by Tara Sivec
“Can you grab two flashlights?” I ask him, pointing distractedly to the small side table behind him and against the wall next to the basement door. “My father keeps a bunch there for tours since there’s only one light at the bottom of the stairs.”
I stare in a daze at the rickety wooden stairs that disappear into the blackness of the basement, so deep the lights from up here can’t reach. Nolan taps my arm with the end of a flashlight and I jump, realizing he’d been holding it out in front of me while I was busy staring.
“Come on, let’s go into the basement.”
“Are you crazy? It’s scary down there.”
“It’s not scary when you go with someone else. Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
“I’ve been down there before, believe me, there’s nothing I haven’t seen.”
“You haven’t seen the bones…”
The conversation I remembered the last time I tried to go down into the basement floats through my mind, as well as the words I read from the journal page earlier. That page made it sound like someone else was making me go into the basement, but the memory of that conversation is perfectly clear in my head. I can see myself standing in this very spot, hands on my hips and a cocky smile on my face as I coerced whoever it was to come with me.
Taking the flashlight, I head down the stairs, hoping the rest of that memory will come to me when I get down there.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Ravenna? You’re breathing pretty hard and your hands are shaking,” Nolan says softly as he follows me down the stairs.
“It’s calling to me,” I whisper. “I can feel it. I need to go down there,” I whisper softly, not even caring if he hears me.
I sound crazy—I know I do—but I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
“Don’t go down there. You’ll never come up if you go down there.”
The warning my father gave me when he caught me picking the lock on the basement door suddenly feels like a bad omen, instead of the drunken nonsense of a man slowly losing his mind after the death of my mother. The words repeat on a loop in my head, getting louder and louder, until I have to press my hands against my ears to quiet them.
“Stop, stop, stop,” I chant under my breath as I make myself continue moving down the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath my feet.
I don’t want to hear his voice in my head. He’s a liar and a fool, staying with a woman who probably never wanted him and who lied to him about my paternity. I hate him for pushing me away every time I needed him. I needed him so much, and he threw me away like I meant nothing.
“Get her away from me; I can’t stand to look at her.”
“She’s just like him, Claudia. You can’t pretend anymore. I won’t let her ruin us like Tobias did.”
“Look what she did, Claudia! She’s only five years old, and look what she’s capable of! She has to go; she’ll only get worse.”
“Do whatever you need to do, Dr. Thomas, just don’t bring her anywhere near here again unless you can fix her.”
Words I overheard long ago rush through my mind so swiftly the farther I get to the bottom of the stairs that I can barely make sense of them. Even though I’ve come to terms with my father’s hatred toward me, it still takes my breath away to remember even more proof of that disgust and the realization that it didn’t start recently. He has always hated me. He’s wanted me gone since I was five years old.
“Ravenna, are you okay?” Nolan asked worriedly.
I ignore him, moving faster down the stairs until I’m swallowed by the darkness at the bottom and my feet move off of the wooden steps and onto the cold, basement floor. I reach blindly in front of me until I feel a heavy piece of string, pulling on it until the bare light bulb in the ceiling switches on, lighting up part of the basement.
My skin tingles, not with the cold dampness in the air, but with the need to run to the other end of the basement. Each step I take deeper into this spot beneath the prison makes another brick in the wall of my mind break away and crumble to dust. I remember being five years old and already filled with anger and hatred. I remember feeling like I didn’t belong in this family, and, even at that young age, I can still remember the way they always looked at me—in fear.
Nolan’s hand suddenly slides around my waist and he pulls me back against the front of his body, stopping me from going any farther.
“You don’t have to do this if it’s too upsetting,” he says softly right next to my ear. “I know you feel like all the answers are down here, but maybe we should go back upstairs and do it another time. You’ve had to deal with a lot lately, especially finding out you have a crazy man for a father. I’m just afraid this might be too much for you.”
Wrapping my hand around his wrist that’s pressed against my stomach, my fingernails dig into his skin as I pry his arm away. I keep digging and digging, squeezing and squeezing, even though he’s not resisting me. I want to hurt him for calling Tobias crazy. Who is he to judge a man he only saw through a glass window and never even spoke to? Who is he to have an opinion about a man just because I made the mistake of telling him the things Tobias did that put him in prison? He doesn’t know how hard it is to ignore the need, and he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel dead inside until you finally give in.
I feel something warm and wet beneath my fingers, and I look down to see blood trickling out of the holes my nails are making in Nolan’s skin.
“Ouch!” he suddenly shouts in pain, jerking his arm away from me. “Careful with your nails, Ravenna.”
He says it in a teasing voice with a hint of laughter, probably to make sure he doesn’t do anything to frighten or upset the girl in front of him, who appears to be coming apart at the seams.
