Drumbeat like gunfire raps through my mind. I dig my nails into my scalp as the percussive explosions rack my brain. The frantic beating will not stop. It’s been playing in my mind for hours.
Tears flow, fast and hot, down my cheeks. I whimper, wanting to cry out but knowing I can’t. If I make any noise, Kurt will come for me again, and this time he won’t hesitate to use his fists.
He came at dinner time with my food and a syringe filled with bright yellow liquid. It reminded me of police tape at a crime scene. I haven’t been eating for the past three days; refusing to after I realized that they were mixing some kind of medicine in with it to get us to sleep. He threatened me with the mysterious liquid, telling me that if I didn’t start eating he’d fill me full of it.
I punched the tray of gray-looking food out of his hand, leaving a few bright red welts on my knuckles. I tried to scramble away before he could grab me, but his fingers gnarled in my hair and yanked me back. My neck cracked, and for one terrifying moment I thought he’d broken it. A scream ripped from my chest but it was cut off quickly as he tossed me into the wall.
The breath left my lungs in one quick rush. My stomach flattened against my spine and I dry-heaved convulsively. Through the tears, I barely had time to register the boot flying toward my face before it struck my left temple.
Blinding pain flared across my eyes. I skidded across the linoleum floor, skin ripping as it tried unsuccessfully to stick to the scuffed tile. For a moment, I couldn’t see anything. I blinked my eyes several times to clear them of tears and sudden blindness.
Kurt pulled me up just as my hazy eyes cleared, popping my shoulder out of place. I cried out in pain and he grabbed my throat, choking me. He said something but I couldn’t hear it through the ringing in my ears. Then he stuck the needle into my arm and pushed the plunger.
Now I’m sitting against the wall under the only window in the room besides the tiny square of glass on the door. I rock desperately back and forth as the drumming pummels me.
After- what? Hours? Days?- of this violent noise, I lift my head and open my eyes. As soon as I do, my gaping mouth closes over my tongue, and I feel a bright burst of blood against my teeth.
Stretching from my wall to the opposite wall, on either side of my curled body, is a line of young boys in black-and-steel marching uniforms. All of them are carrying marching snares and the same mindless, unblinking expressions.
They force the beat, this tribe of drumline boys. It’s not just in my head.
Unfolding arthritically from my curled position, I stumble in front of the nearest drummer, waving my hands in front of his face.
“Please,” I croak, hissing as a jolt of pain bursts through my dislocated shoulder. “Stop making that racket.”
The drummer doesn’t seem to notice me, doesn’t seem to blink or move anything except his arms.
“Please, stop,” I plead, wanting to reach out and snatch the drumsticks from his fists. My left arm pulses with heat. The drummer pulses with rhythm and still acts like I don’t exist.
As I peer closer, opening my mouth to speak again, I realize that I can’t see myself in the flat black reflection of his pupils. I gasp in horror, stumbling backwards, and land painfully on my ass. The drummer takes no notice.
A terrible thought drowns me, fills me to the brim, and suddenly I can’t breathe. What if I’m not real? What if I don’t exist? Or what if I’m just a figment of someone else’s shattered imagination? My eyes grow wide with terror and my limbs pool into useless puddles on the floor.
“Help me,” I croak, but I barely make a sound. There’s a fuzzing sound growing in my head, like static on a TV screen. I clutch at my ears as it grows, blending with the drumbeats in a cacophony of noise.
In a sudden rush of adrenaline I scramble to my feet and race to the door. My footsteps take an eternity; the soles of my thin, ragged shoes peel from the floor as though the tiles have changed to the consistency of glue. On either side of me, the drummers hold their ground, drumsticks flying, eyes without reflection.
I slam into the door before I realize I’ve reached it. My body strikes the thick metal like a mallet hitting a gong. My breath fogs up the glass, lacing it with a veil of milky whiteness.
“Help!” I scream hoarsely. It breaks into the harsh noise around me but cannot overcome it.
In the hallway, Kurt is making his rounds, casually swinging the master key that he keeps on a chain at his side. At the sound of my scream, he whips around and his brown eyes meet mine. The reaction that twists his lips is halfway between a grin and a snarl.
With that terrible grimace plastered on his pale face, he saunters to my door, still swinging that damn chain, until he is right up against the glass.
I scream at him and pound against the glass, but he just stares at me. I slap my palms against the metal until they turn bright red. I punch my knuckles into its unyielding surface until they bleed. But still he stares and does nothing.
I’m not sure exactly when I black out. I don’t remember crumpling to the floor, only blinking open my eyes at the gentle touch of someone’s hand on my chin.
He stares at me with the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. I blink at him several times, mouth gaping slightly, because they are like the fields I used to play in as a child when I would visit my grandpa. He lived alone in an old farmhouse a few counties from my hometown, and every summer he would grow wheat on his fifty acres. When it was young and green, I would dive into it like it was an ocean and disappear.
That’s how I feel now, staring into this stranger’s eyes. Like I’m swimming in an ocean, disappearing. Do I really exist? Does it matter?
“Ellyn,” the stranger says. His voice is low and gruff, like striking a match, yet it’s strangely comforting.
“How do you know my name?” I whisper. My voice floats from far away.
“Ellyn, give me your arm,” the man demands, holding out his hand. It is worn and dirty and dotted with freckles.
I hold out my left arm in a daze, still staring at his eyes. He takes it, wrapping my wrist in rough warmth, and presses his other hand to my shoulder. His eyes refocus on mine.
“Hold still,” he commands quietly. Then he tugs.
Blinding pain clears me of my haze, like jumping into ice water. A small cry escapes my lips, but before it can transform into a full scream the man presses his hand over my mouth. I blink at him through the tears, shocked and betrayed. He shakes his head at me.
“Have to be quiet,” he says sternly. With a small warning glance, he tugs on my arm again.
This time, with the pain, there is a shockingly loud pop as my shoulder rolls back into place. As the pain fades, my body slowly relaxes, relieved to have the maddening soreness removed.
