31

Molly sat in the corner of the cave. She had lost track of the days. She would wake up, not realizing she’d been asleep, and drift back into dreaming. The absence of light messed with her inner clock. It could have been days, weeks. She had no idea.

Colten would come in, throw some provisions before her, light a cigarette, and watch her eat. Sometimes he would talk, sometimes he wouldn’t. It was the times he wouldn’t that worried her the most, as if any part of this nightmare caused less panic than others.

She looked up and saw him as he entered the cave and began the now habitual routine. He was silent, but his silence was more than an absence of speech. He was a black hole pulling in every sense of home that she had managed to maintain. Her stomach tightened and she pressed against the wall, the cold stone grinding her vertebrae, and wished the rock would embrace and hide her just as her mother’s arms used to do when she was younger.

Colten had driven out there that day in a trance. Today was it. Today was the fruition of the week’s game. The girl was broken. Yes, he had thought about it all day, sweating in the little convenience store. The excitement and anticipation had slowly built throughout the hours and would now climax in the final act. He stood against the wall of the cave and watched her eat the small bag of chips and wrapped sandwich that he had brought. It was pointless for her to eat. He knew that, but keeping her hoping that salvation would come was more important than the three dollars spent on wasted food.

His fury had followed him here, the wind whistling through the canyon. Darkness eroding a sunny day; his mood shape-shifting the atmosphere. He watched her chew, slowly savoring each bite. His rage building as he envisioned ripping her apart right then and there. Her screaming out for her mother with her last breath, a tear rolling down her cheek as the fading dream of home burned out of her eyes. His hands sweat with anticipation, his legs begging him to set them in motion, to bring him to her, to begin the process of erasing her.

Colten walked over to her and squatted down. Looking into her face, he began to channel every evil thought in his mind, every bad thing that had ever happened to him, and everything he ever wanted to say to his oppressors. The air began to stir, and the storm outside the cave increased with each passing thought. He reached out and grabbed her by the back of the neck. She screamed as his grip tightened.

But then, in the back of his mind, a glitch formed, like someone had pressed a thumb on an old bruise. Silent whispering sneaking up his spine, staying his rage, binding his resolve.

He looked at her, and loosened his grip on her neck. Once free, she cowered next to the wall, breathing heavy and consumed by shear panic.

“Naw . . . something ain’t right. Not yet, at least.”

The air outside began to settle, the storm held back by an unseen hand.

“Naw . . . you’re not ready yet. Something . . . something just . . .”

He walked over to the other side of the cave and lit a cigarette. He leaned up against the wall, putting one leg back and resting one hand on the lifted knee. He stared at the girl, who was slowly untangling from her fetal position.

“Tomorrow . . . yeah, tomorrow would be better.”

Colten flicked the cigarette across the cave, and it hit the rock next to the girl. He rubbed the back of his neck, a vain attempt to rub out the nagging feeling of doubt hung up in his spine.

“Yeah . . . it just ain’t time.”

He walked out to his truck and headed back down the mountain.

The girl’s whimpers turned to sobs as the fading ember of the cigarette butt died in the darkness.