Imprisoned

by J D Jacobs

Floor 13, Room 13

  Mrs. Margaret polished up a couple of cupcakes last night before she left. We had a great time talking about our lives before the Cozmin. We got on the subject of birthdays, and we talked about the eventful ones we could remember. On her fortieth birthday, she decided to go skydiving. Said it was the last young thing she did before she went back to “paying bills and punching numbers.”

  She told me about how she spent her fiftieth birthday on a trip with her husband to Portland, Oregon. Portland may seem like a random place to spend a milestone birthday, but it was meaningful to her and her husband. Without kids, Mrs. Margaret and her husband, Mike, were fortunate enough to afford to travel anywhere they desired. With that said, Mrs. Margaret and Mike had visited forty-nine of the fifty states in the United States. For some reason, all but Oregon was visited. Mrs. Margaret doesn’t know how such a random state was skipped over, but it was on her and Mike’s bucket list to visit that state. So they did. And Mrs. Margaret was glad that her and Mike were able to cross that adventure off before the Cozmin hit.

  I told her of my eighteenth birthday, how a few friends and I drove off to an adventure park to go zip lining. I told Mrs. Margaret of the shark tooth necklace I got as a present that day from the girl of my dreams. Mrs. Margaret thought it was the sweetest story she’s ever heard. She didn’t ask what happened to Scarlett; she could make an educated guess that she didn’t survive the Cozmin.

  Our talk was fun. It got her mind off of the atrocity that she had apparently witnessed before she came to my room with the cupcakes. I didn’t think about asking her and she didn’t think about telling me. That was for the best on both parts.

  But here it is, 2:30 PM on the sixth day, and I still haven’t seen Mrs. Margaret. She didn’t come in to bring me breakfast, and now I’m wondering if she forgot about my lunch, too.

  I study the dictionary as a way to pass the time. I’m starting to become good with my Spanish now. Conjugating the words is difficult, but I can roughly form a few sentences. “Comer perro mierda” is a phrase I’d love to use on Ricardo. As I search through the dictionary for every possible profane or derogatory word I can throw at Ricardo, my door finally swings open.

  “You two make it quick,” Mrs. Margaret calls out into the room. She doesn’t see me lying on the bed, but I can see her arm holding the door open for somebody else. “He can’t find out about this.” I don’t have time to sit up before I hear the door close back. After the door shuts, I see Camila wheel herself into the room.

  “What’s up, loser?” she asks me, sounding a combination of uninterested with being here but happy to see I’m alive.

  “You… you’re here,” I stammer, shocked. I get the question that’s perhaps the most important out first. “The night after we left the research lab, did you tell Ricardo that Cody and I were going to try and get on this floor?”

  “What? Are you serious? Is that what I got dragged up to this floor for?”

  “No, but I need to know I trust you. Ricardo told me that a ‘little birdie’ told him that Cody and I would’ve been up here.”

  She sighs, annoyed. “No, I didn’t tell him. Why would I?”

  I’m relieved, but still anxious. There’s no telling how much time I have. “Do you know where Cody is?”

  “No clue,” she says, a little more seriously. “Isaac and I had him hidden in our bedroom closet since the last time we saw you, but he wasn’t there last night. He could be anywhere.”

  “You’re lying to me,” I call her out, but I can’t decide if she’s lying about not knowing where Cody is or if she’s lying about hiding him in the first place. I go with the former. “Tell me where he is. Tell me if Ricardo has him or not. You’ve lied to me enough already; it’s time you tell me the truth for once.” I lock eyes with her, my serious stare throwing her off-guard.

  “What!? I’m telling you the truth! I don’t know where the guy is! And what do you mean that I’ve lied to you already? I haven’t lied to you once!”

  “Really? Then tell me your name.”

  She laughs sharply. “He must have knocked you stupid. It’s Camila. Cuh-Mee-la.”

  “No, you’re not Camila. Camila was the name of Ricardo’s actual daughter. What is your name?”

  Her eyes widen in shock. She slowly rocks back in her wheelchair, staring at me intently. “How’d you know? Did…” she falls into a whisper, “…did the girl next door tell you this?”

  “She had nothing to do with it. Answer my question. What is your name?”