Green-eyes takes his hand from my mouth and releases me. Standing, he looks down at me and raises an eyebrow. The florescent lights make his rich auburn curls burn red.
He blinks slowly at me and then extends his hand. Delicately I place mine in his and allow him to pull me to my feet.
“Who are you?” I breathe. My voice is shallow and cannot rise above a whisper.
“Soren,” he murmurs. His eyes never leave mine.
“Soren,” I repeat under my breath. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs. “Visiting you.”
I stare at him for a long time, neither of us speaking. I have never seen this man before in my life. I don’t know how he knows me, or how he got here, or why he would visit me. In that moment, I don’t care.
Besides the guards who come to check up on me, I haven’t seen another human being in three years. It’s a breath of fresh air to see a new face. There’s something about him- something I can’t place- that comforts me.
After a moment, I realize that the room is quiet, eerily so. My head whips back and forth, searching for the drummers, and Soren follows me with his eyes.
“Where are they?” I ask thoughtlessly.
“The drummers?” Soren replies.
I look at him sharply. “Yes…how did you know?”
He ignores my question. “You need to rest,” he says, taking my hand and guiding me to the stark white bed in the corner. “You have a long journey ahead of you.”
I furrow my brows in confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask, crawling obediently into bed.
“You’ll see,” he says simply. Soren presses gently on my chest, pushing me down into the mattress. A sudden flood of exhaustion washes through me at his touch and my eyelids flutter tiredly.
The room grows hazy, thick, but just as I’m drifting off to sleep I remember something.
“Thank you,” I mumble through heavy, slurring lips. “For my shoulder.”
I think I hear Soren chuckle but that might have been my imagination.
***
When I open my eyes, the panic leaks in slowly. Things move slowly, as though everything has been filled with lead. The sleepy haze leaves my eyes like molasses, and when I try to lift my hand to rub it away I find that I can’t move any of my limbs.
“Doctor,” a woman’s voice says from somewhere near my left temple. I try to crane my neck to see her, but it’s like trying to lift a mountain. “She’s awake.”
“Thank you, Claire,” a man replies, stepping into view.
He is dressed in the all-white asylum garb, red-and-gold flower insignia steam-pressed above his heart. Though the white jacket flares out, I can tell from his lanky fingers and thin neck that he is a skinny man. His thin-rimmed, perfectly circular glasses make him look like a turtle.
“Good morning, Ellyn,” he says, leaning over me.
Hello, turtle-face, I think, wishing spitefully that I could work my mouth.
“We’re just going to run a few tests, alright? You see, what we’ve done here is given you a special form of morphine that we’ve been working on,” he continues.
Suspicion ripples through me. Are you allowed to work on new drugs, turtle-face? I want to ask.
“Now, can you blink your eyes for me, Ellyn?” the doctor asks. I resent his tone, like he’s talking to a two-year-old, but I blink all the same.
He nods. “Good. Now, just stay calm. And if you start to feel pain, blink twice for me, alright?”
Panic flares in my chest and tightens my throat. The urge to jump up from the bed and run is so strong it almost feels like pain. Maybe I should blink twice, I think without much humor.
I watch, panic growing, as a young blonde woman- Claire, I think- steps into view and hands Doctor Turtle-face a scalpel. The silver blade gleams in the cold wash of light, winking devilishly.
I squirm and writhe and struggle against the invisible holds on my body, but the movement all seems to be contained in my head. As I watch, Turtle-face presses the scalpel a few inches above the crease in my arm and slices it cleanly through the skin.
I don’t feel any pain. Just the brief cold touch of the blade followed by an uncomfortable flow of warmth as my blood spills. Turtle-face looks at me expectantly and I glare at him without blinking.
Next he moves to my palm, slicing neatly across in one stroke. Still there is no pain, but the warmth of the blood pooling in my hand makes me feel nauseous.
He makes cuts in the same places on my right arm, and then moves to my legs. He makes a small incision just above both knees and slices horizontal lines across my soles. No pain.
“Alright, Ellyn, we’re almost done here,” Turtle-face says, lifting the scalpel from my foot. I watch as a bead of blood runs down the edge of the blade and falls to the floor. The room spins a little on its axis and I swallow hard, trying to soothe my uneasy stomach.
When he draws up my white shirt to expose my belly, the room tilts sickeningly.
What the fuck are you doing? I scream, but of course he can’t hear me. Everything I do is in my head. I watch, helpless, as he presses the blade to the space just above my bellybutton.
“Ellyn!” a gruff voice barks, startling me.
My eyes flicker to the shape standing at the foot of my bed. Soren glares down at me, furiously, sternly. My eyes grow wide in amazement.
“Ellyn, don’t let them do this,” he growls.
I can’t do anything to stop them, I think desperately. To my surprise, he seems to hear me.
“Yes, you can. Move.”
I can’t.
“You can.”
Doctor Turtle-face draws the blade across my belly. A sting of pain brings tears to my eyes, and when he looks at me this time I blink.
He frowns. “Hmm,” he hums. “That hurt?”
Hell yes, that hurt, you dumb shit!
Without pause, he moves the blade an inch from the first cut and presses down. I feel Soren tense and glance at him.
“Feel the pain, Ellyn,” he instructs me.
Soren, I can’t. I can’t feel anything! I shout.
The scalpel cuts deep this time, recapturing my attention. I grit my teeth as desperate tears blur the doctor’s face.
He lifts the scalpel slightly, pausing. “Interesting,” he murmurs thoughtfully. Then he presses the knife once more to my belly, an inch above his last incision.
Soren slams his hands down on the end of the bed, rattling me. “Ellyn!” he shouts. At the same time, the blade digs into my skin, sending sharp bolts of pain up my nerve endings.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, muscles tightening defensively. The pain travels through me, exploding, filling every cell in my body. At the end of the bed, Soren shouts one more time.
“Ellyn, scream!”
