by Nancy Isaak
I so felt for Cherry.
But I really felt for Jude.
She was going to be absolutely humiliated when she woke up.
* * * *
And I was certain that Jude would wake up.
When she did—it would be entirely because of Cherry.
Between dusk until just after dawn, there was a small line of damp on their side of the basement—dew dripping down a slight crack in the cement wall.
Cherry would stand on her tiptoes, straining against her handcuffs, and collect those drips on her tongue, one-by-one. Then she would lean down to Jude, transferring the precious moisture into the unconscious girl’s mouth.
To this day, I am thoroughly convinced that it was Cherry’s act of intense compassion that kept Jude alive those first days in the basement.
If Jude had died, it would have been because of the Foxes.
That she lived—all Cherry.
* * * *
By the third morning, Jude’s breathing had finally started to improve.
Instead of appearing dead, her eyelids began to flutter and she made small groans.
That evening—Jude awoke.
* * * *
“Well, this sucks,” said Jude, looking around the basement.
“Doesn’t it ever?” agreed Cherry.
Jude and she were both sitting against the wall, while I stood in front of them, my hands hanging from the pipe.
Sniffing the air, a frowning Jude turned toward Cherry. “Dude…I hate to say this, but you kind of stink.”
“Yeah, well,” grinned Cherry, “you smell like ass.”
They both burst out laughing; however, Jude’s hilarity was cut short by a shot of pain that left her gasping.
She groaned, clutching at her side. “Son of a biscuit!”
* * * *
From the surprised looks on the Foxes’ faces when they finally showed up in the basement later on that night, I realized that they had been expecting to find only two of us alive. That Jude was not only still breathing—but filled with ‘piss and vinegar’—brought frowns to each of their faces.
Even Peyton’s.
“You were warned,” Peyton said, looking absolutely disgusted as she stood in front of Jude, her hands on her hips. “I told you that there would be no second chances.”
Jude was sitting on the floor, one arm wrapped protectively around her aching belly. Still, she managed to grin up at Peyton. “You know, from down here I can see right up your skirt to your hoohaw. Doing a Lindsey Lohen, I see.”
With a horrified gasp, Peyton quickly stumbled backward.
Meanwhile, Orla approached Cherry—close enough to look her in the eye, far enough to be out of range of a lashing foot or hand. “Hate to tell you this, weirdo, but your little sister didn’t make it. Like could she have found a more obvious place to hide?!”
Cherry’s face paled in horror.
“Fat bitch ran all the way home,” Orla continued, laughing, “just like the little piggy she was. And I’m emphasizing the word ‘was’, by the way.”
Tears were falling down Cherry’s cheeks now; her face alternated between grief and rage.
I looked over at Tray to find her grinning.
Peyton, however, was not.
Instead, she was scowling—standing just behind Tray—her body hidden from everybody’s view except mine.
A slight movement made me look down at her hands. She was moving her index finger on her right hand slowly, making the shape of the letter ‘S’. Then, looking straight at me, Peyton’s other hand made a ‘thumbs-up’.
“What about Lily?” Jude asked. “And Jay.”
“Needless to say,” Orla sneered, “our Jay has a big incentive now to be the best-behaved Doctor ever.”
“And Lily?” I asked.
Tray came and stood in front of me. Her eyes traveled from my face to my body, then back up to my face again. “Lily is mine now,” she grinned.
And again—unseen by anyone else—Peyton made a ‘thumbs-up’ with her right hand. Then she waved her hand in front of her nose.
“They stink,” said Peyton, looking disgusted. “I’m outtie.” And she turned and practically skipped back up the stairs.
Tray, meanwhile, remained where she was—studying me. “Princess is right. You all smell nasty.”
“Sorry,” I said. “No hot water in the shower.”
Tray’s hand shot out, slapping me across the face. It stung, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking that she had in any way hurt me.
“Thanks,” I yawned. “I was feeling a little sleepy. That woke me up.”
I steeled myself for another slap.
Tray surprised me, instead, by smiling and wiping her hands on her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Game’s in overtime, Kaylee. Which means that this is going to get fun.” Then she turned and walked over to Orla. “I feel the need for a little entertainment. Got a problem with me taking Lily for a ride?”
Orla smiled. “Go for it!”
Across from me, Jude struggled against her handcuffs, trying desperately to reach Tray. “You touch one hair on her body, you bitch,” she yelled, “and I will kill you! I swear to god, I will kill you!”
With a small wave to me, Tray turned and walked up the stairs and out of the basement. Jude, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, gasping—one hand pressing in on her right side. Her face had turned deadly-white and she looked horrible.
I glared at Orla. “Jude needs to see a doctor. She needs to see Jay!”
Ignoring me, Orla went to a box in the corner and pulled out two pails. She threw one to Cherry and Jude. The other landed a few feet away from me.
“Stop being such barbarians,” she commanded. “Clean up your mess.”
At that moment, I felt such intense rage; if I could have, I think I would have strangled Orla.
