Chapter Sixteen

 

“Cover your ears with your hands and close your eyes.”

Erin whispered into Lyric’s ear, and like a snake trying to protect its eggs, curled around her. Her imaginary arms grasped and hugged her daughter desperately, but her real arms were tied behind her back, and she could do nothing, or at least not enough, with just her legs free. Her temples felt tight around her head and her sternum tight upon her heart. She was with her daughter at last and nestled close, but still trapped and now deeper inside this dungeon.

The area was squared off into a room, maybe twenty-by-twenty feet, and a completely dark tunnel led off in the other direction. Candy-bar wrappers were scattered on the floor, tiny, ripped-up bits of Hershey’s, Snickers, Milky Way, Twix, and empty Chicklet packets. A water bottle made from clear plastic that had faded and turned to grey sat mushed as if trampled on for many months. Erin gazed at the entrance and then down the dark tunnel that led to oblivion. She watched and waited for someone to appear, but nothing. Where did this lead… to Tijuana?

They won’t hurt us. Why would they? This will be over soon. We will survive this. We will live.

She knew she’d do anything to let her daughter live, but there were some things Lyric shouldn’t live through.

Macon. Where was he? Besides him, the hotel clerk was the only one who knew she was here.

This woman, this mother of two who sat before her, who had lived in this underground tunnel and wanted to talk, was full of envy. Erin could feel the twisted admiration, but it was laced with hate, and her tenderness for Lyric was full of sickness, sadness, and insanity. How to win her favor?

Scrapes and bruises on Erin’s body from the fight were like fire ants crawling all over her, and she didn’t have enough air in her head to think. She breathed in deep, filling her chest and hoping to clear her mind. Think here. All that came into her lungs was a thick stench, like rotting meat. There was moisture in the air with thick chunks of dust that tugged at her throat and made her want to throw up.

Scrapping noises from the sound of rock grinding on wood came from the top of the ladder, followed by chatter.

“Go. Get! Go, go, go.” It was the wretches’ voice.

Light shot down from the entrance to the cavern, followed by the two children, who plopped down and then scurried over to be by their mother’s side. The man followed, walked with nervous energy to the side of the wall, smashed over a crate, and then muttered as if he was speaking in dark tongues.

“Salts. Salts, Momma,” came the girl’s voice.

“Low-low-lots. Lots of salts. And the man punched him.”

“Q doesn’t know how to talk. Dadda’s face got mushed up.”

They were whispering. Their clothes were stuck to their skin in filth that acted like papier-mâché. Their pinhole eyes stuck out of sunken cheeks, and both of their stained faces glistened with the moisture of their last meal. Blood was on the lips of both children. Neither one had shoes, and the bottoms of their feet were the color of stone. Their toenails were like the claws of a dog. The outline of their elbows and fingers were clearly defined in their flesh, and when their mouths slackened, opening in wonder, the dark-yellow stains of teeth broke free in the feint light.

Their eyes gazed up, and Erin saw something in them common to all children while they clung to their mother: safety. The two felt safe. This mother, this woman named Lupita, had given her children that.

But Erin couldn’t say the same, could she? First Max. Now Lyric. She hadn’t kept them safe; one was dead, the other near dying.

The man walked in and out of the shadows, pacing frantically. He seemed to not notice he had visitors, but at times looked in their direction… right past them.

“Funkerling face can’t be stuck on me. Tooter-tooter too many girls. Girls all about… we can getta, we can get by. Calfresh cards for everyone. Stay, stay, stay, stay in the dark. In the dark I stay… he swung, swung at my face… humper-dingerly.”

Words spun about the man and surrounded him like a cloud, and the more he spoke, Erin could smell his breath. His essence filled the room as he walked side to side, in and out of the shadows, changing batteries in lanterns and fumbling with candy wrappers. He was talking to ghosts on either side of them, oblivious, but then suddenly turned in their direction, gave a piercing wide-eyed stare, and shouted, “Listen, li’l Q, you ain’t seen nothing in this world. Close yer mouth, or I’ll close yer eyes forever.”

Then another pace, followed by, “Which one are you? Take off your face! Take it off so I can see you. I can’t stay here. I need to go.”

Erin sat still as a rock as the mother and two children looked up at her as if waiting for her to perform. Lyric’s body felt warm but shocked at her side, and Erin leaned into her. If only her hands were free. If only she could defend her child somehow. What can I do if they try to hurt me?

“Cover your ears, dear,” she whispered again to Lyric. “Yes, that’s it, cover your ears and press your eyes into me. Keep them closed.” She kissed Lyric’s forehead, and this made the filthy little girl named T finally speak.