The scream rips from me, shattering my invisible shackles, so powerful my body convulses from it. The pain explodes from my lips, leaving me feeling blissfully cool. The razor edge of the blade disappears as Turtle-face jumps backwards in surprise. And still I continue to scream, kicking my legs and slamming my fists.
“Ellyn! Ellyn, calm down,” Turtle-face says, attempting to sound soothing. As he leans toward me, scalpel still gripped in hand, I slap his hand away and reach for his throat.
Claire’s long red fingernails dig into my wrist and catch me before I can grab the doctor’s neck. She draws blood, and I scream at that pain, too.
“Sedative! I need the sedative!” she shouts. As I thrash, I catch glimpses of another girl with long, dark hair dressed in the same nurse’s garb as Claire. She rushes over, brushing past Turtle-face, who is staring at me as if he can’t look away.
Claire holds me down while the dark-haired nurse pulls a syringe from a red belt around her white dress and sticks the needle in my arm. I struggle against them, but the sedative works quickly through my system. My limbs grow heavy again, useless, and the room turns fuzzy and indistinct.
“Fascinating,” Turtle-face breathes, staring at me with a mixture of shock and confusion. Disgust rises in me like bile but is quickly pressed down by the sedative.
“Ellyn,” Soren murmurs. The urgency in his voice catches me off guard. I turn slowly to look at him, barely able to distinguish him through the veil of haziness.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he continues.
I…I can’t…help it…
“Stay awake. I’ll help you…”
But Soren’s voice fades into the background of existence, along with everything else.
***
Soren doesn’t let me sleep long. Just a few minutes, enough for the doctor and his nurses to leave. Then he comes around to the side of my bed and slaps me hard across the face.
The pain explodes in my head, stinging in my cheek, but I feel it from far away. The sedative is a heavy thickness within me, weighing me down. I try to glare at him but it’s pretty weak.
“Why…did you do…that?” I huff.
“You need to stay awake,” Soren urges me. His green eyes glitter.
I try to ask him why he’s so determined to keep me awake, but my mouth feels like mush and it takes all my strength just to move my lips. I give up, sinking into the pillow.
But Soren will not let me rest. He keeps me awake by tickling my toes or pinching my arms. The exhaustion rides me, tries to pull me under, but Soren is having none of it.
Finally- hours later it must be- I feel the sedative start to wear off. My eyes still are heavy and sting like hell, but I’m awake.
Soren stares at me. I don’t think he ever blinks. “You’re awake,” he states.
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, no shit,” I growl. “Why was it so damn important for me to stay awake, huh? Do you know how exhausted I am right now?”
“I brought you something,” Soren says, ignoring my questions.
That catches me off guard. I blink at him, surprised. “You…brought me something?” I repeat, raising myself to a sitting position.
He nods, and for the first time he smiles. It looks good on him; two laugh lines form creases around his sparkling green eyes. Soren holds out a small white bag.
After a moment, I take it, curiosity winning out over my initial shock. I open it up eagerly and the sweet scent of pastries floats out. Inside is the largest Danish I’ve ever seen, a circle of fried bread with a pile of cream cheese in the center. My mouth waters immediately.
“Oh my God,” I say, pulling the pastry from its bag. I dig in quickly, stuffing my mouth with its sweetness. At the taste, my legs go weak and a small moan bursts from my lips. I turn to Soren, eyes shining with gratitude.
“How did you know I love these?” I ask breathlessly, stealing another huge bite.
He shrugs, still smiling. “I just know things,” he says.
Soren watches me as I eat, sitting down beside me on the bed. This is the most delicious thing I’ve tasted in years. The beauty of such a pastry washes through me, as well as the nostalgia, and I almost feel a little sad eating it.
As I’m finishing my last bite, Soren finally speaks. “Ellyn, there are some things we need to discuss,” he says. His voice is solemn, the smile gone.
My chewing slows nearly to a standstill. “What do you mean?” I ask after a long pause, and swallow down the rest of my treat.
“It’s time, Ellyn,” he says.
My brows furrow. “Time for what?”
“Time for escape.”
My body goes rigid, absolutely still. I stare at him for a long time, mouth gaping. He stares back, completely serious.
“You…you must be joking…” I finally manage to whisper. But I know he isn’t.
“This place is a travesty, a murder house. They can’t keep you locked up anymore,” he growls. “But you can’t do it alone. So I’m here to help you.”
I blink several times, taking everything in. “You’re here to help me,” I repeat. He nods wordlessly so I continue. “So…keeping me awake, making me feel pain…that was all to help me?”
“Yes.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “How is that going to help me?” I demand.
Soren levels me with a very serious look. “In order to escape, you must learn how to resist. Resist, rebel…anything to keep them from claiming you,” he says. I listen very quietly, feeling his words pass through me like sparks. They do something to my insides. Move them. Churn them. Set them on fire.
“You need to show them that they don’t own you,” Soren continues. “You control this place. Nothing else can force you. Nothing else commands you.”
“But staying awake and screaming…how will that do anything?”
“It will show them that you are strong, that you won’t give in,” Soren replies.
“But even if I do…even if I fight against them…it won’t do any good,” I argue, hanging my head. “Why should I fight if it won’t help me?”
Soren reaches out and grabs my chin. His grip is firm and somehow comforting. His green eyes burn into mine.
“If nothing else, fight just to spite them,” he says. Then he smiles and I smile tentatively back. His words fill me with a low-smoldering passion, a sense of rebellion that I haven’t truly felt in years. They make me want to laugh but they also make me want to fight.
But my smile fades quickly. I pull my chin from his hand and turn away. “It’s not worth it,” I mumble. “Even if I fight, I’ll never break free.”
Soren narrows his eyes. “You will,” he says. “I’ll help you.”
I glare at him. “How can you help me? I don’t even think you’re real!”
“Does it matter whether or not I’m real if I can help you escape?”
“You can’t help me escape!” I shout. “If I try, they’ll hurt me. Maybe even kill me.”
“Yes, they will,” Soren says, nodding. “But if you escape, it will be worth it.”
“Worth it if I’m dead?” I mutter.
