My eyes flutter open, dim sunlight shining through a far off window that's covered with a sheer black curtain coming into view first. I take a moment to adjust my sight, groaning as I push my stiff body upward. The pulsating pain in my head is unbearable. I reach up to rub between my eyes to counteract the pain but wince and yank my hand away. From the feeling of it, there appears to be a butterfly stitch on my brow, closing the wound that was inflicted by my husband last night. I’m dizzy and a bit clueless on how I got here.
There’s something metal spinning in front of me, catching the reflection of the sun beam peaking through the curtains. It hits me in the eye like a flash of lightning each time it strikes my retinas. It takes a moment for me to realize it's a knife being spun by a large bodied man, which makes me jump back and re-evaluate the situation.
Holy shit- this is real.
My eyes are met with an emerald gaze that hasn’t removed themselves from me since I woke. I’ve felt them burning into me since I came to, only I didn't realize what that sensation was until now.
My masked visitor is seated on the floor directly in front of me. His back is pressed against the side of his bed with his knees brought up at an angle. One arm rests across his knee while the other spins the knife. The pointed end stabbing into the floor. His hair seems damp and his clothes are much nicer than when we last saw one another. Dark washed jeans cover his legs with black work boots tucked underneath them. He’s swapped out his dirty white tank top for a fresh one, perfectly complimenting his tanned skin.
Still, the mask remains on. Hiding his features from me.
My brow furrows as my eyes wander over the room I’m trapped in, following each metal bar in search of a weak point. This looks to be a closet converted into some twisted holding cell in his room and my stomach churns. Maybe I was better off on top of the mountain? A shiver violently rattles my bones at the thought of what has happened here prior to my arrival.
My eyes follow the floor leading up to where he’s perched and we lock in a gaze. It feels as if it lasts forever and it holds me in place. An unsettling feeling ignites in my belly, turning me inside out as I realize what's happening.
I’m a prisoner. Again. Only this time my holding cell is much smaller.
The man rises to a stand, towering over me and swallowing me in his shadow. His knife is placed into its sheath and traded out for a pen and notepad. My nerves settle a bit, but I keep mental tabs on the knife. He approaches in two large steps, his boots thudding heavy against the hardwood and kneeling down before writing something on the paper. He turns the notepad around, pressing it against the metal bars so I can read.
“Elias” I read out loud. A biblical name, which is off putting to say the least. Religion has never sat right with me, especially with how strict my father was. Still, I can't argue that the name is beautiful.
My eyes drift up from the notepad and meet his. He has a staring problem, that much I've learned about him over the last several weeks. It makes me uncomfortable in a different way, one that makes me warm inside. I’d never admit that outloud, though.
“Salem.” I confirm, offering my name in return.
Remembering that he signed with me before now, I wonder if he is deaf. I sign the words, “Can you hear?” and wait for a response.
He nods, but confirms with his hands “I don't speak.”
I nod back cautiously. Not really knowing what to say to the man that kidnapped me and trapped me in a cell inside of his room. Am I safe? Is he planning on killing me? Making me his sex slave? My mind races with awful possibilities that drain the color from my face. I shuffle back, not wanting to be close to him any longer.
His body rises back up, towering over me once more. My eyes trail over every muscle etched into his tan arms and wonder how someone this large is even human. Powerful veins trail down to his overworked hands. He looks like something out of a horror movie, with a mask to boot. He catches me ogling him and signs “curious” again. My face falls flat, humor prevalent behind his mask. I shuffle back as far as I can go, feeling my back press against the cold metal bars behind me.
With my knees pulled up to my face I rest my cheeks against them. Averting my eyes from him but still feeling him stare diligently. The fact that he’s quiet makes him all the more sinister. My imagination goes wild wondering what his voice would sound like if he could speak, and what he would say if he could. Using his hands probably prevents him from speaking without thinking. I wonder what goes on behind that mask?
I avert my gaze while listening intently for the shuffling of his boots. The door to his room finally latches closed, a beep indicating that something has locked behind him. He’s really into security, which leads me to believe this isn't his first rodeo. My body relaxes now that I’m left alone and I continue to look around for a week point within the cell.
Hours seem to pass but there is really no indication of time other than the sunlight drifting through the window. Its beams gradually move past the end of his bed as a time teller. My stomach grumbles, begging to be filled. I begin to wonder if he’s forgotten me up here when I know that’s not true.
He wouldn't forget me. He’s gone through too much trouble to get me here. I’ve had plenty of time to recount last night's events. Remembering them taking down John before drugging me to sleep. I don't recall anything after that. How I got here still remains a blur. I’ve tried to piece together the night before but haven't had any luck.
