“Isn’t
there something that you can do? I mean, you are into all this
paranormal shit, why haven’t you done some sort of ritual or
sacrifice a fucking chicken to find her?” Trish asks.
McNab rolls his eyes
and looks at me as though I could help Trish understand or help him
understand Trish. Either of which would be impossible.
“I’m
ready.” Carl comes from the hallway with his standard serious
expression laced with worry.
“You’re
sure about this, Carl?” McNab asks.
“I need to know
she’s okay.”
“Thank you Carl,
really, thank you.” Relief floods me at knowing that he’s
going to be doing something.
“I thought you
didn’t buy into all of this.” McNab raises one eyebrow.
“McNab, if you
told me that cutting off my right arm could get her back, I’d
do it,” I answer in complete seriousness.
Carl looks at me with
pity. “I know you would, Eli.”
“Let’s do
this.” McNab grabs his bag of tricks and starts setting up
weird statues and trinkets on the coffee table.
Carl lies down on the
couch. He looks at McNab and grabs his wrist. “You’ll
stay here no matter what while I’m streaming, right?”
“You know I will,
Carl.” McNab wraps his hand around Carl’s wrist in
reciprocation. McNab’s expression is riddled with admiration
and concern. “I’ll be right here.”
“What exactly are
you doing?” Trish asks.
“I’ll
explain in a minute.” Carl says, dismissing her, then turns to
McNab. “Can I do anything?”
He looks up from Carl,
still holding his wrist. “Pray.”
Shay
Time
means nothing to me anymore. There's no use in trying to count the
number of cycles where it’s gone from hot to cold. The
assumption is that nightfall chases away the warmth. My fingers and
wrists are raw spending countless hours trying to get out of the
ropes. It’s hopeless.
Humming
softly does little to drown out the sound of cutting and tearing at
flesh. Hearing every little thing has become my new obsession. The
only conclusion is that my captor is carving up my companion.
I
lament his passing over and over in the darkness of my captivity. A
few times my captor has taken the gag out and given me some sort of
liquid that tastes chalky, but sweet like vanilla. There should be
hope in the fact that he’s clearly trying to sustain me, but to
what end? When and how will he be finished with me? Why would I want
to know what was going to be happening to me? I mean, really I have
to be next; otherwise, why am I here?
In my slumber I’ve
tried to dream, but so far no luck. Finding Gabriel would provide
some form of relief, it would be welcome regardless of how small it
might be. All of the muscles in my body ache from being unable to
move. The cutting sessions are the only time I'm allowed to stand.
I don’t
understand what’s happening. He’s only cutting me barely
deep enough to draw the smallest amount of blood. The cuts are
shallow, but they still burn when the blade travels in long lines in
my flesh. The cuts on my wrists and ankles from the ropes are deeper
than the ones from his knife.
I still can’t
place his voice. All I know is that he’s a man and he talks to
himself as much as he talks to me. He has cryptic arguments and
there's no telling whether he’s winning or losing.
The stench of rotting
flesh permeates the entire room, and I can smell it on my captor’s
breath when he’s close to me, breathing on me. That leaves me
wondering if he’s eating my companion and if he intends to do
the same with me.
When I’m alone I
can hear the sound of something dripping, slowly dripping. It sounds
heavier than water. My ears have become keener with the inability to
see. My sense of smell has heightened along with my awareness of the
temperature when I was trying to count the days. I lost track. The
problem is I also had fallen out of consciousness a few times and I’m
not sure how long I was out or if I missed a cycle.
I’ve spent a lot
of time reevaluating my life choices. Although, who thought that
going to work could be so dangerous? Just like any other day, I got
out of my car to go into the building. That’s the last thing I
remember until I woke up here, tied up and in pain, terrible pain and
even worse terror.
My captor has left and
I’m alone again. The air is growing cooler and I desperately
wish I could fall asleep. Eli comes to mind and I imagine him
wrapping his arms around me. Holding me, keeping me safe. I swear if
I get out of this alive I’ll never leave him again. Focusing on
him helps with the pain and the fear. I think back to when Elise died
and he was so strong for me. I put every beautiful memory on replay
in my mind.