Soren stands up so quickly it makes me jump. I blink at him and he glares down at me, his lips curling into a snarl.
“You’re a coward,” he accuses, sounding thoroughly repulsed.
His words cut deep, spilling anger and pain and indignation within me. But I can’t deny the truth to them, and I hang my head in shame.
“Without fear, we’d all be monsters,” I say. I don’t know if I’m trying to defend myself or speak the truth.
“We’re all monsters anyway,” Soren growls. “But cowards are the worst monsters. Monsters with no prey but themselves.”
I look up then, face burning with embarrassment. He’s right and I wish he wasn’t. I am a coward and a monster.
“Why should I escape then?” I ask morosely.
“Because you were not born a coward, that’s not who you truly are. You just became that way when they stuck you in here. Listen,” Soren says in a quick, urgent voice. He kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. “You are more than this. You have a right to live and be free and I’m going to help you.”
I watch him for a long time, mesmerized by those wheat field eyes. Like the first time, I sink in them, letting their waves overtake me. In them I see myself, running through my grandfather’s fields in the bright summer sunlight. And I see Trevor.
Trevor. I close my eyes tightly against the pain.
When I open them again, the answer tumbles like a stone from my mouth- sturdy, resolute, unbreakable.
“Alright. What do I need to do?”
Soren grins, showing all his teeth. “That’s my girl.”
***
For the next few weeks, Soren has me practice what he calls “quiet violence”. Mostly it involves staying awake when they give me sedatives or screaming when they give me morphine.
“Quiet violence can be just as effective as blatant violence,” Soren said, and I believe him. Doctor Turtle-face and his nurses, and even some of the guards, have started looking at me funny. With curiosity, concern…sometimes even with fear.
After these practice sessions, when the doctors have left and the guards are off patrolling, Soren comes to me with gifts. They are always small, a lot of the time they’re food. He’ll bring me candies and drinks from my childhood, and once he even brought me a slice of the pumpkin roll my mother used to make.
Sometimes they’re not edible, however. He brought me a book that Trevor passed on to me- Frankenstein. I was young when I read it, but I loved it all the same. The hard cover has long since fallen from the well-worn book, exposing the cream-colored pages and the cracked spine.
Soren also brought me a necklace that once belonged to my grandmother. The pendant was a delicate thing, a small, silver rose, its petal’s edges dusted with red accents. He even brought me a picture Trevor had painted for me, when he was six and I was just a baby.
That was when I finally broke down and asked Soren if he’d been sneaking into my old house. He told me he hadn’t but I wasn’t sure I believed him.
Then one evening, a face appears in my door’s window. My heart grows sick and my stomach seems to shrivel up within me. Kurt’s brown eyes seek mine and a vicious grin parts his lips.
Behind me, Soren sets a hand on my shoulder. “Do not be afraid,” he growls.
“Don’t leave,” I whimper, unable to pull my gaze from Kurt’s. The sharp click of the lock makes me jump.
“I won’t,” Soren assures me, glaring at Kurt as he opens the door and steps inside.
Kurt doesn’t see Soren. He looks only at me as he approaches, fingers curled around a large syringe.
“Hello, crazy,” Kurt sneers. “I got somethin’ for ya.” I tremble as he comes closer and prepare myself for the fight.
“No. Don’t fight him.”
I blink, my eyes expanding to the size of saucers. What do you mean, “don’t fight him”? I demand.
“Quiet violence for now, Ellyn. Trust me.”
Before I can reply, Kurt grabs my arm and stretches it out at an uncomfortable angle. I wince but otherwise make no reaction.
“C’mere, ya little bitch,” he says, grinning at me.
Something comes over me then. I feel my insides shutting down and my expression becoming neutral, a true poker face. I stare at him without fear or anger, and something close to nervousness flickers in his eyes.
Kurt stabs the needle into my arm and pushes down the plunger. I can feel, distinctly, the liquid as it enters my bloodstream. I shiver a little at the strangeness of it but otherwise remain perfectly still.
“Gonna have fun with you, bitch,” Kurt continues, grabbing my chin. His fingers dig painfully into my face; I imagine they’ll probably leave bruises. I stare him down without flinching, or even blinking. In the back of my mind, I wonder if this is how Soren feels.
The nervousness from before returns to Kurt’s muddy eyes, but this time it settles and expands into something more. A flicker of delight makes my stomach flutter when I recognize fear in his face.
But the delight disappears as his face wavers and twists around the edges. His grip on my chin becomes tighter- steel clamps digging into my flesh. I start to panic, feel my heart start to race within my chest. I am painfully aware of the neon liquid coursing through my veins; with each pump of blood, it’s thicker.
A ringing starts in my ears and muffles everything else. I see Kurt’s lips move but I don’t hear what he says. I feel like I’m underwater.
From the background of stifled sound, I hear it. At first it’s just a subtle thrumming, like the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. But steadily it grows, an endless rhythm, until it’s pounding like steel mallets against my skull.
The drumline, I think in despair, rolling my eyes away from Kurt’s face.
There they are, all in neat rows stretching from one wall to the other. They make a path to the door and back, drumming on their drums, staring with eyes that don’t see. Kurt doesn’t seem to notice and my heart nearly explodes from the thought. How can nobody else hear such infernal noise?
The sound surrounds me, becomes me. I am aware of nothing else until everything in my vision starts to shake. The room becomes blurry from the sudden quaking, but in the rush of sound I can’t figure out why. Is it an earthquake? Is the building collapsing?
A moment later, blackness washes over my sight.
***
Warm, pale sunbeams run in through the window and wash the floor with light. I pretend they’re the ghosts of streams running down a mountain, pure and crystal clear. I reach out with one hand and touch the light, coasting my fingers over the patch of warmth.
“Ellyn,” Soren says softly.
I don’t look at him. I stare at the light, wishing I could fill myself with it.
“Ellyn, I brought you something.”