But why does he want me here so badly? That’s the piece that has been wracking my brain more than anything else. I know nothing about him, his tendencies, or how his brain works. He could be holding me hostage to eat me for all I know. He’s built this room as a holding cell, for what? Me specifically? Is that why he was missing those three weeks?
Beeping rings in my ears from the left. My eyes dart over as I peer through the bars. My fingers wrap tightly around them as if I’ll float away if I let go. His shadow comes into view first, sinking bricks into the pit of my stomach. Fear drains the color from my face and I release my grip on the cell bars.
Elias’ body comes into view bending down to my level. His overwhelming presence looms over me like a demon. Lurking and waiting for its chance to devour me. I swallow down the pit that's formed in my throat but don't say anything. Blood has splattered its red hue across his once clean tanktop and my heart freezes over.
He unlocks the cell door and I shuffle back as far as I can, never taking my eyes off of him. We haven't made physical contact since he broke into my home last night to kidnap me. The thought of him touching me sends me spiraling, sickness settling into my already empty stomach.
My body curls into itself, a squeak escaping my throat when I feel his fingers touch my bare arm. I cower away, wishing I was made of slime that could squeeze through the bars and escape. His hand grips my upper arm tightly, yanking my body to a stand but fear prevents my eyes from looking at the monster dragging me from the cell.
He pulls me through the exit of the cell and I stumble behind him. Eyes fixated on the hardwood floor. As much as I’d like to know more about the home I’m being held hostage in, the fear I feel in the pit of my stomach prevents my eyes from wandering past the floor. His grip forces me to follow him down the stairs and I unwillingly do so.
We pass through the kitchen where an unfamiliar man sits at a large cherry wood dining table. He’s handsome, with a chisseled jaw thats peppered with facial hair. His arms are covered in tattoos, which catch me off guard. I’ve never seen anyone this tattooed before. His eyes squint as they follow me out of the room. A semblance of irritation lurking behind them.
I am dragged further, this time through a door that leads to the garage. Elias never releases his grip on me, pulling my body past the parked vehicle and finally stopping. He pulls a rope that opens the wall like a door. A hidden door with one tucked behind it. There's a keypad on this door as well. He secretly presses the numbers necessary to unlock it and the bolts unlock mechanically.
He yanks my arm again, only this time my heels dig into the concrete flooring. Eyes wide with terror, they focus on the narrow entrance into the darkness. Cobblestone walls frame the hall that leads into nothingness. As if pulling a stray dog by a leash, he forces me forward with a swift pull of the arm and I topple forward. Another squeak escapes me, but I don't cry for help. Almost as if my lips have been super glued shut.
Is this the end? Is he taking me down here to meet my fate? A million possibilities run through my mind, a few repetitive ones from earlier lingering in the back of my brain. Where the hell is he leading me? And why?
A single tear spills over my cheek. My free hand grips the railing leading down the stairs in retaliation and he freezes. His head turns toward me slowly, the mask covering his expression. I can't tell what he’s feeling because of it. My heart sinks into my stomach when he bends down, tackling me and tossing me over his shoulder.
“NO!” I scream, hitting him as hard as I can into his back. My fists wail on him but he acts as if he feels nothing. It feels like I’m punching concrete slabs, only hurting myself.
He takes each step further down without a word, grumble, or sound. Eventually I give up on fighting, realizing it's useless. When we finally reach the bottom of the steps, a light turns on automatically and my tense muscles relax slightly. My arms press against his body to lift myself up in order to take in everything.
It's a short hallway with large, prison-like doors on each side. Four of them to be exact. It's eerily quiet down here, the sound of my racing heart almost audible on the outside of my chest. He carries me further to the end of the hall to one of the last doors, opening it with his secret pin number and bringing me inside.
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The smell inside the room is unexplainable. Metallic and rotten in the most suffocating way imaginable. I cough it up but it continues to restrict my lungs regardless. Tears well in my eyes from how pungent the smell is.
He drops me to the floor, landing on my rear and I complain. When he steps out of view I freeze, color leaving my body and flowing down to the drain placed in the middle of the room. Blood has tainted every surface. It drips from the medical table placed on the other side with a mangled body resting on top of it. A single arm drapes over the table side, a man's arm. Covered in tattoos and cuts that have sliced into them. His face is unrecognizable.
My hands cover my mouth, taking in the scene in silence. What the hell is this place? A torture chamber? Saliva builds in my mouth as my stomach churns on empty. My body trembles with fear and sickness as I watch Elias approach the body with a hack-saw. His attention turns to me, pausing for a moment before getting to work.