One of my favorite
events is when he proposed to me. I relive that moment a thousand
times. I can almost smell the Chickasaw plum blossoms, while
remembering how my face flooded with heat when he went down on his
knee. What it felt like when he kissed me after I said “yes.”
How he smelled. What he looked like through my tear-blurred eyes. All
of it. I try to fall into the memory and let it blanket me in
comfort.
“
Shay.
”
There it is again, I’ve been hallucinating and hearing things
that I know aren’t there. At first I thought it was the
Specter, but not even he has tried to come to me here. I try to
return to the image of Eli making love to me.
“
Shay, it’s
Carl.
” The voice shatters the memory demanding my
attention. My imagination has been running wild. This is more than
likely just something I’ve cooked up to quell the loneliness.
“
Shay, please
talk to me.
” Carl’s southern drawl is unmistakable.
Carl?
I realize
how ridiculous this is, but why not just let my mind protect me.
“
Oh thank
God.
” His voice is overflowing with relief. “
Do
you know where you are?
”
In a heap of shit if
you hadn’t already guessed.
“
No, your
location, do you know where you are or who took you?
”
Um, that’s a
negative. I’m blindfolded and I don’t recognize his
voice.
“
That’s
okay, darlin’, we’re trying to find you. But if you can
give us a clue it sure would go a long way in our efforts
,”
he says.
Well, all I know is
that the temperature changes pretty drastically between what I assume
is day and night. It smells like gasoline, lawn clippings, sawdust
and death. It’s a small room where I am, either a small room or
small building.
“
Can you hear
anything: trains, airplanes flying overhead, traffic sounds or
running water?
” He asks. I have to think about it, but I
don’t recall any of that.
Not that I can hear.
There was someone else here,
I hesitate,
but he’s
dead now.
It’s hard to stuff down the feeling of sadness
and loss when I remember that.
“
How do you
know he’s dead?
”
Because his
breathing stopped and I think….I think that whoever has me is
eating him.
I drop the realization on him. But now I’m
starting to feel the panic of it
. I really think I need to get out
of here. I don’t know how much longer it’ll be before I’m
next.
“
You aren’t
going to be next; we’re going to find you.
” The
uncertainty in his voice is haunting. I can tell he doesn’t
believe it.
It’s okay,
Carl, I’ve come to terms with the possibility that this is it
for me.
My eyes well up with tears that get trapped under the
tape.
Can you do me a favor?
“
Anything.
”
Can you please tell
my dad that I love him and that I’m sorry? We didn’t
exactly leave things on the best of terms last time I saw him.
Eli’s in the forefront of my mind and I want him to know how I
feel, but I’m having trouble verbalizing it.
And tell Eli I
love him, and that I’m holding on for him.
“
I’ll
tell them.
” A long silence stretches between us. “
Shay,
he loves you. He’s very worried and is doing everything he can
to find you.
”
I’m sure he
is. How is McNab?
I’m trying to think of anything to say to
keep him talking so he doesn’t leave me alone.
“
McNab is just
fine, he’s also very worried. He went to your hotel room and
cleaned your stuff out. It’s all here waiting for you,
”
he informs me.
Please tell him I
say thank you for helping.
Carl is quiet for a few minutes.
Carl
?
“
I’m
still here,
”
he assures me. “
I’m with
you, Shay.
”
Why were you so
quiet?
“
I’m
trying to pick up on where you are based on your memories. There’s
possibly something in your subconscious that could be significant to
me, that you didn’t notice.
”
That sounds a little
invasive, picking around in my brain like that.
Trying to lighten
the mood I let a little joke fly.
Could be dangerous in there.
He laughs and it puts
me at ease. “
It’s not as bad as some.
”
There’s another
span of silence. I try not to respond to it, but I can’t help
myself.
Carl
?
