Imprisoned

by J D Jacobs

  And, oh, how he loved those people.

  He gets out of the shower and dries himself off. He wipes the fog off the mirror, decides not to shave today. He likes the small stubble. Someone else used to like it, too, once upon a time.

  He then looks to that someone. A picture of a beautiful Latina woman stays perched in the corner of the bathroom mirror. Miguel presses two fingers to his lips and transfers his kiss to the lady in the picture. “Buenos días, mi ángel,” he tells the lady. “I love you and always will. You are my motivation and my drive.” He has paraphrased that same statement to the lady in the picture every morning since he took over Avvil. It humbles himself; reminds him of what he lives for.

  He puts on a collared shirt, pulls up a pair of khakis over his legs, and digs his toes into his favorite loafers. He walks out into the kitchen, where two kids are already sitting at the breakfast table, eating a pancake a piece. The girl has blueberries sprinkled over her syrup.

  “Camila, Isaac,” Miguel greets them with a smile, “good morning! Starting early with the pancakes, I see?”

  “Sissy wanted them,” the young boy, Isaac, tells Miguel. He stuffs his mouth with a slice of pancake that is too big for his fork.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Camila says from her wheelchair. She cuts the pancakes into much smaller pieces and shovels the syrupy blueberries in while she’s chewing. She loves the combination of the two.

  “Not at all! Looks delicious!” Miguel takes a seat at the table, placing a tablecloth over his lap. “How many did you make?”

  “I’m not sure. A decent amount. You can take the rest with you,” Camila says. She knows what Miguel plans to do with the pancakes.

  “Thank you,” he says as he pours syrup over his stacked pancakes. “We have another mouth to feed on that floor, so this will be perfect.”

  Camila and Isaac lock eyes, reading each other’s thoughts. Isaac dips his head down to his plate. Camila asks the question that neither of them want to ask. “Are one of the Illinois people on that floor?”

  “Unfortunately so,” Miguel answers, sensing her innocence.

  “Why? They were very nice people to us. Why do we have to do this to them?” Camila refrains from letting any acrimony present itself in her voice.

  “The same reason we did the same to the Colorado people,” Miguel answers with a mouthful. He swallows before he continues. “This group is curious, as well. They let their questions become too much. One of them is heading to the Arena today because of it.”

  “What!?” Camila’s heart drops, scared for what this means. “Why? Please, don’t! They were nice people!”

  “Calm down, Camila!” Miguel says. “This has to be done; you know this. Don’t be worried, though. Neither of the younger boys are going in the Arena today.”

  Camila nibbles on a blueberry. “Where are the boys? Are they both on the floor?”

  “Only the one with the burned face,” Miguel answers, finishing up the last of his pancakes. “The tall boy got away. I don’t know where he got off too, but he knows too much. I’ll spend most of today searching for him.” He wads the tablecloth up and throws it on the shallow puddle of syrup left on his plate.

  “What happens when you find him?” Camila asks.

  Miguel walks over and kisses the top of Camila’s head. “We give the Avvil people what they want. Thank you for breakfast.” He kisses the top of Isaac’s head, then grabs a plate of pancakes and a cup of syrup with him as he heads toward the door. “I’ll see you two tonight. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Yes sir,” Camila answers. The door slams shut. Camila waits until the footsteps leave the wooden porch, then she rolls herself away from the table and back to her bedroom with a plate of pancakes and a fork on her lap.

  “This isn’t what the people want, is it, Sissy?” Isaac asks his sister, his voice as youthful as he appears.

  “Sadly, it’s not,” she tells him as she makes her way to her closet. “Be my lookout,” she tells her brother. Isaac stays at the bedroom door and faces out into the rest of the house.

  Camila opens the closet door, the bedroom lights shining down on a tall boy uncomfortably curled up underneath a large jacket. His face screams terror, but his eyes scream help. He has nowhere else to go but this closet.

