The sound of a dozen metal pins snapping into place stopped her banging. For a moment, Melissa gripped the metal paper towel dispenser, wielding the rod like a too-short, too-thin billy club that, at best, would add a few ounces of force to a feeble punch before being knocked out of her hand. She was too out of shape to counter It effectively. Juice cleansing off the quarantine pounds had cut her bodyweight while failing to build any muscle. Outrunning anyone would be impossible, let alone fighting.
But she needed to do something. The noises meant there were now two of them in the darkness. Her and It. And It was stronger.
Melissa placed the rod beside the toilet bowl. The metal pinged as the rod made contact with the ground. Quickly, she flushed to make the sound appear related to the mechanics of using the facilities.
“You need to tell them what really happened.” Its voice echoed in the other room, commanding but also pleading, struggling to strike a balance between an order and a request.
Melissa emerged from the stall into the main room. The little light emanating from behind her revealed Its outline as well as a long stick in Its hand. She heard the wet slap of soaked fabric hitting the floor.
Her urine, Melissa thought. It was mopping up her mess.
For a moment, she felt a rush of gratitude. It was not going to leave the smell to attract vermin. Maybe, deep down, part of It was still human. Perhaps It cared about her. She could appeal to that.
“I’m not sure I know what happened,” Melissa said.
In the darkness, her trembling voice became tangible, standing in for her physical presence. Part of Melissa wanted to pull it back. If she stood out of the bathroom light and didn’t speak, she was as good as invisible.
“An accident.” It worked the mop back and forth. She could tell, not because she saw the mop moving, but because she sensed a repetitive change in the air molecules. “Nate and I were supposed to have a civil conversation, but I suppose I got a bit worked up, and he became drunk and aggressive. He pulled the gun on me.”
Melissa hadn’t witnessed how the weapon had entered the picture. When she’d joined the scene, It had been standing over what had been left of Nate. The gory image had seemed like horror movie special effects, so much so that she hadn’t even screamed. She’d simply watched It clean off the gun with an antibacterial wipe and place it in her husband’s hand.
She hadn’t even thought to run until it was too late. By then, It had been gripping her arm and pulling her from the house, warning her that she didn’t want Ava to come downstairs, promising that everything could be explained and a rational solution developed. Next thing, she’d been in Its car, a gun at her side telling her to drive, not to make any sudden movements, and then ordering her out of the vehicle.
She’d started screaming then. You killed him. You murdered him. In response, It had pointed the gun and ordered her into this hole. Instructing her to take time to calm down.
She was no more relaxed than she’d been when It had first shut the door. If anything, she was wilder, a dog made mean by abuse. Without light, she’d grown comfortable with her own darkness.
“I was defending myself,” It continued.
Melissa had imagined every director’s cut of the missing footage, picturing how Nate would have found himself on the other end of the barrel of his gun—really her gun, as it had been used as a prop in her big film and then gifted to her as a memento. She guessed that It could have asked Nate to put the weapon down and then, after he had, grabbed the thing. Or maybe It could have stolen the weapon in a scuffle. Nate, having never intended to really shoot, wouldn’t have known what to do. Her husband had always been full of bravado and bluster. He’d liked to imagine his life a movie in which he nabbed all the main parts. Loving husband and father. Hefner-esque playboy. Mobster Capo. But Nate wasn’t a real actor. He could never become the character.
The moment the gun had come out, Nate’s time was over. It had responded with genuine fear and desire for self-preservation. Nate, faking his way through, had never stood a chance.
“He wouldn’t have shot you,” she said.
“You don’t know that. When a man points a gun at your chest, you should expect him to mean business,” It countered. “I reacted.”
“And what about bringing me here? Was that a simple reaction too?”
The mop stopped moving back and forth. It leaned on it. “You were going to call the police, and I needed time to think. Obviously, things looked bad.”
Melissa moved closer. It had gotten in through the main door, but how did It intend to get out? The exit didn’t seem to have a key or a handle or even a knob. She’d felt around for one in the dark and only made contact with cold metal. It would leave at some point. She needed to follow It.
“You’ve had time to think,” she said, taking another step toward It.
“And I think you should tell the police what happened, but as a first-person witness. You should say that you saw Nate become aggressive with me and pull the gun, and I reacted in self-defense.”
“How do I explain why I am only coming forward now?”
It threw up a hand. Or, at least, Melissa guessed that’s what had happened. She’d felt air whip toward her. “Say you were afraid and hid out for a couple days.”
“Leaving my kid to wonder if I’d died. Leaving Ava.”
Melissa’s voice broke on her daughter’s name. Aside from escape, Ava dominated her thoughts. She pictured her child in that house, mourning her father, fearing for her mom. It had to know that there was no way she could believably confess to letting her daughter go through that. “How is she?”
“Safe.” For the first time since the shooting, she heard an emotion other than panic or resolve in Its voice.
“Did she…” Melissa trailed off, her voice crumbling. “Did she see her father?”
“No. The news said the maid found Nate while Ava was at school.”
Relief dribbled through her, damaging Melissa’s resolve. She would need every ounce of aggression to follow It out of this place. Every bit of strength to do what was necessary. Yet she was crying. She couldn’t stop crying.
“So, what do you say?” It asked.
Melissa couldn’t answer through her tears. She couldn’t even process the question.
The bucket started to roll across the floor. Melissa could hear the sound of wheels on wood. It was backing into the shadows. Departing. “You can have time to think,” It said.
She ran toward where It had vanished. The little light from the bathroom didn’t reach more than a foot outside the small closet. Again, she was plunged into blackness, into a space so dark that she couldn’t see her own hands at the tip of her nose. Then, suddenly, a sliver of light became visible, the last stage before a new moon.
Melissa dived toward it. A force shot out of the void. Without sight, it felt like some strange reverse gravity had slammed into her chest, propelling her backward. Her foot slipped against a slick spot on the floor. Her butt slammed to the ground. Her head followed.
Its voice emerged from the blackness. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But I can’t have you running to the cops. I have a family to protect.”
Dazed, Melissa rose to one knee, cradling the back of her head.
“Don’t force me to choose,” It said.
Before she could ask what the choice was between, a bang silenced her. She stepped toward the source of the reverberations, knowing that it was too late. A dial turned. Pins snapped into place. All those bars, she thought, sealing her away in the darkness.