by Marcia DM
I step back into her room. She’s sleeping for real this time. I leave the bags next to the bed. I’m about to turn around and disappear forever and I can’t help myself— I must look at her one last time. Fuck it.
I never did this before. I didn’t want her to think I was going to sexually assault her, on top of abusing her body the way I was. But this is the last time I’ll see her and she’s sleeping. I won’t get a better chance than this. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too late… my hand’s already sliding down… I never thought it would feel this smooth and soft… I always wanted to do it and I’m finally doing it… my hand on her silky hair, so silky it actually slips away from my fingers, just like water would do.
I feel responsible. Leaving feels like abandoning her, it feels wrong; but this is as far as I can go, my job here is done. I was the wrath in her nightmares, the boogeyman, the monster inside the closet; and now this abomination will release her from its torment. I kiss her forehead, and I also wish her a good life.
“You will never see me again, Cassandra, this I promise… What I can’t promise is… that I won’t see YOU again.”
When I step out of the room, Carter is sitting in the waiting room, reading the newspaper and having some coffee.
“Cuz,” I call him. He looks up at me and smiles. He’s always in a good mood, even when the shit hits the fan. I always envied that in him. He stands up, smacks the paper on the table and gulps down what’s left of the coffee.
He always liked to dress like a fucking biker —leather from head to toes—, he carries a badass motherfucker attitude, an Elvis-level pussy-magnet demeanor, and he also has the looks of a freaking underwear model.
“I can’t recall the last time I saw you this tired. Was it in Vegas?” he laughs.
“The fact that I don’t remember anything at all about that trip tells me everything I need to know. Listen, she asked me to leave and I intend to indulge. That officer right there is in charge of this shift.” I look and nod in the officer’s direction. “Nobody else but him and the nurses may enter her room. I trust you will enforce this directive.”
“Whatever you say goes, cuz,” he acknowledges.
“Thank you, I owe you…” I grab his shoulder. I mean it. He knows this mission was hard as fuck on me. He also knows this is my ticket out; that I decided to call it quits a while ago.
My career started in the military a long time ago. Working my ass off, as hard as I could, I managed to please my parents, but they didn’t always share my values and beliefs, so I retired from the force and started a pretty illegal life. As it turns out, illegal shit is profitable as fuck, and I didn’t have to report to arrogant assholes or put up with their stupid shit. I spent years working in the shadows, staying hidden as much as I could, earning more money than I really needed. Until the cocksuckers reached out to me. They knew I was a perfect fit for this mission, it wasn’t a coincidence. Everybody knew about my demons and their endless struggle to claim the throne. Sometimes evil took over just to be vanquished later by good. Sometimes I was ruled by none of them, but anarchy…
“Yeah, you owe me a few already, but we can discuss this later.” He mocks me with an impression of a military salute and pats my back. Then he returns to his seat.
What I like the most about Carter is that he never asks questions about anything. That makes him smart, as well. He’s like a brother to me. I know he feels the same about me. We’re there for each other, without hesitation. Life threw bad shit at us and that strengthened our bond even more. We’re the only family we have… the only family left.
Blood comes first… always.
CHAPTER 6
CASSANDRA
Abright light hits my eyelids. I feel lost. Where am I? I try to open my eyes, but the light hurts a lot. A shooting pain makes me close them again.
“Easy there, dear. Take your time, don’t rush it. Your eyes need to get used to light again. This is like being reborn,” says a warm and soothing maternal voice. I comply and begin to open my eyes slowly, letting the sunlight be a part of my life once again.
“This is great; I can’t wait to get a tan,” says Life.
Once my eyes are wide open, I feel my brain getting overwhelmed by emotion. I want to run towards the window and take a good look at it, but I still can’t— these wires are my new shackles.
God dammit!
“Honey, give it a minute, you’re not ready yet. Give it time. We still need to run some more tests.” What? Tests? Is she for real? Is she going to make decisions for me? You gotta be fucking kidding me right now!
“A minute? Nurse, that means nothing to me anymore. There’s no time to waste here. If I don’t see it now, I might not get another chance later…”
This nurse must be in her forties, maybe fifties. She’s also understanding and has a comforting smile. I don’t want to sound ungrateful and gloomy, but I just can’t shake off this feeling that a grim period is about to start in my life. My mind is different now, my thoughts are different. I don’t live in the present anymore, I’m always thinking ahead. The others might not understand, and it’s really hard to explain.
It’s been three years since I last had the power to decide, to call my own shots. Three long fucking years I’ve felt no control over my mind and body. The only thing that mattered was obedience. So yeah, I don’t think it’s super fucking weird that I want to make a fucking judgement call right now. So you better get out of the way, bitch.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
This damned machine again.
“Come, now. I told you to drop it. If you keep at it, you will set your recovery back and will take longer to see the sun on your own terms…” Her voice went from kind and smooth to sharp and serious.
I never appreciated the sun before I was kidnapped. I never thought I’d miss it the most. Don’t get me wrong, food, clothing, internet, TV, etc. were sorely missed, but the sun was in a whole different level of ‘missingness’.