  Camila cautiously looks around the room, obviously suspicious of my question. “Is he in here!? My name is Camila, and that’s that!”

  “He’s not in here,” I tell her. “This isn’t a set-up. This is me seeing if you have the courage to tell me the truth behind Ricardo’s back.”

  The room is silent for the longest time. Camila’s mouth twitches before her head falls to her chest. She snivels before she finally speaks. “Jasmine…” The words exit like poison on her lips. She acts like she almost forgot how to say the word. “Jasmine,” she repeats, slower.

  “Jasmine,” I calmly echo. I can tell she feels threatened just by saying the name. “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. You don’t have to act like somebody you’re not.”

  “Jasmine. That’s me.” She’s peeling away a secret that she had forgotten altogether, her demeanor growing as she hears herself. “My brother is Jordan. I’m not Camila, and he’s not Isaac. I’m… me.”

  “Yes, Jasmine. You’re not his anymore. You don’t belong to Ricardo. You’re your own. That wheelchair, you don’t need it, do you?”

  Her eyes grow weary. “I can’t. I can’t leave it.”

  “Yes you can, Jasmine.”

  “He told me never to leave it. He told me he would break my legs if he ever saw me walking. He…” Jasmine’s voice grows, fear spewing over her heavy breaths. “He told Jordan he’d stich his mouth shut if he ever spoke to anyone! He said he would throw us in the Arena if we ever referred to each other as our old names! No! I shouldn’t have told you anything! He’s going to hurt us! You’re going to hurt us!” She melts onto the floor, crying in fear, her face begging for forgiveness.

  “Jasmine, listen.” I pick her up by her shoulders, squatting down to meet her as she slumps on her knees. “I’m not telling Ricardo. Ricardo isn’t going to do anything to you or your brother.”

  “You don’t know him,” Jasmine quietly warns me. “You don’t know the things he’s done to others. To people who were friends with him his whole life, to people he didn’t even say a word to.”

  “Look at me,” I shake her shoulders, and her eyes eventually meet mine. “He won’t touch you. I’ll make sure of it. Now, I want you to stand up.”

  I stand and take a step back, waiting for her to use her legs for what I’m guessing is the first time in ages. She slowly straightens her legs and stands up tall, a solid six-feet even, taller than me. Her height shocks me, but makes me proud of her for showing it for the first time.

  “We need to get out of this city. You and Jordan are coming to Tryton with us.”

  “We’re not going anywhere unless I get you out of this room first,” she says. “It’s not going to be as easy as walking off this floor.” She suddenly pauses, and before she goes on, my ears capture a voice bellowing out from the hallway.

  “¡Buenas tardes! How is Mrs. Margaret doing today?” Ricardo’s voice gleefully skips off the walls.

  Jasmine turns around, her face screaming with panic. My eyes match her intensity, but we have no time to be afraid. I push my finger to my lips and motion for her to slowly crawl under my bed. Her wheelchair doesn’t fold up, so I pick it up and hide it behind the shower curtain.

  Ricardo is still outside my door talking to Mrs. Margaret, who’s obviously stalling at this point. She knows that all three of us are headed to the Atoning Arena if Jasmine is found. I clear my throat rather loudly when I’m ready for this to get over with. I casually lie o
n the bed that Jasmine is under and skim through the Spanish-to-English dictionary, acting like my death sentence isn’t playing hide-and-seek with the guy about to walk in.

  I hear a knock, and in strides Ricardo. “El Zorro Feo, my, is it good to see you! It’s been a minute or two, hasn’t it? How’ve you been?”

  “Not gonna lie, I’ve been better,” I reply, surprisingly calm. Looking at the unreadable pages in front of me instead of at Ricardo’s face definitely helps.

  “I first want to start off by apologizing for our altercation a few days ago,” he says. “I got a little carried away, and that’s my fault. But, at the same time, I must admit: you’re an adventure! You don’t take crap from anyone, not even me! You’ve got balls; something that everyone else on this floor doesn’t have!” He bellows out, his literal comment something that he feels should cause the whole city to laugh. I smirk, in fear that he would pounce on me and break my neck if I didn’t react someway.