Bringing my hand up in front of my face, I stare at the small drops of blood that stain my fingertips, resisting the urge to lick them clean. Instead, I rub my fingers together and let it smear, the tension slowly leaving my shoulders.
I let out a slow, relaxing breath, forcing myself to calm down before I make a mistake, and Nolan leaves in disgust or fear. As much as I didn’t want him down here a few moments ago, I’m glad he’s here now. It’s time for him to see who I really am.
“When this was a working prison, this entire area was used for solitary confinement,” I explain to Nolan, speaking softly as I begin walking again, moving slowly, deeper into the basement.
Talking puts a stop to the memories, but I’m okay with that for the time being. Too many thoughts and feelings are at war inside of me and I need a moment to quiet my mind before it all becomes too much for me to handle. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between wanting to know everything and suddenly scared to death it’ll destroy what’s left of my soul when I finally remember it all. I hate being afraid. I refuse to be afraid, and after everything I’ve learned about my life so far, I know that nothing can break me. I let my knowledge about the prison and random facts roll easily off my tongue, giving me time to push aside my fear.
“It used to be sectioned off with six-by-eight foot cells made out of chain-link fence that stretched from floor to ceiling, but due to a busted pipe a few years ago, most of the cages were removed so the workers could move around easier to fix what was broken,” I tell him in a monotone voice, stopping in front of one of those cells. “Now it’s just one wide open, empty space with the original stone floor and crumbling stone walls, with just this one cage left for the tours.”
“I feel like all we talk about is my life. You know everything about me now, including my favorite color, what I eat every day, and a bunch of other useless facts. Why don’t we ever talk about you?”
“Believe me, your life is much more interesting than mine. If I told you about my life, you’d probably have nightmares. If you don’t want to talk about yourself anymore, let’s talk about this creepy prison. I know a few things, but I’m sure you have a bunch of good stories I haven’t heard.”
I pause in
the middle of my explanation to Nolan when another memory I couldn’t stop hits me. I can see myself sitting on the pink comforter in that awful pink room but once again, I don’t know who I’m talking to, and I can’t remember which part of that conversation was mine and which was someone else’s.
“They were like animals in cages down here,” Nolan mutters, pulling me away from my thoughts as he stares at the cage in front of us.
“Pretty much,” I agree, continuing on with my story. “But you have to remember, these were for the worst of the worst. The ones who started prison riots, killed other inmates or even guards. Their punishment was being cast off into the basement, where there aren’t any windows to let in sunlight and no privacy whatsoever. They lost all sense of time because it was always dark, and many of them went completely insane if they were down here for a long time. They didn’t even have beds; they had to sleep on the ground. The guards back then needed to make it so awful that the men would think twice about doing anything bad again because the punishment was so severe.”
“I wouldn’t have to do this to you if you’d just stop being bad.”
“This will only hurt for a minute. If you’re a good girl, I’ll tell you more stories about the place where you were born.”
My chilled skin suddenly heats up like I walked into blazing inferno. My head starts to pound with a piercing headache, and even the solitary bulb that barely gives off enough light to see more than a few feet in front of us is suddenly too bright for my eyes. I squeeze them closed and press my hands to either side of my head, wanting nothing more than to make the pain go away.
This memory decides to give me everything, and I can see an older man leaning over me as he straps me to a table. His hair is the color of salt and pepper, neatly trimmed and slicked back off of his forehead. He’s wearing a dress shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck, and I stare at the old, wrinkly extra skin that spills out from the tight collar of his shirt, dreaming about the day when I’m older and stronger and can slice it off with a knife. I hate him. I dream every day about killing him, and I know immediately who he is, realizing now why as soon as I heard his name from Dr. Beall, all my memories of pain were associated with him.
“I don’t deserve this, Dr. Thomas. None of this is my fault, and you are going to regret this. I’ll make sure you pay for this.”
“Ravenna? Are you okay?”
I hear Nolan’s voice, but I can’t open my mouth to speak. I’m too busy clenching my jaw as hard as I can. Pain…so much pain. It hurts everywhere and it never stops.
The electric shock waves that shoot through my body, needles stabbing up and down my arms… Forced into a tub filled with ice cubes and freezing cold water and made to sit there for hours, strapped into a straitjacket and left in a pitch-black room for days at a time… Being starved, being beaten, and so many other things that all come flooding back, making me want to scream and claw at the skin on my face and rip the hair from my head.
“Ravenna, answer me,” Nolan says again, his voice finally penetrating my thoughts.
“I’m fine. Where was I?” I ask calmly, moving away from the cage and farther into the basement where it starts to get darker, the single bulb at the base of the stairs unable to provide enough light.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice full of fear and concern.
His fear wraps around me like a warm blanket. I want him to be afraid. I want him to be concerned for my well-being. I’ve taken that final step at the edge of the cliff and I’m falling so fast that no one can save me now.
