by Amy Marie
I was floating. I had been for years now. Yet, I was somewhere unknown. The beeps were gone. I could feel Grandma Catherine looking at me but could not see her. I wondered if Grandma Emily was with her – they were always together; why should death be different?
I sat on a small wooden chair in the center of the room, a rusted chain around my left leg which was firmly rooted in the floor behind me felt cold against my pale skin. The only light was a bare bulb above my head and before me was a great oak door. It was painted sanguine red with parts of the wood chipped away. Attempting to lift my feeble, twisted hands, I finally noticed the straps suffocating my wrists. God help me. What have they done with me now? But there was no God. I knew that for sure. I was, after all, clinically dead. I’d heard what the doctors had said. I wasn’t that far gone. Instead, and for longer than I cared to admit, I was spinning between two worlds.
I hung my head forward and took slow breaths. I would not let panic overcome me. This wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. Panic would do nothing to help me with my diminished stamina. I stayed like this for several minutes, the silence around me amplifying every strained breath and movement into an agonizing crescendo. Where were the monitors? Where had the beeps gone? I missed them. The people too.
No. Don’t freak. Breathe. You can still go back. I tried to collect myself and bring my spirit back to the past with all my concentration, but there was only emptiness. There were no clues as to where I was or even why I should be the victim of such a hopeless circumstance. The familiar dark, dreadful feeling overwhelmed me as it had every night when I tried to sleep. I could not even remember my own name. I was about to thud back into my body, wherever that was. At least, if I get lucky…
I sank into the chair, giving in to utter grief. My thoughts, the questions mostly, came out in crisp streaks. What of those who brought me here? What could be their motives? And how long do I have before I am shown my final fate? Am I going to heaven or hell and why is it taking so long? Does this happen to everyone? What even killed me? Who the hell is Izzy?
Names began to come back to me as a far-away beeping sound entered my gritty, out of hospital, cell. Merna. Why can I remember hers and the grandmothers’ but not my own? …Sarah. Who is she? Why is that name following me? Are they my captors? Perhaps I am to be sold, simply one of many made into an object to be bought and bargained for, passed between buyers who wish to dress me in shame and make me their personal slave, prized possession. The blue dress. Is that what it’s for? Am I to be sold to the suitor? But Mother’s wrong: I would be no good to them like this, a pathetic shell where once strength may have made its home. More questions. Always more.
Who was in control? I could be under the hands of many or one. The only thing I knew for certain was that any future that might lay before me should be a better place than this sick kind of limbo. That was my hope and the only thing that would bring me back to the living and people I loved. I checked myself and stopped my thoughts before they overtook me. I must be careful to conserve energy. Is it morning or evening? All I can do now is wait within this cold silence and hang my head. I want to try and sleep, anything to take me away from myself. Sleep, beautiful girl. Just sleep. God, even my vocabulary is not my own. What is happening? Is this my eternity?
Several more minutes passed and I was still very much awake. My head felt hot, the heat feeding my will to see my kidnappers burn as I writhed in my chair. I let out a scream of pure rage—wild and undignified—as I watched myself in the mirror wishing I could see the ones who put me here. They were staring at me. I could feel it. I rocked harder and screamed louder, hoping my throat would tear past walls so heavy I could get out of here. Suddenly, the chair fell over to the side. I landed hard on my left arm, the pain ending my tirade for just a moment but enough to fuel my frustration further. I screamed out again.
I carried on until my voice became hoarse and finally only a whisper. I was used to being silenced. I hadn’t had a voice in years. I didn’t know why I was fighting anymore. The throbbing pain from my left side remained my only external comfort. It served as the only thing to tell me I was still alive on some level. Frozen, I caught myself in the mirror and watched tears flow from bruised sockets before collapsing into the welcome respite of darkness. And, crash, I was back in my body again.
Beep.
Beep.
Beeeep!
Months later
I awoke in death again, but this time my senses came back quicker. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that reminded me of the passion that drove me to unconsciousness in the first place. Had it been a seizure at all? Had I done this to myself? Did I deserve this hell? Who is Sarah? Who is Abigail? My captors had repositioned me into the center of the room again. Deciding to put my mind to good use, lest another fit come on, I tried to form some kind of plan. I looked down at the chain around my ankle and followed it with my eyes to the end of the link. Although rusty, there would be no way for me to break it, especially in my current condition. I gathered my strength, took a deep breath, and nudged my chair closer to the end of the chain in order to get a better look. I pushed my feet off the floor and a screeching noise sounded as the chair skidded an inch closer to my destination. I pushed hard again, but this time there was no movement. I cried out as my breathing picked up, the exertion making my head dizzy. I pushed off the ground again. My legs were sweating under the strain. I looked through the mirror at the base of the chain behind me. I was much closer now, unsure of what I might do when I got there. It didn’t matter. Grateful to have a task to focus on and keep my mind occupied, I gave one last push and came right up to the base. I stretched my neck to the left in order to see behind me.