“
I’m
still here. But I’m going to get back to McNab so I can let
them know you are okay.
”
Are you coming back?
It comes out urgent and small. I don’t want to be alone.
“
Of course I
am, darlin’.
” The remorse is heavy in his words.
“
I’ll be back soon okay?
”
Okay
. I’m
sure my disappointment is apparent even though it’s sheer
terror of what’s to come. Loneliness. After a long silence I
call out to him again in my head.
Carl? I’m scared.
There’s no answer
and my fear is realized, I’m once again alone. That should mean
that they are trying to find me. Like actively working on it, so I
have to help. I have to at least be able to tell him something about
my surroundings.
Reliving as many
moments as I possibly can to figure out where I am and who took me is
proving fruitless, but I have to keep trying. My mind is running away
from me and I wonder if I’m even really in Florida, or if I’m
in the void again, but I don’t think so.
The thought of Eli
trying to find me and Carl coming to me gives me a burst of energy.
My hopes of getting out of here alive are rekindled. I work hard
against the binds on my wrists. Hours are going by and the ropes are
starting to give and I slip one hand out, then the other.
Oh hell
yeah!
I lean forward out of the chair and land hard on the floor.
It smells awful and I try not to think about what I just landed in.
Carefully, I start
peeling the duct tape away from my eyes and try to untangle it from
my hair. The blindfold goes up enough that I can see little bits out
of one eye. I’m in some sort of garden shed or workshop.
The sound of grass
being crunched underfoot brings me back to my center and I try to
mentally prepare for him to come back. But he’s going to see
that I’ve worked my way out of the chair and that my hands are
no longer tied. I scramble backward when the door creaks open and I
feel a bright light illuminate the room. It’s quickly
extinguished by the sound of the metal door slamming.
It’s a
metal door.
My head is down and my
hair is covering my eyes in hopes that he doesn’t see that I’ve
gotten the blindfold partly off. But I’m sure he would notice
if I move back into the chair. Cautiously I look up through my hair,
and what I see sends my world spiraling straight down into insanity.
“You!” he
whispers, looking at me with hatred. A cruel smile plays on his lips,
“Shayleigh Baynes, as I live and breathe.” He doesn’t
move toward me, he just stares at me, and I can’t tell if the
look in his eyes is horror or delight. Either way, I already know in
my bones that this isn’t good.
He staggers backward,
disoriented, catching himself on the work bench. Frantically, I try
to get the blindfold off more. My eyes must be deceiving me. I cannot
be seeing him, there’s no way. He’s a cop. It has to be
someone else, this can’t be happening. A million thoughts are
running through my mind like an avalanche. My head is spinning in
disbelief.
He picks up a box
cutter off the workbench. That must be what he’s been using to
cut me. He looks at the gun in his other hand, then back to the
blade. Glass moves toward me with renewed purpose. All I can do is
stare at him as I process that it’s really him. He’s
really here and I don’t think he’s going to use the box
cutter to free me. My eyes are pleading with him. I’m hoping to
tap into some modicum of kindness that maybe I can stop him. But his
forward motion makes it clear that isn’t going to happen. He
has every intention of finishing me. Now.
I try to pull the gag
out of my mouth, but it’s too tight. I decide it would be
better to run than scream. I work the ropes on my ankles. I’m
not sure why I think I can actually get out of the binds and get out
before he can take five steps to where I’m lying, but I try
anyway. With as much air as I can suck through the gag I scream. I
howl. I make as much noise as possible and the terror seeps through
the fabric. He stops short just in front of me. Pleading with him in
one last attempt at tapping into some sort of humanity I whisper
through the gag, “Glass.”
He stops and lowers
himself to his knees. “This isn’t what I wanted for you,
my love. There are different things in store for you.”
His hand caresses along
my jaw and there is remorse in his eyes. I can’t process what
all of this is or what’s happening. I can’t tell if he’s
going to let me go or kill me. Either way, I wish he would hurry up
and make a decision and just fucking do it.