by Agatha Rae
“Do you know the owner?”
“I met him a few days ago, when I came to see the apartment and sign the deal.”
“So it’s not a friend of yours?”
“No.”
“How did you find out about this place?” Her eyebrows were frowned, and her voice was louder than usual.
“I found it on the Internet.”
“Why were you looking for apartments on-line in the first place, damn it?!”
“Because I hate your place, okay! I fucking hate it. I can’t stand it, won’t stand it anymore, and I wanted better living conditions for both of us, all right!” He shouted. Now he was angry, too.
“You–you hate it?! So what, it’s good enough to save your butt once you have no place to go, but it’s too poor, too low standard for your fancy ass and to stay there for a bit longer than five minutes?” Cindy was furious.
“Oh come on, woman, don’t take it personally; it’s not even your apartment! You’re renting it just the same way we are renting this one here.”
“I like my place! Love it, even!”
“Oh yeah, well, what’s not to like? Dark, gloomy wallpaper peeling from the walls, an old, hideous kitchen, a bed squeaking every time one moves, old radio and TV equipment, the omnipresent smell of lavender, in a wardrobe so small, I wasn’t able to bring all my stuff from Margaret’s place, because I would have to keep them all either in suitcases or, I don’t know, in the kitchen cabinets! Yeah, some fucking luxurious hole that is.”
“It’s close to my job. I’ll have to drive at least forty minutes, if not one hour, from here! You could have asked me, John. You moved my stuff without asking me if I was even interested!”
“Because I wanted to surprise you.”
“Yeah, and you did,” she scoffed.
“Cindy, come on! Look at this place. It’s wonderful! It’s stylish, spacious, it has everything we may want, why aren’t you happy? I did it for both of us.”
“Like hell you did! I’m not a child John. You can’t make decisions like this concerning my life, and not even ask me about it.”
John sighed heavily and leaned on the fridge. He was furious, he didn’t have the slightest idea of why she had a problem with moving to the new place. Anyone else put in a similar position would have been grateful, but not Cindy. Cindy had to have her stinky little excuse for an apartment and work all her life in a windowless office putting piles of paper from one place to another. That was her life, that was her fucking ambition. How the hell had he been putting up with this crap for so long, anyway?
“How much is the rent?” Cindy asked after a few minutes. The tone of her voice was still unfriendly, but it wasn’t so emotional anymore. She was calming down, and John hoped it meant she would also be more logical now.
“It’s 2700.”
“2700? Jesus, that’s more than three times what I’m paying now!” she said shaking her head with disbelief.
“Relax, Cindy, I’m going to pay for that. You will be responsible for other charges, so it will be more or less the same for you.”
“Well, you better know what you’re saying, because I simply can’t afford this place, John. You’ve made me dependent.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re not dependent.”
“Of course I am, because if you decide not to pay for the rent, I won’t be able to do it.”
“Why would I ever decide not to pay for it, what the hell are you talking about? I love this place!” John said and walked towards her. He knew she was coming to terms with the situation, and that she was beginning to accept it. “It’s our place, baby, I want only what’s best for you,” he added softly and kissed her cheek, then her lips.
“I… I just can’t believe you arranged it all without telling me,” Cindy said quietly.
“It was meant to be a surprise, so how was I supposed to tell you?”
“Well, it surely is,” she sighed and moved slightly away from him. “You will have to give me a second remote control to the gates.”
“The entrance gate, sure, but the garage – sorry, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“There’s only one parking space for this apartment. I mean, I think it makes better sense if I keep my car there.”
“Why would it make better sense?”
“Well, you know… because my car is, well…”
“What, more expensive? So it needs to be protected? Whereas nobody would want to touch or steal my twenty-year old crap?”
“No, nothing gets stolen here, we have security on the premises.” He smiled and looked at her pitifully, in the same way a person looks at somebody silly enough to ask dumb questions.
“Then why?”
“I don’t know, I mean there might be hail or strong winds, I mean something might damage my car.”
“Oh, what, it won’t damage mine?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a problem repairing your car, mine would cost a lot of money to be fixed. Sorry if that sounds harsh.”
“I don’t think it has been a problem so far, John. You parked your car in front on my apartment block and never said a word about it not being safe.”
“Yeah, there was no other option, though. Come on, let me show you the rest of the place.” He took her hand and they walked upstairs. John hoped that was the end of the questions, whereas Cindy couldn’t help but feel the bitter taste of both anger and disappointment in her mouth.
Chapter 4
The sound of the rolling wheels was omnipresent. Even though the shaggy creature kept on looking at him, it had no problem with pulling and navigating the cage-wagon forward. They were moving slightly up-right now, which made John lean on the back of the cage so as not to lose balance. Once he touched the bars, he spotted his slippers covered with greenish and yellowish vomit; he recalled puking after seeing the creature for the first time, and, with distaste, he made a step to the left, to step away from the wet, sticky substance he had thrown up. The creature, seeing John’s reaction, laughed. It was a laugh of a madman, one that a person would imagine witches from children tales would make while being sinisterly amused. The laughter was very deep and low. It sounded like growling.