“Is this person a momma?”

“Yes, this is a mother and a little girl—just like you,” Lupita answered,

“An-an-an-and they talk, Momma… say things,” said Q. “Sha-sha-should we put that thing in her mouth so she doesn’t anymore. So, so, so, so she doesn’t talk?”

“Can I do it?” asked T.

“Wa-wa-why her? I want to,” the boy volleyed back.

“Can we taste, Momma?”

“Tay-tay-taste.”

Erin folded her legs and felt the warm arms of Lyric surround her waist. The tiny limbs dug into her, the fingers and hands continually burrowing. If I was only strong enough, thought Erin. If only I was strong enough, I could break through these ropes.

But with every tug and pull at the rope, all she got was a strain in her shoulder and a deeper cramp, and the feel of rope burning into her skin.

Turtle my child. Turtle yourself. Make a shell and block this out. Let nothing in.

Erin coiled her legs and felt the muscles gaining strength, as if she had cocked her gun ready to fire. If any of them made a move toward Lyric, she would kick. A quick move and she could be on her feet, kicking these children away and then kicking the woman. She could hear the smack now and imagined their surprised look, but how would they respond? The man—the crazy man, what would he do?

“No. No sweets. Touching no. We can just look for now. Guest. They are here to stay with us.”

“Stay, yes! Stay!” the pacing man’s voice declared from the background. “Girls, girls everywhere. Two more of them inside of here, I see.”

The motley man, this insane jester, was keeping her prisoner, and he’d taken notice. His legs jigged. His mutters continued flying out of him, but became too softly spoken and swift to hear, and he sat down next to his family and examined Erin up close.

A kick or a head-butt if he touches us.

Dried blood had clotted underneath his swollen nose and filled the underside of his nostrils. His red-lined, dotty eyes stared at her. His face was not like this before. Something had happened; the man had done this to himself perhaps. His head cocked, he looked into her, and they sat hypnotized for a bit. Then he scanned Lyric and turned to look at his own children, first the boy then the girl. Wirey fingers scratched the back of his head. He wiped his nose with his arm and then reached into his pocket.

The knives appeared, at least five of them, and he rolled the round-shaped handles in his hand. Metal scraped on metal.

Erin’s legs tightened. They would kick, but then what? She’d be stopped. Cuts would come. She closed her eyes, prepared to feel the cuts in her flesh. Red explosions of rage that had been building in her body would come shooting forth. It was the same rage she had been cutting at for years.

But the warmth from years ago that was released by razors and safety pins was gone. This was going to blow her open, stab her heart out. This was her fault, and now her daughter had to see her at this moment, this moment that used to be private behind locked doors, in front of clean glass mirrors and porcelain sinks, or sitting atop toilet seats with shaky hands, yet brilliant concentration.

Lyric was soon to be left alone in the cave, stuck with the two children, learning how to live like them even.

Facial tics jerked at the man’s cheek, tiny electric shocks making his face spasm. His boney, grey fingers grasped the knives, and his eyes darted from her eyes back to his arsenal of weapons. His hands shook like an aging pope about to die, but his breath was rapid, his mouth white with foam. The pop of a plastic cover of a knife coming off echoed through the room, and he held the knife up in the air, studying it for a moment.

Children next to the mother leaned forward. Erin squeezed her shoulders, pulling at the rope, stretching its fibers so she could wiggle her fingers. She clawed at the ground behind her for something, but there was nothing, just dirt and tiny, harmless rocks.

If there’s a God in heaven, please take my daughter now. All of Erin’s dreams for Lyric came down to this morbid prayer for her young life to end so she did not suffer.

“Stop, don’t do it. A hostage—she’s just a hostage, who will stay with us like before.” It was the mother Lupita speaking in a tone of voice Erin hadn’t heard yet. “She’s a hostage. People who will pay for her—find them. Get us out of here. Get us clothes, water. Bring us home.”

“Late. Too late, but yes, yes, you want to see his face. I’ll bring it to you. Face—take it off. Take it off.” His voice spoke in twisted tongues, but finished with, “Boys at my side. Girls stay in hell.”

Erin caught her breath and watched as the man sprung upwards, tapped his boy on the shoulder, and bounded to the ladder. The little boy’s bare feet slapped the floor of the cave, following after the heavy booms of the man’s boots, but soon they were both up the ladder. Erin heard them close the entrance, sliding the wooden plank over the opening and then the scrapes of the boulders to weigh them down.

She was trapped in this dark chamber with her little girl by her side. The mother Lupita and her child were sitting across from Erin, staring. She knew not what they wanted, nor how this would end.