  “You didn’t come up here to brag about my balls. What’s up?” I ask him, hoping he doesn’t answer with something along the lines of “the girl under your bed is what’s up.” If he knew that Jasmine is in here, that’s exactly what he would say.

  “Oh, nothing is up,” he answers, his eyes focusing on the floor below him. He smiles at the carpet at what I’m assuming is Tankian’s bloodstain that he’s still proud of. “Avvil gained a few visitors yesterday. More people in those white suits that you guys wore. I think there’s a guy named Marvin, a man named Grant. Those names stick out to you?”

  A weird combination of my hope rising and my stomach falling comes over me when Grant’s name is mentioned. Is he about to throw them in the Atoning Arena? Is he waiting on my response to decide what to do with them?

  “And what if I did?” I answer him, my face relentless.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen to them if you know them! They’re friendly and curious with our city, just like your group was. They asked about you and the black boy and the fat man and the old man that got chopped into pieces. What could I tell them? Your helicopter is on the amber glass and none of you four are anywhere in sight.” He paces in front of my bed, his eyes still focused on the carpet. “They have a day or two before they start getting suspicious, then they’ll probably join you up here. Or maybe we’ll skip straight to the Atonements. But that’s all hypothetical. Right now, Marvin and Grant are fine!”

  The way he smiles after talking makes me think he has something already planned out. I remain quiet, eyeing him to finish his story that he’s eager to share.

  “…well,” he begins, “maybe it’ll be sooner than a day or two.” He sits on the edge of the bed, still beaming at me. “You see, there’s about to be an Atonement in a few minutes. And boy, will it be a treat! This Atonement is going to be a hundred times better than the one with Piloto Malvado and Tankian! You better make sure you’re watching this one!” He stands up from the bed and stomps very loudly on the floor, rattling the furniture in the room. He then suddenly falls serious and points at me. “You better watch every bit of this.”

  He turns around and turns the TV on behind him, the gray-and-black screen flashing on. He then perks up with a smile and exits the room. He slams the door shut and greets Mrs. Margaret again as both of their voices fade down the hallway.

  Jasmine slowly crawls out from the bed. “Do you think he knew I was in here?” My blank face doesn’t answer her irrelevant question. Is he about to Atone Grant? How would Ricardo know what Grant’s intentions were unless Grant told him? What if Grant came in looking specifically for me, and Ricardo found out and is now going to punish him for it? Oh God, that has to be it. This is my fault. Grant’s going to die and it’s all because of me.

  The bell in the center of Avvil bongs out. I roll over in my bed, lying on the pillows, my thoughts torturing me.

  “Jaden, who is he going to put in the Arena?” Jasmine notices my uneasy silence and places her hand on my calf.

  “Grant,” I tell her. “It’s my fault. He came here to save me and now he’s going to die for it.” I can feel the wave of enthusiasm from the crowd gathering outside; the escalating rush of chatter bottling itself up inside the Arena.

  “What should I do?” Jasmine concernedly asks.

  “There’s nothing you can do. You’re stuck in here with me until Mrs. Margaret comes back to let you out. You’re forced to watch the death sentence I’m responsible for.”

  We both stay staring at the gray-and-black TV screen for minutes, waiting for the dreaded moment that it will boast Ricardo’s face on it.

  “I met Grant yesterday,” Jasmine tells me. “He’s a nice guy, but there was nothing suspicious about him. He didn’t even mention you or Cody’s name. I don’t know why Mr. Ricardo would want to Atone him… How did he know to come to Avvil to save you? Did you find a way to talk to him?”

  "It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. No sense in even wasting my breath with my explanation. “I need to step outside. I don’t think I can watch this.”

  As I walk out to the balcony, I lean over the railing and see that the stands are already full of eager people. I want to call down and warn them or either cuss at them, but neither will do me any good. Only cause a couple more swollen eyes.

  I sit on the balcony chair; my legs bouncing up and down from nervousness. “Get this over with,” I whisper aloud. “Stop skinning me alive and go for the jugular. Throw me in there, not him.” Somehow, over all the uproar from the crowd below, I’m overheard.

  “You’re not supposed to be out here,” Sabrina calls out from across the wall. Remarkably, her voice is able to calm me down a little.

  “Neither are you,” I tell her. Not really sure what to say to her right now.