The saw sloshes and cuts through the deceased man's leg, making a noise that I’ve never heard before now. Once it hits bone, the scraping noise is almost unbearable. Elias saws even harder, cutting through the bone and remaining muscles before detaching it completely. I cover my ears, singing Happy by Mazzy Star to erase the sound from my brain. It's the only one that I can remember off the top of my head right now.
I hear a loud thunk and I jump, eyes darting over to a large blue barrel that now contains the leg that was just removed. Blood has tainted each of Elias’ forearms in a thick, red fluid but he doesn't seem to mind. He pushes onto the next leg, manually sawing it off in a matter of minutes.
The acid in my stomach can't be contained any longer and I heave, turning away from the grotesque sight as it expels from my body. Nothing comes out when I try to remove the sick feeling. I heave a few more times but still, nothing. Tears stream down my cheeks and I sob into my knees, curled up in the corner like a child.
My hands have clamped my ears shut so tightly that I can't hear anything around me other than the constant beating of my rapid pulse. Feeling as if I’m being watched, my lids snap open and stare at the devil locked in the room with me. His head is cocked to the side. A curious look plays across those dark eyes. Only for a moment before he continues on to the arms.
The more he saws, the more blood begins to spill over the table and splatter to the floor. It follows the path of grout between the tiles until eventually draining down to the hole in the middle.
I sing louder, clamping my eyes as well as my ears shut and pretend I’m anywhere else but here. Home may not have been so bad after all. At least there, I had my meadow. My sketchbook. My son.
This place, it's not a home. It's a chamber of horrors. Not unlike my home, but at least there people didn't get dismembered. A sob escapes the next lyric that I force myself to remember as liquid begins to fall from every hole in my face. I’m a blubbering mess, wishing death would’ve come sooner than now.
Something sharp bites into my skin just under my chin and my eyes flash open. Fear prevalent on my face, I beg with tearful eyes for death to be quick when they lock onto the white mask directly in front of me. Blood has splattered across it, making him ten times more terrifying than he already was. His knife is holding my jaw steady, forcing me to look at him and I freeze. Afraid that any movement will pierce my throat and that will be the end. I’ll be stuffed into a blue barrel next, like the stranger before me.
He’s kneeled down to my level. Calm as ever, as if this is something he’s done all his life. Meanwhile I’m about to crawl out of my skin just being in here. I shake uncontrollably, wondering what's going on inside his head when he brings the knife down.
“You’re even prettier when you’re scared” He signs.
My lip curls up in disgust. He’s just doing this to frighten me, to get his rocks off! Anger washes over me, warming my body and bringing color back to my face. Against my better judgment, my hand strikes him across the face. The mask takes most of the blow, but it's enough force to knock his head to the side.
He turns back slowly, brow lowered and breathing uneven. Realizing how stupid that was, I scoot away from him not caring about the cleanliness of the floor. His hand wraps around my throat, catching me and crushing into me as my body is slammed against the cobblestone wall. The wind in my lungs exasperates from the force as he lifts me and holds me up by my neck, just enough for my toes to dangle and brush against the floor.
I whimper, but don't cry out. If he’s anything like John he will enjoy my cries for help. I grit my teeth and look away from him, nails digging and pulling into the bloodied skin on his arm that holds me up. His head inches toward me, turning it into the nape of my neck and I force my face as far away as it will stretch.
He inhales deep, slowly dropping me down to where my toes touch the ground. Eventually my feet flatten against the floor, but his face and hand never remove from my neck. His grip loosens but doesn't completely release from my throat. Finally, I take in an adequate breath and my body relaxes some. The room is quiet except for the long breaths billowing from his nostrils. Trailing down my back and sending chills throughout my body.
The scent of his skin mixed with metallic blood sends me into a frenzy. Will he kill me quickly, or make it slow and painful? The slap was well deserved, but I’m not sure where the sudden bravery came from. I learned a long time ago not to fight back. It only makes matters worse. So why on earth would I think striking a man three times my size would be a good idea? Especially after watching him dismember a corpse. My gaze flickers over to the side of his head still buried into my shoulder. Breathing me in like some sort of animal. His brown waves tickle against my cheek with each panicked breath I release.
What is he doing, why hasn't he killed me?
My eyes fall to the dismembered torso laying across the metal slab in a pool of blood and my stomach churns once again. He releases his grip and I fall to the floor limply. Stomach heaving as I direct myself into the corner with embarrassment. Finally, something comes up but it's mostly stomach acid. It burns on the way up and more tears flood my eyes.
He looms over me, quietly watching me get sick. Repeatedly heaving until the muscles in my stomach feel as if they’re splitting open. The skin on my throat feels tacky and wet from the blood smeared across it and my body shivers.