  “Is he gone?” the boy known as Cody Goodwin asks Camila. He doesn’t fully trust the young girl and boy, but they were the only people in this city that might’ve helped him out. Luckily, nobody saw Camila and Isaac agree to hide Cody last night, under the same roof of the man who’s looking for him.

  “Yeah. He’s gone.” Camila hands Cody the pancakes. “You have to stay in here, though. There’s no telling when he might come back home. He said your friend is locked on that thirteenth floor. If he finds you, you won’t be so lucky. He’ll throw you in the Arena.”

  “The Arena? What’s that?” Cody asks, scared of the answer.

  Camila pauses before going further. “You don’t want to know. Trust me, this closet is the best place you could be.”

  20.

  Floor 13, Room 13

  The sound of my room’s door slamming into the wall wakes me up. Startled and still dazed, I get to my feet to defend myself. Miguel Ricardo walks in with two intimidating guards behind him and a plate of pancakes in his hands.

  “Buenos días, zorro!” he says with a smile.

  My back is forced firmly against the corner of the room as I try to hide my fear from Ricardo. “What do you want from me?” I ask in a low and trembling voice.

  “It’s too early to ask questions on an empty stomach. Here.” Ricardo places a plate of pancakes and a small cup of syrup on the dresser and turns to exit the room. “I promise I didn’t poison them.”

  “Why’d you lock me in here?” I ask him with a faked firmness.

  Ricardo stops, waving for his guards to leave as he closes the door, leaving us two alone in the room. “If you think I’m trying to hurt you, I’m not.”

  Yeah, right. Let me knee him in the face and see if that doesn’t hurt. “That doesn’t answer my question. Why’d you lock me in here?”

  Ricardo sits down on the edge of the furthest bed. “To keep you safe. There are dangers that you’re unaware of, and in order to protect you from these dangers, I’m locking you on this floor.”

  “I thought the dangers were what’s on the thirteenth floor, the floor that you’ve been keeping secret from everybody in this hotel. Or maybe the thirteenth floor is full of people just like me who have discovered what you’re trying to hide.”

  Ricardo snickers. “You think I’m keeping this floor a secret from the people in this hotel? Kid, have you seen anybody else staying in the Grandsmont? Have you?”

  I think back, but the only person that comes to mind is the girl in the room next to me whose voice I heard last night. I decide not to mention her, though.

  “The only people who are staying in this hotel are you and your entourage. Hehe, I can’t believe you actually thought this hotel was filled with other people.”

  The Grandsmont Hotel has been empty this entire time? That means that Mrs. Margaret was in on this scheme, too. And Ian. Who’s to say that everybody in this city isn’t in on this secret? What if everybody knew there was a thirteenth floor in the empty Grandsmont hotel, and they all decided to keep it a secret from us?

  Not everybody, though. The only person who showed the slightest indication of wanting to tell us the truth was Camila. But I then think back to what Ricardo told me last night, when he said that a “little birdie” told him that I’d be up here. Was she the birdie?

  Either way, that doesn’t matter right now. I have more important issues, starting with the fact that the man behind my aching nose, throbbing eye, and solitary confinement is sitting in front of me. The man who might have already captured my best friend has just brought me pancakes. Pancakes that, mind you, smell fantastic.

  “Where is he?” I ask Ricardo. He gives me a fake confused look, but takes my
solemn glare as a sign that he’s unable to fool me.

  “Your friend… I don’t know. We’ll see.” He then stands up and knocks on the door. It cracks open from the outside shortly after. Before he heads out, though, he pauses, as if a great epiphany just came to him. “You know what? I think I’ll throw you a welcoming party! Yeah, to make you comfortable with the Avvil lifestyles. It’ll be a fun surprise! Stay tuned.” He then heads out the door and closes it behind him.

  My brain rattles with what surprise he could be throwing me, but no matter what it is, I’m sure I won’t like it. The worst possibility I can think of is if he did something terrible to Cody for my surprise. I picture myself unwrapping a gift Ricardo gave me and finding Cody’s head as the present.