  “Who’s he about to Atone?” she asks me. I guess she overheard the exchange Ricardo and I had a moment ago.

  “My friend Grant. Grant came here to save us, and Ricardo is about to kill him so he doesn’t do just that.”

  Sabrina doesn’t respond. No words need to be said right now. I just want this to be over.

  Finally, Ricardo shouts a welcome into the microphone, and the crowd roars in response.

  “Welcome to the Fortieth Atonement!”

  Sweat beads start rolling down my jawline.

  “First of all, I want to thank all of you for attending this Fortieth Atonement! It truly is remarkable for us to engage in an entertainment event that has brought this city together and stronger than the Cozmin itself can even conquer!” The crowd, expectedly, loses their freaking minds. “Forty Atonements is a true milestone, and we have worked hard to make sure that this one will be one of the most captivating experiences so far! Without any further ado, let’s begin by introducing the egotoned first.

  “Fighting the sane tonight is a citizen of Avvil that we have come to love. Earlier last week, he unfortunately contracted the Cozmin virus, and with his guardian’s permission, little Thomas is going to fight as an egotoned tonight. May Thomas get the rest and peace he deserves tonight after he hopefully emerges victorious!”

  The crowd cheers as one of the gates on the Arena’s floor opens. A small boy strolls out into the main floor, dragging iron balls behind him at an impressive pace for someone his size. He bangs on his chest and roars at the crowd like an ape. I can only imagine how guileless the roar he’s making sounds.

  “Wow. Can’t believe Mr. Ricardo is actually using Thomas,” I hear Jasmine say to herself from inside.

  “Who is Thomas?” I ask her.

  “Remember that young, egotoned boy in one of the cells at the research lab? Him.” I look to the large screen on the opposite side of the Arena, and sure enough, Thomas is the same crying boy that I saw locked away in one of the glass cells in the lab. Blood runs off his hand from the cyan wristband that is hooked around his wrist, the magenta wristband that was once there now replaced with the bright sky blue color. They weren’t studying those people that were in those cells. They were simply holding them to be relea
sed into the Atoning Arena as contestants.

  “And his opponent…” I hear Ricardo call out to the crowd. “…is another citizen of Avvil. Some of you may not know this quiet and sheltered participant who stated that he had no friends or family. He has broken a forbidden law of theft under the amber sky of Avvil, and he will now be sentenced to fight Thomas tonight! Everybody give a warm welcome for El Ocultador!”

  The crowd gives off a string of boos for Ocultador as his gate slowly opens. As Ocultador walks into full view of the crowd, I kick the chair behind me into the glass door of the balcony. “Dammit, Ricardo! Why him!?” My hands rush through my hair as I look down at Ocultador.

  “Is that not the Grant guy you thought it would be?” Sabrina shouts to me, barely overcoming the boos.

  “No,” I yell at her. “That’s Cody.”

  “Who?”

  “My best friend! He’s been in Avvil since I came here. He was hiding from Ricardo after I was thrown in this room, but I guess that son of a bitch Ricardo finally found him.” I turn back to look at Jasmine; her hand is clamped over her mouth in shock.

  Cody timidly walks out like a calf being led to slaughter. It’s not the deranged little kid that’s going to be Cody’s biggest threat–it’s going to be that red wheel that Ricardo is about to spin. I can guarantee that whatever that wheel lands on, Cody isn’t going to benefit from it.

  The same giant red wheel pops up on the large screen. Ricardo is standing next to it, his hand at the top of it. “Rueda roja, speak to us!” He spins it, the crowd again chants “rueda” like a bunch of brainwashed puppets, and the wheel spins for what feels like an eternity. The wheel finally begins slowing down and lands on a green triangle that reads “Coat of Blades” on it.

  “The Coat of Blades! Officials, please equip the Coat of Blades on Thomas!” Three officials run onto the Arena floor, holding a metal coat that, despite the name, looks to be void of any blades. One of the officials shoves Thomas’s face into the ground to keep him still, as the other two work to put the coat on him. They’re eventually able to successfully clip the coat on Thomas without having to remove the chains on his wrist. They then press a button on the back collar of the jacket, and daggers shoot out from across the entire coat.