“…but if you’re trying this hard to do it, I think I better help you.” The nurse sighs, then comes near me. Giving up to my will, she helps me stand on the cold floor. I take a step, kick something and make a noise. I see a couple of bags lying on the ground. I walk around them without even bothering to think what’s inside —my goal awaits beyond the window. I’m being escorted to a window. She’s holding my arm while carrying some equipment along. My legs are shaking, I’m still very weak, so I appreciate the gesture. She could’ve just ignored me or pointed out one of the dozens things about my poor health right now to refuse helping me get up. Step by step, we make our way to the window while we continue chatting.
“The bags over there by the bed were brought by the officer who left a while ago. He said you’ll what’s in them. If you want it. I can help you with that, too…” I try to listen, but honestly, I can’t focus on anything else right now but the two additional steps I must take to meet the sun again. I finally reach the window and rest my body against the frame. The sun shines bright; this warm feeling is the first familiar thing I experience since they pulled me out of the nightmare. I try to look straight at it, just like I did in my dream, but I can’t. I hiss and massage my eyes to ease the pain, but Is this really pain? It is, but it’s nothing compared to what I’m used to, what he made me get used to.
‘He’ comes to my mind. I get a flashback of what happened in the last 48 hours —screams, loud noises, his face, blood, death, him again, the conversation we had and the promise that came after—, I look back and quickly scan the room looking for traces of him. He’s gone, just like he promised. Oddly enough, I feel empty inside, even more than before.
Recalling that the nurse is still here, I ask, “What did you say about those bags?”
“Oh! The officer who was here yesterday brought them. He was very kind, I think there are some clothes inside.” She seems amazed by him. She’s happy for me because someone bought me clothes. She ignores what he did before; she wouldn’t think or feel this way if she
knew.
When she mentions him, it’s impossible not to get lost remembering the conversation they had in front of me, how her voice trembled through their entire exchange, especially when she said ‘you brought joy back to our lives.’ To be honest, he did that for me as well, but I can’t just ignore the rest.
I never knew his name. Why am I thinking this right now?
“Let’s go back to bed, you need to rest. I brought you breakfast; once you’re done eating, I need a blood sample from you.”
“More needles? No, please. Isn’t there any other way?” The cold horror that goes through my body, from my hair to the tip of my toes, is unbearable. Needles bring back a lot of dark memories.
“Please, not again.”
“We’re just getting started. One hand down, one to go. After that, you get to rest,” he whispers.
He takes my right hand and proceeds to slowly stab my index finger with a needle. My screams fill the room to the very last corner. My vocal cords are vibrating so much, my throat burns; my eyes are so swollen, I can barely see. My wrists are bound to this chair with rough rope. I’m squirming and hurting them in the process. It hurts so much, my brain is starting to shut down. I see black spots getting bigger and bigger, obscuring my vision even more. God, finally I feel my body shutting down completely. I can still hear my own screams, but they seem lost in the distance. I’m already miles away.
A moment later, something wakes me up.
Cold water.
He always does that. Always. Somehow, I keep forgetting.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to you, dear. I really am,” says the nurse in an attempt to make me accept what’s about to happen. “It will only take a moment, just a small pinch. And never again… If you can help me with this, I… can get you something else to eat!” She smiles and shows me her happy face, thinking I might mirror her.
“Just get it over with.”
“Yes, dear. Just this once and then we’ll leave you alone.” She takes something white from her pocket, grabs my hand and guides my index finger inside a tiny hole. The pinch is small and quick, just like she promised. Once again, nothing will ever compare to what he used to put me through.
As soon as the nurse steps out, I glance at the bags. The son of a bitch bought me clothes; guilt has been eating him away.
And I hope that goes on until he dies.
Tees, pants, jackets and some lingerie… two pairs of tennis shoes, wool beanies, socks —he bought enough to fill a modest-sized wardrobe. I don’t think I’ll need anything else apart from what he bought. It’s amazing how your view about stuff changes after a traumatic event. I used to have an endless wardrobe and say the phrase ‘I have nothing to wear’ over and over. Today I’m happy to have a pair of pants and a t-shirt to wear. While I go through the items, I come across something made of paper, not soft; something like a receipt, but harder. During my time in captivity, I never saw or had the opportunity to touch paper, not even to go number two; so I stop the search and my hands enjoy the texture like it’s a magical object. I pull it out, only to discover it’s a letter:
Cassandra,
My name is D’Amico, Bruno. I’m thirty-two years old. I started a military career when I was eighteen, I became a SEAL at the age of twenty-five and took my most dangerous and difficult job as a double agent three years ago. I was physically and mentally trained for it— nasty exercises at crazy hours for extended periods of time, conducted by several publicly-known government agencies and others unknown by the public as well. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, that’s what they needed and trained me to be. To perform at the highest level, you can’t be allowed to feel. I could kill and torture without flinching, I was what you may call a legal ‘psycho killer’.
Until you came along.
The mission that included you exceeded every textbook, practice or experience I had in the past and made me feel like a rookie again.