There was a rusty half circle shape protruding from the ground. It looked almost like a brass handle on a door. Attached to it was the chain. As far as I could tell, there was no way to break the link. Certainly, it would be an impossible task to pull it apart using brute force. I needed a tool. That and a whole lot of universe’s good will.
I turned my head back to the door and stared at it with curiosity. It unnerved me greatly, seeming wholly out of place with the mirrors surrounding it. But there was more that was peculiar about it. It stretched all the way up to the ceiling and was two doors wide, each one with a handle in the middle and a keyhole. My gut told me it was undoubtedly locked tight. If I could see through the hole, I just might be able to get an idea of where I am being kept. I didn’t have much to lose. Yet, the idea of coming nearer to the door was daunting. I imagined it might suck me in and keep me there amidst the redness. I pictured it swallowing my very existence and taking me with it into my final fate. Still, it mocked me, beckoning me to investigate. And so I began to make my way back towards the door. What would seem like no task at all to most would prove to be an almost insurmountable challenge to me. I had to focus all my energy on where I was and where I needed to be, working more as a means of distraction than as a way to an end.
Baby steps. You can do this. You don’t really have a choice in the matter. I reached the center of my cell again. I pushed off the ground once more, edging closer to the door, clammy sweat now grasping my coarse skin. You’re close now. Surely just a couple more times will do it, I told myself. This time, I was stopped before I could move forward; the chain pulled taut at my ankle. Unable to reach further, I looked toward the door and could almost see through the keyhole. But I was not close enough to be able to distinguish anything other than darkness. It was no different than getting myself to talk or the way I felt when I tried to argue with Mother about the doctors.
But that world was far away now. My longing to see past the double red door was stronger than the growling hunger in my stomach. The desire to know anything other than these or even the hospital walls was supreme. I was surrounded by my own figure, reflected in every direction, for what seemed like miles or even into some sort of endless eternity. And yet, I wasn’t alone. There was a person watching me: Ms. Noone an
d her blank, hopeless face looking back at me, judging me from all corners like some kind of criminal in stocks.
Defeated, I slumped in my chair. If my captors had repositioned me when I fell, this meant they would visit me again and perhaps I would have a chance to see them. I could wait to float again or it could happen now. If only I could keep myself awake and alert for long enough. But time in this place was not a measurement, instead a concept to anchor me to my frustration. My eyes felt heavy. I returned to sleep and the beeps—the endless beeps.
A year more
Open your eyes! I must stay awake...I must stay awake...I must stay awake. I repeated this mantra in my head, eyes wide open and facing the door ahead of me, my body shaking. I must stay awake...I must stay awake...I must stay awake. Now, I had to jiggle myself to remain upright; the effort increasing the longer I floated. Must stay awake...Must stay awake...Stay awake. My head rolled forward, and with my eyes still open, but only in my mind, I could hear footsteps approaching from behind the door. MUST STAY AWAKE...MUST STAY AWAKE...STAY AWAKE. My mantra's volume had risen to a scream as the footsteps became louder. STAY AWAKE...Stay awake...Stay...
Two months later
I woke up. I was back in the center of the room. It took me a few moments before I remembered what had happened the last time. I soon realized that I must have fallen into unconsciousness seconds before my captor had entered. I cursed myself for this foolish slip. But now I knew that I could wait, I knew that there was someone out there, and that I must prepare myself and stay awake to greet them. If I met them, I could convince them to let me go, find out if there were others, anything to get out of this living hell.
And so the wait began. This time, I was adamant that I would remain unencumbered by doziness and that I would stay sharp. As time passed, my breathing was the only thing I could measure and count. 566, 567, 568.
My gaze wandered up to Ms. Noone, her disinterested features gazing back. I thought of her family (if she had one), her home, where she came from.
"Who are you?" The words startled me, as they were the first I had heard since before I could remember, and indeed the first time I had heard myself speak in years. No one answered me. It was like she couldn’t hear me. Count. Just count. Don’t fall asleep - 569, 570, 571, 572. In out, in out, in out, in out. Sleep.
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Isabella Pry
Present day, 2020
I could see it. All of it. I could feel it too. There were no words they said, in or out of my hospital room that escaped me. I wasn’t dumb, deaf, or even blind. I was simply locked in. Better than an ordinary person sleeping for a night, I could float outside myself on the way to my cell with the red door before my memories erased. In that tiny speck of time, I could watch them. I saw my mother place the ads. I watched her screen the suitors. I tried not to be mortified when they came to my room, one by one, to stare at the messed up girl sleeping in a hideous ball gown. Always sleeping. That was me – the twenty-five year old recent college grad who had everything going for her until she got locked in at midnight on her quarter century birthday.
It was a curse that spanned three centuries. That’s what the people in our tiny town said. They had no other way to explain it and when you grew up in a town like Salem, well, let’s just say anything that went wrong was blamed on the witches and a wayward curse or two. I was no different. For three centuries and a doomed four generations, the legendary curse had spared my mother, hers and my great-great grandmothers – maybe because she was adopted by spinsters who protected her and wouldn’t allow her to be touched by Abigail Noone. For some silly reason even my mother couldn’t put her finger on, it had landed on me. The whole thing was ridiculous. And more than once I wanted to pop up from my bed and scream it. But that wasn’t possible locked in.