The secrets are hidden in the walls of this prison. They will destroy you before they set you free.
I chuckle out loud, thinking again about the words I wrote in my journal. These remaining secrets that are so close I feel like I can reach out and touch them can go ahead and try to destroy me. Nothing can crush me. I’ve lived my life in the bowels of hell, and it only made me stronger.
Flipping the switch on my flashlight, I aim the beam into the shadows in front of me, the light reaching all the way to the wall at the end of the basement. I continue walking until there’s nowhere else to go.
“There’s a door here, but it’s camouflaged into the stone,” I say robotically as my hand automatically moves right where it needs to go. “There’s a room back here, but no one knows about it. It’s where bad things happened. Very bad things.”
“You haven’t seen the bones. Didn’t anyone tell you the story of the men who died down here? How do I know something about this place that you don’t?”
“I should have known you’d be too scared to do it. Move out of the way; I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Why am I doing this? Because they deserve to know what it feels like to lose everything. Swallow the water, breathe it in, close your eyes and just slip away. It will only hurt for a moment, and then you’ll be free.”
“I think we should go back upstairs,” Nolan tells me as I run my palm over the cool stone wall, feeling for the doorknob. “I don’t think we should open that door. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”
He’s probably correct. Nothing good can come from opening this door, but I can’t stop. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever and I can’t turn back. The truth is right in front of me, screaming at me to keep moving, to open the door, and remember. Just remember.
“Do you remember? Do you know? T means death, death means T. Remember T. REMEMBER!”
My hand bumps into the handle, and I smile to myself as I wrap my palm around it, but pause before turning it.
“There’s a story that’s been passed down between the guards for years,” I speak softly, letting the anticipation build before I pull the door open. The anticipating is the best part. I remember being in this room the last time. The excitement of finally coming to the end of my plan and realizing I only had one step left before it was finished.
“Behind this door is another room. There isn’t much of a floor, maybe around four feet all the way around the outer edge by the wall. It drops right down into a sub-basement. I don’t even know why they call it the sub-basement. It’s no bigger than any other cell in the prison, but it’s not a cell. It’s a hole. Back in the 1800’s, they didn’t have solitary confinement and cages; they had ‘The Hole.’ Dirt floors, dirt walls, and shackles attached to those dirt walls to hold the men down there. The shackles were overkill since the hole goes down about ten feet and once you were in, there was no getting out unless the guards lowered a rope ladder.”
The door creaks as I pull it open the tiniest bit.
“Something tells me this story is not going to end well,” Nolan comments with a nervous chuckle, trying to lighten the moment that has clearly descended into darkness.
I ignore him and continue.
“There were four men shackled down in the hole one night when it started to rain. It came down in buckets and before they knew it, the guards noticed the hole was starting to fill up with water. Someone needed to get the ladder and go down to remove the men, but it was late. They had families and needed to make the long ride home to check on them, make sure they were safe in the storm as it pounded down all around the prison. They argued. No one wanted to go down in the hole that was filling up faster and faster with rain bubbling up from the ground. The men were screaming, begging for someone to get them out. The guards turned, made their way upstairs, and eventually the screaming stopped. The next day when the storm had passed, they went downstairs and found the hole completely filled with water, but slowly starting to drain. Still, no one wanted to go down in the hole so they left the bodies down there and closed the door.”
Pulling open the door the rest of the way, I hold my breath in anticipation. There’s something in this room I need to see. Something I have to see. It pulls me forward, moves my feet without my help and calls to me.
“So they just left four dead bodies down here. Like, forever? No wonder people think this place is haunted. This has got to be everyone’s fav
orite part of the tour.”
I shake my head, moving the beam of the flashlight along the floor at my feet, toward the room.
“This isn’t part of the tour. No one is allowed in this room because my father thinks it’s too dangerous. He’s been wanting to have the hole filled in, but he hasn’t had the time.”
I finally aim the flashlight beam into the room and all the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh when I see what’s in front of me as I continue moving inside the room until my feet are right at the edge.
A loud thunk sounds behind me and I jump, turning to see Nolan’s body fall to the side, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I cringe as his head smacks against the hard floor, my eyes slowly moving away from his unmoving form to the doorway.
With the dim light from the single bulb at the other end of the basement, I can only see a shadowed outline of the person standing in the doorway with a long, heavy piece of wood held in the air that I’m guessing is the cause of Nolan’s crumpled, unconscious body lying by my feet.
I don’t need a bright light to tell me who it is.
“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I’m going to make you see the truth.”
Chapter 21
“What did you do? Why would you hurt him like that?” I shout, quickly glancing down at Nolan to make sure he’s still alive.
Even after all the things I’ve learned about myself and how utterly insane I feel right at this moment as words and memories and pain and all the things I’ve blocked come rushing back, I still don’t want Nolan to actually die, no matter how many times I’ve fantasized about it.