At this point, it turned its head back and John realized two things. First – they were moving slightly faster. The creature was steadily running up, keeping the wooden handle combining it with the cage-wagon firmly in its’, oh dear God, three-fingered hands. And second – the surroundings weren’t so dark anymore. Now it was possible to see the walls, the floor, and the creature more vividly. John decided to remain at the back of the cage, and had a terrible, horrifying feeling that the cage was, in actuality, the only place where he was safe. As unbelievable as it sounded, he knew, deep down under his skin, that the moment he stepped out of it, he would be facing some sort of ordeal. Breathing heavily, still leaning on the cold, thick bars, he slid down and sat on the floor, keeping his legs bent and putting his arms around them.
John realized he no longer felt nauseous because of the stench and had no idea if he got used to it, or if it had simply disappeared. Finally, he heard something. The constant, torturing, squeaking sound of ungreased wheels, was now becoming deafened by…by what? What was it? Some regular sound, something like…voices? John got up, and tried to listen carefully. His shackles distracted him at first, but the moment they stopped moving, he focused again. People! Cheering! Shouting! Dynamically, regularly, as if they were cheering. At this point a ray of light appeared ahead of John and the creature. They were moving beyond the walls, out of the dungeons, heading towards the egress. The crowd was becoming louder, the end of the damp corridor was getting bigger, closer. The hill leveled a bit, the cage was not being pulled on the flat surface again, something which manifested itself with John slightly losing his balance for a moment. He looked at the creature and felt the electrical impulse piercing his heart, the feeling so familiar to those who had ever found themselves in unexpected and very stressful situations. It was looking a
t him again, smirking. John was now able to see some long strings of saliva coming out of its mouth, which made it even more disgusting.
The light was now so close; it was blinding John. He put his palm on his forehead, shielding his eyes from the brightness. The crowd’s cheering was now overwhelmingly loud. The cage-wagon jolted a bit, and there they were!
The moment they entered the lit area, John automatically closed his eyes; the time spent in the darkness made it difficult for them to get accustomed to the drastically new surroundings. The crowd’s cheering was overwhelming, too. It was a cannonade of noise; echo was bouncing the screams off the walls, putting John right in the middle of the yelling, so apart from keeping his eyes closed, he also covered his ears with his palms. He felt slight puffs of air, chilling his body covered only by the pajamas. He squatted and, huddled, trying his best not to panic.
The cage-wagon stopped and he was able to hear the key turning in a rusty padlock. John’s heart was beating like crazy, the sweat was dripping heavily from his nose and forehead, and he was breathing fast. He wasn’t able to recall when, or even if ever, he had felt that scared, that disoriented.
“Open your eyes,” he heard a firm voice right in front of him, which was immediately carried away by the echo, and kept on living for a few more seconds in steady, rhythmical repetitions until it faded. Shaking with fear, John swallowed loudly and started slowly uncovering his ears and opening his eyes. The moment he did it, he saw a man standing in front of him. A human. He looked fairly normal, the only thing that revealed his singularity was his clothes – he was wearing a pigeon-grey long, loose robe with a hood on his head. His eyes, were disturbingly cold and emotionless, and they were the palest blue shade John had ever seen. It was, in fact, very difficult to spot the difference in color between the whites and the irises, and it was only because of the latter being outlined by a delicately darker circle, and the black pupils being located in their center that it was possible to spot the man’s sight and know where exactly he was looking. And he was looking at John. His face lacked any expression; it was indifferent. Empty.
“Come, John Smith,” the man said and reached his hand to John. At that moment, John realized he no longer bore the shackles. Shocked, he stood up, took one step, then another and stopped to look around as his eyes got used to the surroundings.
“Come, you’ll have plenty of time to look around,” he heard the man talking again.
“I can’t. I don’t want to,” John replied and shook his head. He was scared of what was awaiting him for his disobedience, and he was so paralyzed, he couldn’t imagine leaving the cage. Funny, how the dirty, cold cage, which frightened him almost to death at first, was now a place, where he felt safe. John froze once he heard the echo carrying his voice up in the air. It felt very sinister.
The man in the long robes took a step closer to the cage and bent a bit to make sure the man inside of it would hear him well; a gesture John found a bit strange, since apparently every sound made in that place, wherever they were, was immediately spread by the echo, and said:“I don’t care what you want. I want you to step out of the cage.”
At that moment, the crowd started cheering and clapping again. John looked up and realized he had been brought into something that looked like a small coliseum. A rounded, architectural construction with spectators standing in the loges, looking down at him, pointing at him, and waving their hands and arms at him. Right above the impressively high structure, there was a cloudy sky. No sunshine came from it, the sky was too overcast, but the clouds were roughly and aggressively pushed and shoved which indicated strong wind currents. John squinted his eyes and realized that among this audience, there were both people and creatures looking similar to the one pulling his cage. As the thought appeared in his head, he looked at the front of the wagon and spotted the handle lying on the ground and his guard was nowhere around. The job was done; John was right where he was supposed to be.
The hooded man raised his hand, ordering the crowd to be quiet and, some seconds later, it was.