I refuse to look up. My whole body aches from the seizure last night- from my head cracking against the tile floor, from my body shaking so hard it nearly tore itself apart, from the drumming that wouldn’t stop until long after I’d fallen into unconsciousness.
Soren slides something across the patch of light to me. It’s a shoebox, an ordinary brown cardboard box, with a bunch of little holes punched in the top. After a long moment, I pull the box over to me but don’t open it. I continue to stare at the sunlight without speaking.
Eventually, Soren sighs. “What do you want me to say, that I’m sorry about yesterday? I’m not,” he snaps.
I look up at him, outraged. “You’re not sorry? I had a fucking seizure because of you!”
“Okay, I’m sorry about that. But you did the right thing. I never said it was going to be easy,” he replies. We lapse into silence for a moment. I’m not sure what to say.
Finally, he points to the box. “You going to open that?” he asks.
I glare at him, considering mutiny. But curiosity wins over everything else, and my fingers gently pry open the lid.
A bird peeps up at me, cocking its head to the left and then to the right. Its onyx eyes watch me without blinking. Blindsided, my mouth falls open. The bird trills sweetly in reply, flutters its wings and darts gracefully to the window, where it sits on one of the bars and sings.
I turn to Soren, gaping, and he chuckles at my expression. “Her name is Lily,” he says. “She was a prisoner, too. Once.”
I glance up at the little bird singing bravely at the sun and something stirs within me. It doesn’t look right for her to have to sit in a barred window.
“She was a prisoner?” I repeat.
“Yes. For a selfish old woman who lived in a mansion by herself. She wanted company so she captured this bird when she was very young. Took her right out of her mother’s nest,” Soren explains. I don’t ask how he knows all this. He seems to know everything.
“And you brought her here?” The skepticism in my voice is heavy, bordering on condescension.
“Even in here, she’s free of her cage,” Soren replies steadily. His green eyes burn into mine and my legs feel strangely weak. “She already learned her lesson. Now it’s time for you to learn yours.”
“So teach me,” I say, trying to sound challenging.
Soren grins. I swallow hard; something in that grin has my stomach churning nervously.
“I intend to,” he says and gets to his feet. “Stand.”
I blink up at him, startled by his change in tone. “What about Lily?” I ask weakly. “What if they see…?”
“Put her back in the box. She’ll be fine there ‘till you let her out again. Now stand.”
I scramble clumsily to my feet without another word, shoving the box under my bed. Lily continues to chirp, oblivious to both of us.
“Now, I’ve taught you how to use quiet violence and you’ve used it quite effectively so far. But now it’s time to kick things up a notch,” Soren says. I watch his muscles bunch subtly under his clothes, coiling with energy. His expression blazes with ferocity. I’m scared of the wildness in his eyes.
Then, like so many times before, he levels me with a stark, serious stare and says, “It’s time I taught you how to fight.”
***
It’s been a week but it feels like it’s been a month. Soren’s been working me incredibly hard, pushing me to my limits and then pushing me past my limits. The muscles under my skin feel like bruises, every single one of them. But I’ve also never felt so energized, so exhilarated in my life.
It’s like I’m holding so much freedom in my hands that I don’t know what to do with it. I feel like I’m walking on the edge of the world, staring down into the abyss, preparing to take flight into the unknown.
Every morning I pull the box out from under my bed and let Lily out. She sings in the window from dawn till dusk while Soren and I train. And every night she comes to sit on my hand and I place her back in her box until the next morning.
One evening, after a particularly hard session, Soren disappears for a few minutes. I don’t know where he went- he’s just gone- so I sit beneath the window and watch the twilight fade slowly from the sky.
“Here,” Soren says, holding out a bottle.
I jump, startled. “Jesus, how do you do that?” I demand, taking the bottle curiously.
Soren chuckles, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “Well, I’m not Jesus, but if I were you I wouldn’t question him,” he says and sips from a bottle of his own.
I throw him a withering glance and then return to inspecting my bottle. “What is this?” I ask. “There’s no logo or anything.”
“Just drink it. I know you’ll like it.”
I do as he says, cautiously. The taste that assails my mouth, however, erases all caution. It’s like drinking pure nostalgia. My mouth sings with remembrance.
“Cherry-flavored beer,” Soren says as I take a deeper swallow.
“My brother and I used to sneak these from my stepmother’s fridge!” I exclaim, hovering over a dizzying wave of memories. I raise an eyebrow at Soren. “So you’re trying to get me drunk, huh?”
“I’d have to give you quite a lot of these to get you drunk. Not a lot of alcohol.” He stops to take a sip, and then adds as an afterthought, “Pussywater.”
I gape at him. “It is not, it’s fucking delicious!”
“I never said it wasn’t. Just pointing out that’s it’s not a man’s drink.”
I shrug. “Good thing I’m not a man.”
Soren smiles. “Yeah. Good thing.”
I feel him watching me for a long moment and I begin to feel hot, flushing under my skin. Desperately trying to ignore this, I get up and sit next to him on the bed. His eyes follow every step.
He stares at me and I stare at the floor, kicking my feet idly. The beer is slowly growing warm in my hand but it suddenly doesn’t matter.
“Soren…” I finally say, to break the silence.
“Ellyn,” Soren replies.
We fall silent for a moment.
Then Soren gently grabs my face and kisses me.
I don’t resist or struggle. I sink into the kiss immediately, letting my body melt. Every bone, every muscle, every particle turns to water. I let him own me, mold my lips to his, eyes closed and mouth parted in ecstasy.
Eventually, breaking apart for air, Soren smiles at me. “You look breathless,” he says.
“I am,” I reply and my heart swells with an overwhelming need. Before I can summon a coherent thought, I add, “I want to drown in you, be overwhelmed by you, and perish.”
Soren just grins. “Dramatic,” he snorts.
“I am not. It’s true!”
“Never said it wasn’t,” he says. Then he leans in to kiss me again.
***
Another week passes. Soren trains me, and the doctor’s visit me less and less. I read Frankenstein to Soren and Lily, and he continues to bring me gifts. Mostly it’s food, but he did bring me a pen one day.
