping the guy would try to grab you and we would be there. We would keep you safe. But it hasn’t happened. He hasn’t tried, even though this is his favorite city and you are his favorite type of girl.”
My stomach slips from its usual spot right into my bowels. “You have been waiting for me to get abducted? Are you insane? By who?”
“Whom. And we don’t know. That’s why we’ve kept close tabs on you and a couple of other girls, and so far nothing. If we knew him he’d be in jail.”
My skin crawls, and the liquor makes my reaction to this ridiculousness painful. “Who is ‘we’? What do you do for a living?”
He clenches his jaw and looks down. “I work for the government, in surveillance and undercover work.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rory Guthrie. I used to be Irish intelligence, and now I am American.” He looks down, fighting something, his words maybe. “And I have made a mistake telling you this, but I need this to end. The guy isn’t ever coming to grab you. He isn’t ever going to take you, because I’m always here. I ended it because I needed to do my job, and I wasn’t.”
I feel sick, but scared of the hot dog piece that might actually kill me. “Is that really your cabin?”
He nods.
“So you took me there against the rules then? Against the plan?”
He doesn’t need to nod; the guilt all over his face is enough.
“But Angie knew you. You said she knew you. Is that why I can’t seem to get hold of her? Is she one of you?”
He swallows. “She is. She had to go back home for something.”
“So she is a liar like you?”
He chuckles a little under his breath. “We lie for a living.”
“How do I know you’re not lying now?”
His dark-blue eyes meet mine, and I know. “I’m not. I love you, and that’s a problem for me. I need to get past you. I need to let you go.” He pauses and gives in, ending the battle I have seen with his will. “And I can’t.” He looks so vulnerable, like the struggle to not be with me is real.
So I jump him.
It isn’t the most rational choice, and it makes almost no sense to me and clearly none to him, but I do it anyway. He lifts me into his big arms, cradling me and taking away all the pain. I believe his lies and his bullshit. I believe because I don’t want him to be crazy, which makes far more sense. All of it makes more sense this way. How I ended up at his house when I was sick. How I never see him in public and am not allowed to tell anyone who he is. How he doesn’t actually do the job he lies about doing.
Yes, this makes sense. He kisses, sucking my lips and grinding my body into his. I let him carry me back to the Jeep. We don’t make love there. He places me in the seat and does up my belt. He closes the door and walks around to the other side, getting in and starting the Jeep. I watch him drive as long as I can before I pass out into the blackest oblivion I have ever been in.
8. The dugout
I remember very little, but I know I fell asleep in the black oblivion, and when I wake I’m still in it. Only I don’t feel like I’m in the Jeep.
I’m somewhere else.
The air is thick and cold—heady, if that’s a possible trait for air. I feel as though I exhale and then inhale the very same air. My lips hurt when I open my mouth. I honestly don’t know what to think.
My eyes fuzz in and out, unable to catch one thing to focus on here in the dark. I shiver and lie back on whatever surface I am on. My fingers come back to me, finding their senses in the black, and discovering a blanket. I brush my fingertips across it, feeling the soft fuzzy cloth and wishing I were home with my cat.
The ache in my body and the apparent swelling on my face have me frightened.
I roll over, griping and groaning as pain shoots through me.
We must have had an accident.
I must have fallen asleep and we crashed.
But where am I?
Something moves in the dark, but I sense it’s behind something or in another room. I feel like I am alone in here, and the space is small.
Is it a hospital?
My insides clench, sending me on my side and then off the bed I didn’t even realize I was on. I land with a painful thud on a strange-feeling floor. My fingers grasp the surface, tickling almost until I recognize it as straw. I’m in a room with hay.
Not a hospital. Unless it’s an animal hospital. Did he carry me here, and this was all he found on the way? Where is he, Rory Guthrie? His name isn’t Derek.
I lift one hand, breathing raggedly, and touch the bed. It too feels like straw beneath the blankets. I force myself up, pushing with my hands and legs until I am finally standing on wobbly feet and rubber legs. It’s like having been on a boat all day and then staggering up the dock.
“Hello!” I croak into the dark. I’m not afraid of what’s here with me. I am afraid of being here alone.
“Shhhhhhhhhh. It’s all right. Don’t panic.” The woman’s voice is one I don’t know, but I don’t care. I’m not alone. I stumble to the wall, running my hand along the cool surface. It’s wood, I think, but damp wood.
“Are you a nurse? Or a tech? Is this an animal hospital? Can you help me?” I call out to the woman. “I think I’m hurt, pretty badly. I think we might have been in a car accident. My boyfriend, Rory, is he okay? Is he here?”
She giggles, nervously. It’s a strange sound to hear in the dark when you’re scared. She sounds crazy. “He’s my boyfriend too, and because of him we’re all hurt. But survival is staying silent. When Rory comes, just lie there and don’t fight him. The ones who fight don’t last.”
Tears stream from my cheeks instantly. “What?” The word is more of a ghastly whisper and less of a question. “Where are we? Can you hear me? Are you talking to
me? Can you just open the door? My boyfriend is named Der— Rory, has he been here?”
“Oh, he’s been. He’s been and gone. He’s the one who locked you up, you idiot. He’s gone most of the time. When he comes back we do what he wants, and it gets better. We all start in the dugout, but now I have a full room. And he’s not so bad. Just don’t make him mad.”
Another voice joins the conversation. “You have to be quiet. I’ve heard him moving about today since he brought her. He’ll be down here soon. We have to be quiet.”
I slap the wooden wall. “What is this place? Rory! You let me out! If this is some kind of fucking joke, it’s not funny!”
A voice that hasn’t spoken yet, but is very close to me, whispers harshly from a crack in the dark wall. “This is hell, and we are his. Just do everything he asks and be everything he asks. There’s no escape. Only madness. He’s locked you up like he did all of us. This is a prison, you understand?”
“No.” I lift a finger to the corner where her face is and feel her breath as she continues.
“My name is Be— Jane. My name is Jane. I came here six months ago, I think. But I can’t be sure. What’s the date?”
My brain pauses, fully frozen, to try to answer her. “March 22, I believe.”
“2014?”
I shake my head. “15.”
A soft sob slips from the crack in the wall. “Oh God, of course it is. I’ve been here since last May. Nearly a year.” Her voice breaks, and for a second I think she might fully cry. But she doesn’t. She accepts it and moves on almost immediately. It’s creepy and not very reassuring. It’s much more a sign of what is to come for me than I think I can comprehend.
“I was in a car with my boyfriend. And now I’m here.”
“A Jeep?” she asks softly, her delicate word ripping a huge hole in my stomach and heart.
“Yes.”
She whimpers again, but it sounds like a laugh. “He’s the best boyfriend ever, isn’t he?” She giggles again, but it’s as if someone is dragging a knife down her arm, forcing the pained giggle out. “Until he’s not and you’re here.”