41: Black murk, tiny flecks of color and dust spinning through the air, dancing in her vision. Larissa Biel rolled over, reached for her quilt to pull it over her head.
Saturday.
No class today.
No class meant sleeping in. No school meant she could burrow under her thick quilt and sleep until midmorning, maybe later if she wanted to. Her mother was working today. The house was empty, quiet. Then she remembered her appointment with the driving school. She’d set an alarm. The alarm would go off soon. Until then, though, she could sleep. She reached for her quilt, and her hands found nothing.
Her room sounded funny. An unfamiliar electric buzz, equipment running.
Larissa had already gotten up.
She had left the house.
She remembered walking to the corner in the cold to meet the instructor, getting into his car.
Her mattress was cold and hard. Her bedding smelled awful.
“Would you like milk? I brought you milk.”
The voice was soft, hesitant, a stranger. Larissa fought back the sleep, willed her eyes to open. When they fluttered open, so heavy and tired, a pain wrapped around them, like someone had beat around in her head with a golf club and squeezed.
“It might be warm now, but warm is good. I like warm milk.”
He’d stabbed her with something, the instructor. Right after she fastened the seat belt, there was a prick at her thigh, a sharp pain. She remembered looking down, seeing the needle, seeing him push the plunger on the needle.
Nothing then.
The dim basement came into view, the shadow sitting on the stairs at the opposite wall, chainlink between them.
Larissa sat up and nearly fell back over, her vision filling with a quick white light before leveling back off. The room was dark. The only light coming from somewhere at the top of the staircase.
“The milk will help get the drug out of your system. I’m sorry I had to do that to you, but you wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t.”
The man in the black knit cap, the instructor.
She was in a cage, a chainlink cage, wrapped in a filthy green quilt on a concrete floor. Her head snapped around, taking in her surroundings. A water tank, heater, workbench. There was an old white freezer against the wall with the stairs, but it must have been broken—the freezer made no sound and the lid was open, leaning against the wall.
At the base of the freezer there was something on the floor covered with a painter’s tarp. She saw herself under that tarp, being found under that tarp.
“What’s that?” she said, her voice hoarse.
He stood up from the steps, fast, angry. “Never mind that. You never mind that.”
She heard him shuffle closer, one leg dragging slightly behind him. He stopped about three feet away and scratched at his knit cap. Larissa saw his eyes now, dark around them, sunken in his face. They looked gray, listless, the eyes of a much older man. They were bloodshot, and dried tears crusted in the corners.
“Don’t look at me, not like that.” He took a step back, backlit now by the light at the top of the staircase, his features obscured.
Larissa forced herself to her feet, every muscle in her body protesting, weak and tight. The filthy green quilt fell to the floor. Her jacket was gone. She crossed her arms at her chest, pulled the sleeves of her sweater down, and curled her hands up inside. “If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone about this. It can be our little secret.” She thought about the dance tonight, she thought about Kevin Dew. She couldn’t be here, this wasn’t real. “My parents know where I am. They know I met you for lessons. If I’m gone too long, they’ll report me missing. They’ll call the police. Do you want that? If you let me go, it won’t come to that. I’ll forget all about this.”
This was a lie. Her father had left early for the construction site, and her mother had planned to go into the office. She liked to work on Saturday afternoons because nobody else was there. Her parents planned to go out to dinner tonight, and both knew Larissa was going to the Valentine’s Day dance. When they got home from work, they’d just assume she was at a friend’s getting ready—they wouldn’t expect her back until midnight, maybe later. Nobody would be looking for her. Nobody would miss her.
“Are you of clear mind and soul?”
He had trouble pronouncing the word soul, and he made a strange grunt afterward, as if angry with himself.
“I don’t understand.”
He leaned forward for a moment, caught himself, and slipped back into the shadows. “To see, you must be pure. To be pure, you must be of clear mind and soul.” He began to rub his thumb and forefinger together in a circular pattern, some kind of nervous tic. “The last one, she wasn’t of clear mind and soul, and I think that’s why she couldn’t see. It will be different for you. I’m certain.”
Larissa’s eyes went back to the tarp on the floor.
“The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll be free. You want to be free, don’t you?”
“Yes, I want you to let me go.”
“I can set you free, but I’m afraid I can never let you go.”
She crossed her small cage and went to the gate, secured by a padlock at the top and another at the bottom. She gripped the gate with both hands. “Let me go, you crazy fuck! Let me out of here!”
Aside from the rubbing of his two fingers, the instructor didn’t move, a shadow against darker shadows. He licked at his dry, chapped lips.
Larissa screamed.
She screamed as loud as she could, a scream so loud, her throat burned. She stared him directly in the eyes and screamed until every ounce of air had left her, and then she sucked in another breath and screamed again. When she finally stopped, the room fell into a deep silence, nothing but the hum of electrical appliances and a slight ticking noise from the water heater.
“I sometimes scream too. Screaming makes me feel better,” he told her. “Nobody ever hears me, and they won’t hear you either.”
He started for the stairs, pausing at the foot. “Drink your milk. You’ll need the strength. I’ll be back soon, and we’ll get started.”
She watched as he climbed the steps, favoring his right leg. When he reached the top, she heard a door close. He left the light on.
The glass of milk sat in the corner of her cage, just inside the door. Larissa picked it up, poured out the milk onto the concrete, and wrapped the glass in the green quilt before dropping it to the floor and stomping on it with her shoe. Then she unwrapped the quilt and carefully selected the sharpest shard, a piece about three inches long, holding it in her shaking hand. “Let’s get started, fucker.”