  I can’t help but think the worst. It’s not just Ricardo I’m scared of, it’s everybody in this city. Mrs. Margaret, Lucas, Reggie. They all knew that we were staying in an empty hotel, yet they all fed us lies.

  Speaking of being fed, I grab the pancakes and head outside to the balcony. I debate throwing them in rage and across the coliseum like a flying saucer. Although I’m not hungry, I chomp down on the suspicious-yet-delicious breakfast, wondering how Avvil was able to make pancakes. I’m imagining this Britt Solomon guy stocking up on thousands of boxes of pancake batter mix.

  My silent breakfast is interrupted by the sound of the neighboring balcony’s door sliding open, the same neighbor who told me to shut up last night. I stop chewing, hoping this woman won’t be able to hear my heavy breathing and slop fest next door. I don’t know who this woman is. Maybe she’s just like me, or maybe she’s another one of Ricardo’s secret-keepers.

  I sit in silence, anticipating her to speak first, but she must be waiting for me to do the same. We sit in our stalemate for a few minutes as the food in my mouth loses its taste. I’m determined not to be the first to talk. Heck, it might not even be the same woman I heard last night. The person who slid that door back could have been a Grim, for all I know, so I may sit here for decades without hearing a voice. I get tired of the silence and decide I’ll be the one to say something. Besides, I’ve already had an episode of isolation before. Another voice is what I need right now. A voice that doesn’t belong to Ricardo.

  But instead of words, I end up clearing my throat. A smooth talker, I know.

  “Don’t bother, I knew you were out here all along,” the lady tells me. She must have thought I was making her aware of my presence. “You’re a heavy nose-breather. Not a good quality to have, especially when you’re trying to stay hidden.”

  I finally swallow my food and let my loud sniffs of air be my response.

  “You don’t know what surprise he has waiting for you, do you?” the lady asks me. I don’t answer at first, as I’m not necessarily pleased with her eavesdropping. She takes my silence as a chance to defend herself. “Sorry. Thin walls. I could hear everything even if I didn’t want to.”

  “I’m guessing you know Ricardo well enough to know what his surprise is?” I ask her, still suspicious of her.

  “You could say that.”

  “Who exactly are you, Ricardo’s wife?”

  “As of about five hours ago, I’m now your only friend,” she frankly tells me.

  My immediate implication bursts to the next room. “Are you saying he’s going to kill my friend?”

  “He might, but that wasn’t what I was implying,” she assures me. “I’m saying that you’re going to be here for a while. You’re in an end room, so nobody is creeping over from the corner of the building to make friends with you. Your list of acquaintances as of now include me and Miguel, and I doubt you want to bump knuckles with him anytime soon.”

  “Okay, but you still didn’t answer my question. Who are you?” I ask her. An educated guess would be that this woman is another one of Ricardo’s chess pieces that I shouldn’t trust.

  “Ribbon #12.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I hear the distant yet echoed sounds of the large bell bonging from the middle of the city. The bongs remind me of the flashback I had where the Colorado people were being escorted to the Grandsmont Hotel. Were they being escorted to this coliseum below me?

  “There’s your surprise,” I hear the lady tell me as she stands up. Her feet scuffle on the balcony floor as she pulls the sliding door back.

  “Wait, where are you going? What do you mean?” I, too, stand up from my seat, but it’s for me to get closer to the wall that separates the two balconies.

  “The bell means that the Arena below us is going to fill up soon. We’re not allowed to be on our balconies when people get here.” The lady sounds dull, the sound of the bell having sucked the energy out of her.

  “Please, tell me what you mean.”

  I hear her feet scuffle back to the rails of the balcony.

  “Below us is the Atoning Arena,” she informs me. “Every few days, or whenever Miguel gets bored, there’s a fight held in the Atoning Arena.”

  “A fight?” I ask as I examine the Arena.

  “A fight to the death,” she continues, “between the sane and the inhuman; the living and the egotoned. These stands directly under us will soon be filled with people who want to watch Atonements, hoping to see a bloody, gory fight. The people who are going to fill this arena, their only entertainment is violence… They’re sadistic and barbaric human beings.”