This room and the man trapped within it- it's a nightmare.
Elias yanks me up by my arm again and I limply rise to my feet. Disregarding his insistence on me looking at him, I continue to look the other way with a hateful glare and panicked tears caked to my cheeks. I hear the familiar sound of his knife going back into its sheath before spinning me around with both hands. He forces me to look at him, fingers clenched into my jaw so tight I feel like it may dislocate.
My teeth click shut, eyes burning with fear and rage as the two emotions fight with one another. I can't believe I thought this man would be the better option. What the hell was I thinking? John is ten times better in comparison, and that’s saying a lot.
His forehead presses against mine. The cool plastic melting against my damp skin. I shake him away but he locks my head in place. Forcing me to look at him. His body tenses, shoulders rising and falling slowly with each excited breath he takes in and out. My eyes wander over the mask, desperately trying to see behind it to get a better idea of who I’m looking at. Only my imagination can come up with what he must look like. He’s so close, all I would have to do is snatch it from his head to see.
That would probably be the last living thing I did. He must wear the mask for a reason, and fear prevents me from removing it. His bloodied thumb trails over the flesh of my lip and my entire body tenses in disgust. My eyes lock into his, both of us staring with equal intensity at one another without making a sound until he pushes away from me.
With my back pressed against the wall like a caged animal, I watch him cautiously. My arm wipes away the blood left on my lips and I spit the remainder into the floor. Not like the ground isn't dirty enough already. What's a little saliva added to the mix of fluids, right?
“Pay attention.”
I scowl at him but don't answer.
“You will be obedient.”
I feel my eyes begging to roll but decide it's not worth the punishment.
“Your place is here with us. No running off. No escape plans.”
Great, so I’ve traded one abusive, controlling asshole for another. Only this one seems to know how to make people disappear.
“And if I don’t obey, I'll end up here. Is that your point?” I ask, arms crossing over my chest defensively. I try to sound confident but my body betrays me, trembling uncontrollably.
“Worse.” He signs, a smile playing across his eyes. “You will beg for death long before it graces you.”
My stomach churns from nausea mixed with hunger. Audibly growling and I hunch over uncomfortably. I don't need clarification on what he means. I’ve seen - and heard- enough already.
Still, How can I be hungry after all of this? I’m aware that I’ve missed several meals since arriving here but still? How can my body want nourishment after everything it's just witnessed?
He removes his tanktop swiftly, revealing the toned muscles underneath. There are a few tattoos scattered across his torso, most of them faded from sun exposure and possibly age? I’ve never had a tattoo or known anyone that had them. My father was very against them. John never had any either, he said they were trashy. But I was always curious about them. Seeing them on other people has fascinated me. I guess I just don't understand the desire to inflict pain on yourself like that.
He wipes his hands and mask off with the shirt. Using it as a towel before tossing it into the barrel along with the dismembered body parts. I close my eyes in hopes that it will erase the memories from my brain. But it doesn't.
My eyes flutter back open and trail down to the V peaking above the top of his jeans and my cheeks heat. I’ve never laid eyes on a man built like him and it's painfully obvious to him. A chuckle whispers from behind his mask, the first sound I’ve heard from him since meeting face to face. I hate the conflicting feelings of attraction and crippling fear swirling in my belly. As he passes by me, his arm brushes against mine and I suck in a sharp breath. Every glance and touch in my direction from him sends me spiraling. John never made me feel that way. Not before or after we married and I begin to wonder what’s wrong with me.
Speaking of… Where is he?
“Elias?” I squeak. His name tastes like honey on my tongue.
He stops dead in his tracks. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I saw goosebumps prickle along his arms. His broad back faces me, but he doesn't turn to look in my direction.
“Where is my husband?” I breathe, panic beginning to set in as the blue barrel looms behind me. Is he dismembered, stuffed inside one of those things ready to be dumped or dissolved? Or whatever happens once they leave here?
The better question should be why I even care. Our last interaction is one i’d rather not remember. He’s not good to me or for me. The world would be better off without him, so why do I care?
Elias turns to face me, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the room once again. His eyes look me up and down. Fingers rubbing against his thumb nervously as he thinks silently. Finally he signs the word “Gone.” without giving me a chance to ask anymore questions.
Gone.
Just like that.
I should be sad, but part of me feels admittedly relieved that there’s one less man on the planet here to hurt me. Elias grabs me by the wrist, dragging me toward the dreaded stairs that lead us down here originally. We fly by the doors on both sides and my mind wonders what goes on in each one before being dragged to the surface.
Hopefully I’ll never find out.