“They’ll find out!” I snarled at her. “The other girls…they’ll find out what you’re doing here and they’ll stop you!”
She just laughed. “The other girls think you’re a bunch of thieves. They think you stole food and ran away.”
“Is that what you told them? That we were thieves?!”
“Among other things.”
Orla walked toward the stairs. On the bottom rung, she leaned down to look back at us. “You dumb bitches just never got it, did you? This is my world. I made it and I intend to play however I want in it for the next three and a half months. After that,” she shrugged, “what the hell do I care?”
* * * *
I waited a good hour before I told the other girls.
Part of me was worried that either Tray or Orla were listening outside of the basement window.
The other part of me simply needed to go over it in my mind, to make sure that I hadn’t misinterpreted what I’d seen.
Peyton.
* * * *
Cherry had finally stopped crying. She was exhausted, her head leaning against the wall, her eyes staring out into nothingness.
Beside her, Jude was glowering—whether from pain or fury, I didn’t know.
I had been sitting against my own wall, waiting and figuring things out. Finally, I got to my feet and maneuvered my handcuffs along the pipe until I was standing in front of them.
When I spoke, it was in a very low voice; I was still afraid that someone might be eavesdropping. “Guys, listen to me,” I whispered. “Look over at me. I need to tell you something. It’s important.”
Slowly, Cherry and Jude turned to look in my direction.
“I think Peyton’s pretending,” I said, softly. “Like I don’t think she’s a Fox anymore.”
“So what?” said Jude, disinterested.
“So, I think that Peyton’s on our side,” I continued. “And I think that she tried to let me know that Orla and Tray are lying—and that Shawnee got away and that Lily is still safe with her.”
Sudden hope flared across both of their faces.
* * * *
; When the door opened the next morning, it was not the Foxes who entered—but Sophia. She was carrying a tray of food and water and behind her—armed and looking extremely irritated—was Alice.
“No talking!” the 12th grader ordered. “If you talk, the food goes away.”
All three of us watched silently as Sophia came forward and set down her tray between us. We were so hungry and thirsty that our stomachs roiled as she ladled bean soup into three small bowls.
Like Cherry and Jude, any water I had received during the last few days had been from licking at drops of dew on the walls. Because of this, my throat was sore and my lips were chapped.
When Sophia handed me a bottle of water, I immediately unscrewed the lid and gulped the whole thing down. On the other side of the basement, Cherry and Jude did the same thing.
Moments later, I threw it all up.
Cherry and Jude were luckier. Their stomachs heaved, but they just managed to keep their water down.
Alice, meanwhile, just laughed. “You greedy idiots,” she scoffed. “Serves you right.”
A moment later, Sophia slid a bowl of soup toward me. I noticed that she wasn’t making any eye contact. As she moved to place a bowl in front of Cherry and Jude, I put my hands in the air—as if trying to ask a question in class.
With a sigh, Alice pointed in my direction. “Okay, what?”
“Do you know what’s going to happen to us?” I asked.
Alice shrugged. “Don’t know…don’t care.” She tapped Sophia on the shoulder. “Need to take a leak. You okay?”
Sophia nodded. “No worries.”
Then, Alice turned and walked up the stairs and out of the basement.
* * * *
Cherry immediately held out her hands. “Soph, can you help us? Find us something that we can use to get us out of these handcuffs?”
Sophia had been kneeling over her tray. She sat back on her haunches now, looking at Cherry with disgust. “Why do you do this?” she asked, waving her hands around.
“Do what?” said Cherry.
“God must want you here—because of what you do,” Sophia stated. “Why must you continue this way, to disobey His word?”
“You think God wants us to be locked up by psychopathic teenage girls in a basement? Are you insane?!” Cherry shook her head, angrily. “God damn it, Sophia! Use your head.”
Sophia frowned. “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
There were footsteps on the stairs.
Alice had returned.
And—Tray was with her.
* * * *
Five minutes later, we listened to the diminishing footsteps of Sophia and Alice as they walked past the basement window, heading along the side of the house toward the street.
Now—only Tray remained.
She sat on the lowest step, watching us as we finished our soup. When we had licked the final drops from our bowls, she rose and motioned for us to slide our dishes toward her. We complied and she picked them up, cradling them in one hand.
“That was good soup, huh?” Tray said. “Do you know what Sophia calls it?”
None of us spoke.
“Potage au Pugly,” she grinned.
Jude immediately started coughing.
Tray laughed. “Our Sophia...what a nut? But, at least—she’s our nut.”
“I don’t believe you. She’s not with you. Sophia hates you,” Cherry insisted. “That’s why she left you guys and came to live with us.”
“She does hate me,” Tray admitted. “But, apparently, little Ms. Nutcase is also jonesing for the End of Days. Anything to make it come quicker, if you get my drift.”
It took a moment for Cherry to understand; then her face fell. “Sophia’s been spying on us for you?!”