“To record your thoughts,” he said. “Writing is a beautiful outlet.”
So I inscribe my thoughts on the walls, near my bed or under the window. One day, lying on the floor on my stomach, feet kicking idly in the air, I pressed the ballpoint pen to the white wall with the intention of writing a poem. Lily sang cheerily in the window above me and warm sunlight lit the whole room with white, powdery brightness.
A poem never came, so instead I just wrote this: My sweetheart is not terribly sweet (but he is very much my heart).
Soren got a kick out of that.
For the first time in many years, I feel happy. I am still trapped in this place, still poked and prodded by doctors, still visited by Kurt. There is writing on the wall. There is writing on the wall and a bird in my window and gifts stashed in my mattress.
And there is Soren. No matter what anybody decides to do to me, I always have him. They keep me in this place where there’s so much pain and sorrow and so little love. He brings it to me like an offering, a gift. And it’s in him that I find my sanity.
I’ve never been in love. I saw Trevor fall in love with Sandy, and I saw the love my grandpa had for my grandma every day, even though I never met her. I witnessed it from a distance.
I’m in love now. I feel it in my bones. It bubbles in my veins and my chest. It’s like the drumline is inside of me, thrumming heavy beats in my heart. I tell Soren this one night and he laughs.
“What’s funny?” I ask, leaning slightly away from him. We are lying on our sides in my bed, facing each other. Lily is already asleep in her box beneath us.
“You were always melodramatic,” he replies. Then he smiles and brushes a strand of hair from my face. “That’s what I love about you.”
“Hope that’s not the only thing,” I mutter, playing with my grandma’s rose pendant. After a moment, I frown. “I’m sorry.”
Soren blinks in surprise. “For what?”
“You always bring me all these gifts, and they’re amazing! I don’t have anything to give to you,” I say. Tears prick my eyes at the injustice of such a thing.
Soren only laughs. “Silly girl!” he exclaims. “Love isn’t defined by objects, nor is it defined by physical essence.”
He grows quiet and serious, but the smile remains on his face. Keeping his eyes on me, he reaches out and places his hand over my heart.
“It is the soul that feels true love, and it is the soul that gives it back,” he continues.
I stare at him for a heartbeat, stunned. When I finally find my voice, it shakes slightly. “And you say I’m melodramatic.”
He snorts. “I get it from you, Ellyn.” Then he closes his eyes and curls closer to me.
When I open my eyes the next day, Soren’s gone. This isn’t that unusual; half the time he’s there when I wake up and half the time he isn’t. Yawning, I stretch myself out of bed and pull out Lily’s box. When I open the lid, she stares up at me and chirps.
I furrow my brows, surprised. Usually she flies right to the window. I reach in and stroke my finger down her smooth, feathered head.
“What’s up, Lily?” I ask. “Don’t you want your perch?”
Lily continues to chirp at me, staring straight into my eyes. My finger slows to a standstill above her head. A chill seeps through me like molasses, slow and thick. There is something urgent about Lily’s tweeting today, and instantly I get the distinct feeling that something is going to happen.
“Soren,” I whisper. For the first time I start to worry about where he is and why he isn’t here. I close the lid over Lily’s head and slide the box under my bed.
“Soren!” I call again, louder this time.
Almost simultaneously, the door slams open, making me jump. I turn my head, but before I can see who it is they slam into me from the side. We careen across the room and hit the wall with a force that sends my head reeling. After a moment, Kurt’s face spins into view.
I start to fight but he jams something deep into my arm. My eyes fly open wide. No! I think, feeling the familiar liquid blending thickly with my blood.
Terror fills me, followed quickly by a deep-burning rage. Letting out a feral shout, I turn on him, sending my knuckles into his cheekbone. There is a sharp, satisfying crack and he cries out in pain. Scrambling hastily to my feet, I kick the heel of my foot against his nose, snapping the cartilage.
Power courses through my body, and every one of Soren’s lessons surges to my brain in a wave of blood and heat. I descend upon Kurt, screaming and tearing, just a bundle of bunching muscles and vengeance.
Eventually, he starts to fight back. He catches my left fist as it flies toward his face, then delivers his own punch, a truly stunning blow.
Hot, flaring agony bursts where my nose is supposed to be. Blood vessels and cartilage break. Heat courses down my lips and pools in my mouth like liquid copper. I try to get to my feet, hand pressed against my broken nose.
The drumming hits me at that moment, loud and vengeful, where before I hadn’t noticed it because the fight had taken over everything else.
I fall back on my ass, moving my bloodstained hands to my ears to try and block out the noise. I know it’s no use. This drumming is a part of me; it will never let me go.
Kurt shoves me onto my bed, but I feel nothing. The room spins and blinks in and out of sight. I watch Kurt limp out of the room in fragments.
I start to convulse, heaving and tumbling within my own body. There’s no one to hold me down. Not like they do when they give me morphine.
The seizure rocks me so hard I feel like my bones will snap. My heart smacks against my ribs. My lungs rattle and clench till I can barely breathe. The drumline carries on, oblivious to my agony.
Eventually I drift into unconsciousness. I waver back and forth between dreams and the waking world. Sometimes when I open my eyes I see Kurt, glaring down at me with blazing eyes. Sometimes I see Doctor Turtle-face and his nurses.
Once when I saw him- talking to Kurt, of all people- I heard him say, “…conduct further tests such as this one. Scare them, hurt them, see what they do. There are other patients with looser screws than her. It would be interesting to see…” And then I drifted away again.
Finally, everything is silent. I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep that leaves me blissfully unaware, until I come to a few hours later.
Blinking open my eyes, the first thing I see are Soren’s. For a moment I think I’m flying, flying above the field I used to play in as a kid. I stare into the sea of waving grasses wonderingly, searching for myself. Maybe Trevor is there with me, too…
“Ellyn!” Soren barks.
I cock my head to the side. Soren’s here, too? Does he see me anywhere in the field of wheat?