“I’m not going to ask you again, John,” he said. John had a feeling the voice indicated the man was irritated or impatient, but his face showed absolutely no emotion. John took a deep breath, dried his forehead with the sleeve of his pajamas, and took a step down. His feet were now touching the ground and he looked up once again. It wasn’t until then that he realized, apparently, if it was a coliseum, he was the entertainment for that night. The thought pierced his already exhausted heart, as he felt a firm grip on his shoulder- the man in the robes caught him and forced him to move forward and once again, he thought he would faint. John lost feeling in his legs, and as he was falling to the ground, two creatures, similar to the one that had towed his cage, and those among the spectators, appeared and pulled him up. All four of them stopped and the hooded-man was looking at John attentively, observing him and making sure he looked better. Once it was clear, he was, the march resumed, accompanied by the yelling crowd, which, went silent for a second as John almost lost his consciousness.
“Where am I?” he asked the man in the grey robes, surprised by the sound of his voice; it was weak, trembling, lacking any traces of self-esteem. The man looked at him, but did not reply. Instead, he pushed John to the left and, at that point, the prisoner (there was no point avoiding this word), realized they were standing in front of a quite high, wooden construction with stairs leading toward its top. The pale-blue-eyed man made a gesture showing John he was supposed to go up. He slowly did, and a few seconds later, he was standing on a gigantic platform with a long heavy table and majestically-looking purple-covered armchairs standing behind it; the middle one being the biggest, and the two smaller ones on its left and right side. Behind the armchairs there was a red, heavy curtain. John heard steps behind him and soon, the hooded-man was standing right next to him, pointing him to a spot in which he was supposed to stand. As John turned around, he saw a wooden cage, with bars much lower than the wagon’s ones. In the cage there was a wooden chair, a jug with water and a clay mug.
“Am I supposed to go in there?” John asked and pointed at it. He noticed that this time there was no echo.
The man did not reply, only nodded. John, knowing he had no choice, humbly moved to where he was told, and as he did, the man came closer to him and stood by the cage’s left side. He was looking straight, at the three empty armchairs.
“Please, it must be some kind of a mistake, you have to let me go,” John cried, and tried to tame the panic growing inside him. “I haven’t done anything wrong, honestly, I haven’t,” his lower lip was shaking. He had to take a deep breath to continue talking. “I don’t know where I am, I need to call somebody, I need to inform—”
The man looked at John coldly and emotionlessly, yet his piercing gaze was very powerful. John immediately stopped talking. The only thing he wanted was to wake up from the terrifying nightmare, turn the light on in the bedroom, sit on his bed and calm down. Oh God, oh Jesus.
“It’s not me who you ought to tell all those things to,” the man said looking at John.
“No? What do you mean? Who am I supposed to talk to?”
“Them.”
“Who?”
The man did not reply, only moved his eyes in the direction of the armchairs. John followed his sight-line and at that very moment, the red curtain moved. Someone stepped from behind it.
“All rise, show the respect to the judges!” The man said loudly, the echo reappeared and carried his message up, and the whole audience, who had taken seats became quiet as John walked up the wooden construction, and rose from their seats.
John felt his body start to quake as he looked ahead of him.
“Oh my God,” John whispered. He was both petrified and curious.
“John! John, wake up! John!” Cindy was shaking him frantically. “John! Please!”
John was tossing about, moving his head left and right. He was screaming “Oh my God!” louder and louder. He kicked the quilt
to the floor, the pillow was moist with his sweat, as were his hair and pajamas. For Cindy, the most horrifying thing was the look on his face–total panic, and absolute horror. Finally, being unable to wake him, she’d taken a glass of water off of his nightstand, and poured the liquid on him.
John immediately woke up, gasping for breath so frantically, it was as if he was fighting for his life. He looked at Cindy, grabbed her arm and she saw he was very slowly calming down, his eyes were becoming less frenzied. Finally, John’s breath returned to normal, as he sat on the bed, still slightly shaking.
“Fetch me some more water, will you?” he asked Cindy; his teeth were still chattering. “Cold. Please,” John added licking his dry lips. He felt his whole body shaking.
“Are you all right?” she asked and gently put her palm on his forehead.
“Not too well, obviously. Just…just bring some water,” he replied, and turned on the nightstand light. He blinked a few times, getting used to the light, and while he was doing it, the images, and memories of the nightmare appeared before his eyes, so vividly it was as if he was looking at some snapshots. John immediately closed his eyes tightly and started breathing deeply, to calm down.
Cindy came back from the kitchen and brought him a glass with ice and water, and some paper towels for him to dry his face and neck. John took the glass from her and downed it right away. Dribbles of water ran down from the corners of his lips. His Adam’s apple was rhythmically moving up and down. At first, he thought it was because he was drinking so quickly, he wasn’t able to swallow everything, but he looked at his hands and realized they were trembling.
“Here, let me help,” Cindy said and wanted to grab the glass, but John stopped her.
“Don’t. It’s humiliating,” he hissed angrily.
Cindy withdrew her hand, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at him with a mixture of worry and disorientation. John saw it and felt slightly embarrassed.