I suffered when you did.
I’m telling you this because I feel you deserve to know who was the person who became the master of your pain, the devil who took ownership of your life and shattered it into a million pieces. But let me tell you something else— I never took any pleasure in it. I know you think I did, but I really didn’t. Hurting you never felt good or made me a bigger man, Cassandra. These ideas you hold are wrong. I’ll say it again: I never, EVER, enjoyed any of this. I’m sorry you had to be a victim of these ‘skilled hands.’
I’m aware I’ve earned a special kind of hatred from you for life, that’s completely understandable. If I could live to serve you until the day I die, I would; but I know that won’t be enough to fix my mistakes, not in this life or the next.
I’m a despicable human being, I know that. And there’s nothing in the entire world that can change that. I only hope you can change, and that love and happiness find you in your brand-new life.
If you need closure, here’s my address:
7011 St. Thomas Street, Alamo Hills.
(You’re free to take my life if that will give you peace.)
Sincerely,
Bruno.
PS: I hope you like your new clothes.
CHAPTER 7
CASSANDRA
I’ve read the letter eight times now, and every time I do, a maelstrom of feelings pounds in my chest.
Rage.
Empathy.
Resentment.
Pity.
Self-pity, or towards him?
He shows himself as being complete opposites, hot and cold, beautiful and ugly, sadistic and kind, day and night. He claims that our sessions did not bring him any pleasure, but I’m not so sure about that— I saw how he looked at me, with a smirk. I saw him get aroused more than once— a bulge in his crotch exposed him. However, he never raped or touched me like that, not even by mistake; and for that I’m grateful. After our long sessions, he came to my cell and tended to my wounds, fixing me, healing me without even breathing a word, like an artist erasing a sketch. But later he started the same sketch again.
One of my tears reaches the paper. I frantically try to dry it with my sheet before it can damage the words permanently. I fail. A smudge now replaces a word.
His name… Bruno… what a… regular name, for someone so… powerful. But then again, monsters don’t have pretty names. Do they?
“Yeah, those are the worst kind of monsters,” Life adds.
How can anyone restart their own life from scratch? Now that I think about it, where do you even start? How would the Cassandra of the future be? How is she going to behave among others? I can’t even stand my current thoughts.
So many unanswered questions.
Earlier today, after several days of hospitalization, they finally removed the IVs. I can finally go to the bathroom like a normal human being.
I no longer need help to stand or walk, I can manage for myself now. So I wait until the nurse leaves to embark on my new adventure. First one step, then another, slow and steady. My first goal is to reach the door handle. Once there, I turn the handle slowly. The spring inside recoils. The door is now unlatched. I push forward, and it opens; a little squeak follows. The bathroom seems to be in good shape; the smell of bleach and some other chemical products meets my nose. Green ceramic tiles cover the walls from floor to ceiling, giving it an antique style. I snoop around this small place a bit until I find the toilet— white, shiny and waiting for me.
I guide myself running my hands through the walls and reach it at last. I open my gown and sit. I sit to pee, after all this time! I know it sounds gross, but after three years of not using one, I really don’t care. This is heaven. The seat is cold; the feeling surprises me, it’s been so long that I forgot about that. I wiggle a bit on top of the seat until it gets warm and finally start peeing.
Society doesn’t appreciate what it has. Everything is taken for granted. People will never know how it feels to give up on a toilet and miss it. I finish what I came here to do and reach for another thing that was sorely
missed— toilet paper. I rediscover it, so soft and white; it wipes me good, making me feel clean and pure again. I stand up and close my gown —I would have pulled my panties up if I had any on me— and make way for the sink; I’m nervous, my body remembers all those times I wasn’t allowed to use soap. He was the only one who could bathe me. The cold water runs through my hands, soap bubbles are everywhere. I scrub my fingers to clean them good and watch the water rinse them. Suddenly, something startles me. I see movement in the mirror, a shadow. I look up. A woman stares at me. She looks lost. Sharp cheekbones and eye bags as dark as the night, lifeless light blue eyes that once shone, but no longer do. Her hair looks messy and tangled, her neck seems too small to hold her head and her clavicles are kind of protruding.
Oh, God. Her skin is so damaged. She looks ruined.
That woman used to be Cassandra at some point. Today, she’s a total stranger to me.
The days go by and I don’t look at my reflection again. I don’t dare, it was awful and depressing.
A cop walks in and interrupts my river of tears to let me know that I will be released from the facility soon and move to a new house, a ‘safehouse’ —his own words. He also starts giving me an endless list of things that I don’t understand, follow or even care about, and then he mentions the Witness Protection Program and my new identity. I just want him to shut up and leave, so I can read the letter one more time.
The letter takes me back to my childhood, when I used to watch movies over and over because I never really understood how they made me feel (The Lion King holds the #1 record for most watched, but I always skipped the part with Mufasa’s death)— they were a rollercoaster of emotions for a little girl. Today, this letter has the same effect on me. Is this nostalgia? Love? Fear…? I don’t know what to make of it.