Something brushes lightly against the crook of my neck. I giggle and jerk away from the tickling, curling into a tight ball. The sudden movement sends a horrible searing pain throughout my entire body. My teeth clamp together and my eyes shut tight. The wheat field is gone. I know where I am now.
“Ellyn,” Soren says again, voice thick with relief. His hand cups my face and I sigh as his lips brush my forehead. “You need to wake up, Ellyn, there’s not much time.”
I blink and my head pounds. “What do you mean there’s not much time? Time for what?” I ask, pressing my knuckles against my forehead to try massaging away the pain.
“Time to escape.”
My heart stops momentarily. My fist grows still on my temple. Soren meets my terrified gaze and I see in his eyes that he’s not joking.
I get to my feet, and almost immediately fall back into the bed. The pain explodes within me the moment I stand straight and nearly sweeps away my senses. Little black dots dance in front of my vision, making me sway dizzily. Soren took hold of my shoulders and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Stay with me, Ellyn, stay with me,” he urges. He holds me steady while the dizziness passes, repeating this mantra, but I wonder why he doesn’t just slap me to wake me up.
“Because you’re already hurt. Hitting you would probably send you into a coma,” he replies. His tone is joking but strained with anxiety.
I narrow my eyes, frowning. “Are you nervous because I’m already hurt, or is there something you’re not telling me?” I ask.
Soren blinks at my bluntness. For the first time, I’ve taken him by surprise.
“Both,” he admits after just a heartbeat’s hesitation. He places his hand on my shoulder and guides me away from the bed. “Your escape is very close and time is short. There is one more thing I would give you, and one more thing I would ask of you, before we begin.”
I take a deep breath and nod obediently. “Okay.”
Without another word, Soren pulls something solemnly from his belt. It gleams and winks dangerously at me, making me flinch.
It’s a knife. Silver, razor sharp blade. Gold, polished handle.
“Take it,” Soren urges me, thrusting the handle into my hand. Slowly, I wrap my fingers around the cool gold and pull it from his.
“Now listen to me, Ellyn,” Soren continues, grabbing my face with both hands and kneeling down to meet me at eye level. “Everything I gave you, everything you kept, you must destroy.”
Shock hits me hard. It feels exactly like he punched me in the face, and pain sings through my nerve endings as a single twitch shakes my entire body.
“What do you mean-” I start to say but he cuts me off.
“Ellyn, you must!” he shouts. Then he touches one hand to the knife in mine. “Except for that. You keep that until you’re safe on the outside. Then you leave it there, got it?”
I shake my head, reeling. “Why?”
A small smile graces Soren’s lips but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “It’s the only way you’ll ever be free of this place. You must leave everything behind and start over,” he says.
I look over at the box beneath my bed. “What about Lily?” I ask over the lump in my throat.
“Even Lily,” Soren murmurs. “You must kill everything about this place.”
I start with the inanimate things. They’re easier. I rip the pages from Frankenstein and watch them float to the floor like broken wings. I bite into the delicate chain of the rose necklace, breaking it in half, and toss it across the room. Screaming, I rip Trevor’s picture into little pieces and leave them strewn across the room.
When I get to Lily, I hold her gently in the cup of my hands, murmuring into her forehead. She chirrups at me curiously and nuzzles into my fingers. Tears course down my face and roll like little diamonds down her feathers.
I look up at Soren and he nods. “Kill your demons. Kill your darlings,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “I… I can’t…” I stammer.
“You can-”
“I can’t!” I scream. Lily falls silent in my hands, watching me with onyx eyes. Soren stares at me, waiting for my sobs to die down. For a moment I don’t think they will; they keep rising, becoming more hysterical. Eventually I’m able to force the words out.
“I…killed my parents,” I say. Soren’s expression doesn’t change. He probably already knew this but I have to say it anyway. “My dad and my stepmom. Because…”
My throat closes up momentarily. Memory comes rushing back, lit by perfect clarity. The rain pounding down harshly as I stared up at our new country house. The kitchen knife weighing heavily in my hand, little raindrops dewing along its edge. The rage. The rage stewing inside me, barely contained.
My lips curl into a snarl. “Because that bitch killed my brother,” I spit. The tears feel like fire now on my cheeks. “She poisoned him and she would have poisoned me, too, if I hadn’t stopped her.”
In my head I see the unforgiving blade slicing cleanly through my dad’s throat, and her cowering in the background, grasping desperately at the closet door.
“She wanted you both out of the way,” Soren says quietly, startling me. “So she could have your father to herself.”
“And his money,” I add bitterly. “Grandpa died just after Trevor joined the army and left us all his money. It started to disappear pretty damn quickly and I had my suspicions. But after Trevor came back a few years later, it all became quite clear.”
Soren nods. “Your dad spent money on you and Trevor and she didn’t like that,” he says.
“So she poisoned him,” I finish. “The evil bitch poisoned him and made it look like a fucking suicide. A suicide!”
Fury at the memory thunders through me. I pace back and forth across my room, kicking torn pages under my feet. Soren and Lily watch me solemnly.
“Trevor was going to have a baby with Sandy,” I continue, my voice cracking. “He was going to raise a family. He wouldn’t have committed suicide! That fucking bitch killed him!”
Soren’s arms wrap around me and he cradles me against him. I bury my head in his chest and sob uncontrollably. Lily burrows her head into my hand and chirps morosely.
When the sobs finally die down, leaving me breathless and aching, I look up apologetically. “S-sorry,” I murmur weakly. “That’s the first time I… willingly thought about it…”
Soren nods. “I know. I’m glad you did. Now you can leave that here, like everything else,” he says.
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can,” I reply doubtfully.
He just smiles at me. “You can,” he says. “I have faith in you.” Then he looks very pointedly at the bird in my hands.
Pain rushes through my chest and a fresh sob escapes my lips. Lily looks back at me and blinks. She makes no sound, but her eyes stare very deeply into mine. There is serenity and wisdom in that look, far beyond what a bird should be capable of.