Locked in syndrome. I’d heard the doctors and nurses say it more times than I cared to remember. I heard it roll off my mother’s lips a time or two too. It hung in lumpy strands of both hope and regret – remorse for our strained relationship and the secrets I was sure she knew I was keeping from her too. But that and my shaky diagnoses didn’t stop her. For her flaws, my mother was batshit passionate about doing all she possibly could to save her sleeping daughter. For once, we were on the same side and both wanted the same thing.
I had a life to return to. She wasn’t wrong. And while she might not have liked every choice I’d made since leaving for fashion school in New York City, I liked to think she’d love me just the same if I could ever get back and she really knew. But at the time, that was neither here nor there. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was stuck the way I had been for years, in my shell of a body.
No one could explain exactly how I’d gotten this way without speaking of the silly curse. My mother and her best friend, Merna Prinn—whose family went back to the witches in the trials—were positive the only answer had to do with the curse. True love was the one and only thing that could wake me. It was laughable, really. But then, I wasn’t a mother myself and I had no idea what it might be like to see your kid stuck in a bed on breathing machines and obnoxious beeping monitors. On that, we could agree, I needed unstuck and fast.
It wasn’t that I was slipping further away, like the doctors said. They had it in my mother’s head that I’d sink deeper each year. Yeah, my muscles were totally jacked up. But my brain? I was still here. And no matter how many times I tried to open my eyes to communicate with my nurses and the doctors, nothing happened. It was like the signals my brain should send to my face were shot too. Yet, I knew they weren’t. Still, there was a tiny part of me that thought it just might be the curse.
If it was? Well, I was fucked. She could bring a new guy in every day. She could risk the germs and let them kiss me just to see if he was that one soulmate that could give me a reason to live or something. But it’d never happen. No way. If there was even such a thing as soulmates, my mother was barking up the wrong tree and, because I had secrets too, she’d never be able to help me. If only I’d told her when I had a chance to.
I listened to her argue with the doctor with the softest voice. I pictured him rolling his eyes and wondered what he looked like. I felt bad for him. Anyone who knew her, knew Sylvia Pry was not one to be argued with. Yet, there he was, patiently explaining for the millionth time the long term care visiting hour rules, as if she was going to listen. Christ, at this rate, Mom and her best friend Merna would soon be bringing me big green frogs to kiss, wishing on old family curses that I’d lose my glass slipper at midnight or some shit.
I was in hell. I was sure of it. But I’d always felt that way. Even before being locked away, I never understood how it was possible that I wasn’t adopted like my mother before. My mother and I were nothing alike. She called me ‘preppy’ and I called her ‘hippie;’ she was, well, plain old wild. It wasn’t that she was an awful mother either. We were just too different. I often wondered what my father was really like. Mom said I took after him. I hoped it wasn’t the case. I liked to think I was at least a moral person. Leaving your kid to be raised by witchy sisters and a nosey friend? Well, it was hard not to think poorly of him or any of the men in our family line. But I couldn’t exactly say that to her. It wasn’t like her own parents hadn’t ditched her too. At least I had one full-blooded parent I knew. It wasn’t like my aunts were horrible either. Overall, I’d had a good life. Maybe that should be enough.
“You told me a million times. But I’ve told you too: not everyone can get here during those times. I can’t miss the chance to save her because I was worried about getting them here by seven. Can’t you see I’m trying to help my daughter?” Mom barked for the hundredth time – this time to my favorite nurse who smelt of peppermint and piss-poor attitude but knew how to bathe me without letting my skin get too cold.
Caitlin, the nurse, laughed. What should have pissed her off—like the doctors who came in to show me off to medical students—did the opposite. Caitlin was the only nurse I had who seemed
able to juggle mine and Mom’s opposite temperaments, but that was waning with Mom. Then, I guess she had no way of knowing what my temperament was. It wasn’t like I could thank her for her patience, something she seemed to have only for me.
“It’s not funny! Look at her hands! No man will want her that way. I need to work fast. If you would just work with me a little, I could fix this.”
It was the fourth long term rehab facility my mother had had me transported to. I cringed just thinking about where I’d wind up next. If it wasn’t for Caitlin and the handful of nurses I’d come to take refuge in, well, I’d have found a way by now to leave my body for good. I did that every now and then – floated off just long enough for the machines to flip out and a room full of curious residents to come flooding in. There were times I missed that red door. Behind it, I was sure, were my grandmothers. I missed them too.
“No. I don’t think it’s funny at all, Ms. Pry. I really don’t. I love how much you want to save Bella. She’s a very lucky lady. Look, here’s what I can do: I can pretend to be busy at the front desk at nine. If you were to sneak him by the nurses’ station, well, I can’t have eyes everywhere, now, can I?”