  I look down at the flat area, imagining bodies being ripped apart all for the amusement of the people in this city. How can they be amused at seeing people they know being murdered?

  “Seldom does the egotoned person wins,” she continues. “Not only is the sane person dead, but then the egotoned person dies shortly after. Both contestants are dead. The crowd still goes wild.

  “But when the sane person wins, this place explodes with cheers, and the sane person always bows triumphantly over the body of the mentally instable person they just slaughtered. Honestly, it’s even more tragic when the sane live.”

  My brain scatters in different directions as I try to decipher the surprise Ricardo has for me before it happens. Is Cody going to be battling in the Arena? Will he be the sane or will Ricardo have made him into an egotoned? Or perhaps Ricardo is going to burst in my room at any moment to escort me to the Arena to fight.

  “Ricardo has kept this floor secret from the people here in Avvil, or so I’ve gathered,” I begin, not that I trust her but because I’m desperate for an answer. “They tried to hide this floor, but when my friend and I found it, they threw me in here and chased after my friend. I’m guessing they really don’t want people to know about this floor. What is so secretive about it? Is it full of people who are going to fight the egotoned in the Arena? Is that why you’re here?”

  “We’re not the fighters, we’re the prizes,” she tells me. I hear her walk in her room. “It’s already getting pretty crowded down there. It’d be a good idea to get inside. I’d keep your TV on if I were you.” She then slides the door shut behind her.

  21.

  I stand a few feet in front of the main door to my room, prepared for it to fling open with Ricardo ready to lead me to my impending death. I’ve seen how violent the egotoned get and I know that I wouldn’t stand a chance fighting one. The only fight I’ll be giving is the one I give when Ricardo walks in this room. The lamp I have cocked back as my only weapon suggests I may be the underdog, though.

  I turned my TV on, just like Ribbon Number Whatever told me, but nothing but an empty gray-and-black-screen was on it. The gray-and-black split screen suggests that this TV isn’t out of service, but it’s instead waiting for something to be broadcast on it. I quickly grew tired of looking at the monotonous screen and decided that preparing for a fight is better than quietly waiting for my assassins to fetch me.

  But as I stand, waiting to smash skulls with my lamp, I hear a voice come from the TV. The voice also happens to belong to the man I’m waiting for.

  I rush back to the TV to see footage of Ricardo standing on a balcon
y similar to mine. He yells into the microphone he’s holding and stares into the camera, which is zooming in on him from the opposite side of the Arena.

  “Good morning, Avvil!” Ricardo declares loudly on the screen. The TV lags about two seconds, as I can hear his voice bouncing off the Arena walls from outside. “Today, we present you with a very special meeting for our thirty-ninth Atonement, so I hope you all are prepared for the show of a lifetime!”

  The entire hotel room vibrates from the thunderous applause that follows. The amount of people below my balcony must be much more than I had thought, which saddens me that this many people would willingly contribute to such an atrocious game.

  “Our warrior is one who has fought many times before and has won eleven Atonements against the insane. Everybody, let us celebrate the battle and make some noise for our defender, Tankian!” Ricardo gleams as the camera moves to the battling grounds of the Arena. On one edge of the flat surface is a very muscular and tall man. Although he isn’t the egotoned in this battle, he seems just as destructive as one. Two scars appear diagonally across his eyebrows, perhaps purposely put there to look even more intimidating. A thick beard scratches against his bare chest as he pounds ferociously on his biceps. The crowd goes wild at the man’s combative entrance.

  “His opponent is a new character, a person that not many of us know,” Ricardo begins introducing the egotoned person. The thought of Cody’s egotoned shell crawling into the camera’s shot nauseates me. I stare at my feet, hoping my TV will catch the hint and leave me alone. “He is a stranger; a dangerous man that had contracted the Cozmin before he stepped foot in Avvil. A man that played danger to the city without regard and lost his life at the cost of his mistakes. Piloto Malvado, make your appearance!”