That look calms me. She knows what I have to do and she’s ready. A pleasant numbness steals over me, much like it did when I used my newfound quiet violence on Kurt. We stare at each other without blinking, and while she’s watching I snap her neck.
It doesn’t take much effort. She’s small and delicate and goes quickly, snuffed out like a candle under water.
I hold her warm body in my hands for several seconds. Then I set her on the bed and look at Soren. “It’s time,” I say, with the calm assurance of one who knows the climax of their story is near.
He nods and smiles just slightly. “Yes, it is.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Summon the guards. When they open the door, take them out. You’re strong enough now; you can do this.”
I nod. “Then what?”
“Take their keys and unlock the other doors on this wing.” Soren tries to continue but I cut him off.
“Wait a minute! You want me to let out the other patients, too?” I exclaim. Doubt ripples through my frame, shedding unease into the situation.
“Ellyn, you know what goes on here. No matter the condition these people must be set free to make their own choices. If they do wrong, they will be sent somewhere else. But a place this corrupt is meant for no one but the people who run it,” Soren says sternly.
I bite my lip, remembering some of the faces I’ve seen through my window or the screams I’ve heard at night. Should I really let these people loose on society?
Then I think of myself. How I was automatically labeled a nut job simply because I’d murdered my parents, believing that they’d killed my brother. And I think of Kurt and Turtle-face and all their experiments. What if these people are just like me- wounded, frightened? Could I leave them to rot in here?
I nod again. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
Soren dips his head. “Good. When you do, lead them in an attack on the staff.”
I shrink back, blindsided once more. “Lead them?” I repeat. “How?”
Soren smiles grimly. “Use the staff’s weapons against them. The morphine, for example,” he explains. “Remember the delusions you suffered. How real it felt.”
“The drumline,” I whisper, picturing their flying drumsticks and unblinking eyes.
“Yes. Remember what I said, Ellyn. Nothing here controls you. You control here,” Soren says.
It takes me a minute to realize that I’m trembling. Everything seems so suddenly real. I clutch at Soren’s shoulders, pressing my palms against his chest.
“I want you with me through all of it,” I say.
“Of course.”
“Through all of it and forever,” I insist, moving my hand to his heart. Then I take one of his hands and press it to mine. I meet his gaze, shaky with tears. “Your soul to mine.”
He smiles at me gently. “I promise,” he murmurs. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He kisses me, so softly I barely feel the pressure of his lips on mine. Then he pulls away, and his green eyes are distant and resolute.
He points to the door. “Smash the glass,” he says.
I do as he says immediately, ignoring the pain in my hand as the shards cut deep. Blood spills down over my arm. I open my mouth and scream as loudly as I can.
Guards rush to the door immediately, shouting angrily. As soon as the door opens I send my fist into the first guard’s mouth. His head rushes back and slams into the door. A second guard steps over his limp body and reaches for me, but I swing the knife and slit his throat.
Soren grabs the ring of keys from a guard’s belt and throws them to me. Side-by-side, we rush into the hallway.
“They’ll be on us soon,” he tells me. “Free them quickly.”
I rush from door to door, ignoring my saner instincts. Each patient scrambles out, as though waiting for us, and suddenly, as they fill the hall, I become aware of a noise.
I don’t see the drummers, but I feel them within me, filling me up with their cacophony. But this time I embrace it, breathe it in, let it strengthen me. I can see from the wildness in the eyes of the others that they hear them, too.
Soren’s voice is warm in my ear. “Very good,” he says. “Move to the front and lead them to the final door.”
I race to the head of the pack, gripping my knife till my knuckles turn white. Soren shadows me step for step. Up ahead, the final door opens and guards in white uniforms spill into the hall.
I stare at them for an eternity, embracing quiet violence. Behind me, the other patients rumble restlessly but won’t cross the invisible line I’ve drawn. The drumline pounds away at us.
I smile across the distance. Confusion and nervousness shudders through the guards. I see Kurt’s face peering out at me. Then I raise my head to the ceiling and scream.
The patients break rank and the guards disappear in their masses like drowning men. Still grinning, I stalk into the fray, whipping my knife at open flesh.
Kurt falls in front of me, bleeding from a cut on his lip and favoring a hideously broken ankle. He looks up and our eyes meet. His mouth parts in terror. Mine curls in a snarl. The poetic justice of it does not escape me.
I cut his throat. I wish I could draw it out but I don’t have time. I’m about the race through the door when I realize that Soren isn’t with me. I look around, whipping my head from side to side, feeling panic rise within me.
“Soren!” I holler above the din of battle. “Soren!”
“Ellyn.”
His voice comes from my right- calm, peaceful, almost amused. I turn, relieved, until I see him.
He looks like a ghost, pale and nearly transparent. I can see the wall through him. My mouth falls open in shock.
My whole world stops for an instant. Even the drumline halts its frantic pounding, and without the frenzied drum beat to put the fire in their bones, the tribe calms momentarily.
“What’s happening?” I whisper. I barely make a sound.
Soren smiles at me. “This was always going to be the end, Ellyn. I can’t stay with you. Remember? Kill even your darlings,” he says.
I’m screaming before he can finish. “No!” I shout, tears streaming down my face. “No, no, no!”
“Yes,” Soren counters. “Yes, Ellyn, yes. Listen! You love me, right?”
I glare at him, but I have no choice. “Yes. I love you. I love you.”
“Then do as I say. Go!”
His words break me, but I obey. I race out the door, down another hall, and out through the main doors.
It’s raining. The rain pummels me like little fists as I skid to a halt outside what has been my prison for the last three years. I stare at it for a long time until the sobs trickle into hiccups. Then, slowly, I look down at the bloodstained knife in my hand.
A knife imprisoned me. A knife helped me escape. A soft smirk curls my lips, surprising me.
“Melodramatic,” I murmur. Then I open my fist and let the knife clatter to the ground.
I stare hard at the sidewalk beneath my feet. The fresh, delectable scent of rain on pavement assails me.
Then I turn on my heel and start walking.