Tray nodded, enjoying this. “From the beginning.”
I looked across at Cherry; she seemed heartbroken, betrayed.
“Look,” said Tray, “you might treat her like one, but Sophia’s not an idiot. She knows that you drugged her the night your Wandy-bird went ‘poof’. And if you don’t think that she saw you guys drop those pills in the soup—then you’re the idiots.”
“Sophia’s a snitch,” murmured Cherry—sadly.
“A snitch?!” snorted Tray. “Orla and I put Sophia in your house precisely so she would watch you. Sophia was just doing her job!”
“And that’s how you knew we were leaving that first time,” I said.
“Now you’re getting it,” she nodded.
“We didn’t even have a chance to escape, did we?”
Tray walked over to me. I was standing, my hands up over my head. She reached out and placed her free hand on my waist and squeezed—hard. “You might have a chance now, Blondie,” she said, quietly.
“Not in my wildest nightmares,” I growled back at her.
“Your choice.”
Then, smiling pleasantly, Tray turned and left.
* * * *
I could hear the sounds that Jude’s stomach was making from across the room. The soup definitely wasn’t sitting well with her.
She groaned loudly. “Do you think Tray was telling the truth about Pugly?”
“There were those little chunks in the soup,” added Cherry—looking worried. “They did kind of taste like meat.”
“Stop it,” I said. “Take it from a vegetarian. No animals were killed in the making of that soup. Totally veggie.”
“Are you sure?” asked Cherry.
I wasn’t.
“Of course,” I said, nodding.
* * * *
It was strange.
When we were first imprisoned, it was—without a doubt—terrifying and confusing. Then—as time passed—it became monotonous. Finally, as the days we spent chained in that basement inevitably turned into weeks—it became downright boring.
Cherry’s hair began to grow in—Jude’s wounds healed.
I began to exercise.
Even handcuffed, I found that there were things I could do to stay in shape. I jumped on the spot, did a wonky kind of push-up and—eventually—even succeeded at doing chin-ups on my pipe.
The other girls laughed at me; they teased me.
But—I didn’t care.
Because if there was a chance to escape—any chance—I was going to be ready.
* * * *
There became a routine of sorts.
Twice a day, someone—usually Sophia—would show up with food and water. Then, mid-day, an 11th or 12th grader from the Protection Detail would descend the stairs to replace our foul-pails. And—every couple of days—either Orla or Tray would drop by to amuse themselves by tormenting us.
With Orla, it was always with words.
With Tray—it was with pain.
She seemed to take particular pleasure in punching and kicking Cherry and Jude, laughing as they scrambled across the floor, trying desperately to protect their heads and stomachs.
On occasion she would even burn them with cigarettes.
With me—Tray liked to slap—usually across my face, sometimes along my legs.
I won’t deny that it hurt; even more—it scared me.
Just like Tray had once told me—she was loving this.
Inflicting pain truly was fun for Tray.
* * * *
Sometime into the third week of our imprisonment, Peyton and Tray showed up in the basement at dinnertime. While Sophia carefully laid out our meager supper of bean stew, Tray moved around us—checking our handcuffs and the pipes we were locked to—making sure that we were all still secure.
Peyton, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the room, holding her nose and looking disgusted. “Oh my god! Like you’re all seriously such a bunch of stinky pigs!” Then she walked over to Jude and kicked at her foot. “Stupid Rude…you stink the worst!”
Jude didn’t even respond; instead, she just pulled her foot back and turned away.
With an annoyed sigh, Peyton turned her attention toward Cherry. “Your hair looks dumb,
” she offered. “You’ve got, like such a stupid Marine-hair buzz cut, now.”
“I’m so insulted,” yawned Cherry.
Frustrated, Peyton pulled back her foot to kick her.
“You might want to reconsider, bitch,” warned Cherry.
For a second, Peyton actually did; then her foot shot forward.
Unfortunately for her, Cherry was quick.
Her hands flew out and latched onto Peyton’s offending foot. With a quick jerk, Cherry upended Peyton. She fell on her butt and Cherry—still holding onto her foot—pulled her across the cement floor toward her.
And things started happening all at once.
Peyton screamed and Tray raced toward her. As Tray passed by, I put out a foot, hoping to trip her. Without hesitation, she jumped over my foot and ran to where Cherry was trying to loop her handcuffed-hands over Peyton’s head.
The scream must have been heard upstairs, because Alice and another 12th grader came bounding down into the basement. Responding to Tray’s quickly barked orders, the two of them went, not for Cherry, but for Jude—one on each side—holding her back.
So, that Tray was now free to beat Cherry.
* * * *
“You okay?” I asked, knowing that she wasn’t.
Cherry was sitting with her back against the wall, trying to staunch the blood that was seeping from her nose. Her left eye was swollen to a small slit and her right eye was not much better. Beside her, Jude had taken off her shirt and was using the corner of it to wipe at a cut on Cherry’s cheek.
I—of course—was locked up across the room and could do nothing.