Delphi, Eganene
Hot air pressed against her face, her eyes opening on a wall of iron and light. She thought about reaching out her hand, but brought her fingertips to her forehead, exploring the pain that permeated her skull. The area behind her eyes felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the weight pushed at her from the inside
Sleep beckoned, calling her back. It would be easier just to wait for her head to clear. She felt muddled, the way she did after a fever. Closing her eyes made the most sense. Her body wasn’t right and everything hurt-- her knees and wrists achy like she had the flu. Her stomach was worse, tight and uncomfortable. She groaned, pulling her arm protectively around her middle and curling in on herself.
Confusion swept through her, making the candles on the table flicker. The shadows jumped against the cinder block walls. Her thoughts were oily, slipping away before she had a chance to consider them.
Her lips were sticky with spit and her tongue was heavy. She sat up. As the blood rushed back to her head, she recognized Billy’s basement and wondered where he’d gone. Hopefully, he was getting her a ride to the hospital.
At least she was out of the snow. She sought the windows. Above her, the glassy rectangles reflected the darkness outside. Bekka shivered, watching as bursts of snow puffed through the patching and sprinkled its way to the floor. If she hadn’t broken that window, if she’d passed out anywhere else, the cold and exposure would have killed her.
Had he given her something? It would have been easy to do. She had been talking about her apartment, telling him the story of the explosion. He’d made her tea. What did he put in it? Not asthma-attack medicine, he wouldn’t have bothered to hide that, but something strong. She had passed out right after emptying the cup.
“He drugged you.”
She shook her head, not wanting to think that. It had to have been some strong medicine. He’d stopped her asthma attack, brought her in from the cold, fed her and loaned her the dry clothes. She tugged at the shirt, feeling the cloth drag against her arms, the smell of him lingering against her body. He hadn’t harmed her. She even had socks on her feet.
Bekka wiggled her toes, testing the fabric. They were warm and dry, with great big stitching, like something her grandmother would have made. Billy had put them on her while she slept. She wanted to be grateful, but couldn’t shake how weird it was. Now, she needed a coat and a pair of shoes.
Picking her wet clothes off the ground, she rubbed the material between her fingers. They felt old and worn. She wondered if the road salt had ruined them. She patted her pocket to check for her necklace. Finding it safe and sound, she decided to look for a phone.
Unfortunately, Billy had been telling the truth. He didn’t have a landline. She gritted her teeth in frustration. His place might have heat, but without a bathroom or a kitchen, life had to be difficult.
She glanced at the book he had been reading. It was lying open on the dresser, like a tome in the art museum. Its huge pages beckoned. Too big for modern standards, the paper was gilded with intricate scrollwork, a beautifully drawn man decorating each corner. Bekka sat at the chair and began to read.
The author’s script was filled with flourishes and embellishments, reminding her of calligraphy. It was difficult, but she was able to make out the following paragraphs:
And there were seven families who united from the darkness, each with its own Power and Knowledge. The danger of separation had grown and each could not survive without the other. The lands were filled with other races, their natures barbaric and heathen.
So they bonded and from their Council elected one of their own to hold their tie. For this bond would ensure that the people would live and their cities flourish. She was called the First, and by her might, the union was formed. Maintained day and night, the people found wonders of which they had never dreamed. Architecture. Light. Mechanics.
The council found the Other place and its emissaries were brought forth. It was determined that they should trade and share alike in knowledge, so that both societies might benefit. The First held the council’s bond so that men could Travel, yet others went where they should have not and new dangers were manifest.
She tried to turn the page and it crinkled as if was dry parchment about to crumble. It was like the old works at the University library, the ones you weren’t allowed to touch without gloves. It looked expensive. She frowned at the scrollwork parading up the page. The gilded flowers now resembled people, but they were too small to see clearly. Maybe he had a magnifying glass somewhere.
Snooping wasn’t her thing, but since he’d put something in her drink, she didn’t feel that bad. She might even find what he used. Her stomach rumbled. Ignoring her conscience and telling herself everything would be fine, she pulled open the top drawer. His dresser was made of heavy wood. She wondered how he’d gotten it down into the basement.
Inside, she found several hunks of the odd smelling bread. Grabbing a piece, she took a bite and shut the drawer. It tasted good and the strange spices made her salivate. The middle drawer was filled with rows and rows of spices, each hand-labeled with strange symbols and foreign writing. Curious, she chose one at random and held it towards the candle, tipping the dark fluid to watch it run like cough syrup. She thought about opening the lid.
Just as she leaned forward, a door slammed above her. The noise echoed about the cavernous room. Caught in the act, she whirled. Above her, Billy stood on the platform with a bag in his arms. She could tell he was angry by the way he held himself. His shoulders were rolled forward. His chin was down against his chest.
“I…,” Bekka started, not knowing what to say.
He looked so angry. His silver curls hung down from his head, almost covering his eyes. Without speaking, he took two steps to hunch over the rail. Bekka felt a flash of panic and cringed back against the dresser.
The bread turned bitter on her tongue. Did he think she was stealing his things? She turned her hands palms up, “I didn’t steal anything.”
When he didn’t reply, she continued, “Really. I just wanted to look at those little pictures in your book.”
His face contorted, his features twisting out of shape. Without taking his eyes from her, Billy started down the steps, his small feet crashing against the gratings. Bekka’s stomach went hollow. She needed to apologize, but every time his foot hit the stairs, her mouth went dry.
“Look,” she managed, “I’m sorry I was snooping. I woke up and you weren’t here. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Seriously, all I took was some bread…”
He began to walk faster, striding across the room with concentrated purpose, his hands clenched at his sides.
“I know…”
The impact was as sudden as it was unexpected. The man’s hand jerked up, his open palm crashing against her wind-burned cheek. There was just surprise, an explosion of stunned confusion and she fell, her legs giving way as her body collided with the floor.
“I take you in,” he bellowed, “and this is what you do?” He shoved at her his legs, rocking her body against the ground while she tried to scramble away.
“I give you bread and you take more. I share my home and you go through my things!”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“I...” she tried to say. “Please, I didn’t mean anything…”
“Enough.”
She pressed her knees against the floor as she sought her balance.
“Don’t lie.” His face flushed purple, “I should have known you weren’t to be trusted!”
“I didn’t…”
“I said don’t lie! I don’t believe your strange little words or your bizarre story. I saw you!” He kicked at her again and his boot struck her stomach. She saw it coming from the side, but not soon enough. She retched, her mind stammering a litany of expletives.
While she struggled to her feet, he grabbed her by the hair. She tried to batter him away, but her arms flapped uselessly. He pulled her and she hit him. Again, slamming her fist into his arm. Feeling the impact in her wrist, the numbness spread from her fingers to her elbow.
He didn’t let go, but grabbed her more tightly. Yanking her off balance, his fingers dug into her skin. She was screaming, her raw throat filled with a sound she didn’t know she could make.
“Shut up!” he yelled down at her.
Her body bounced and crashed against the cold, concrete floor, her knees and hip scraping along as though she weighed nothing. Desperately, she dug her heels into the ground.
Her voice echoed across the empty chamber. He jerked her to the side. More pain sliced across her head. Eyes closed, she almost missed the doorframe. Terrified of where he was taking her, she threw herself towards it, missed and lunged again.
Billy yanked her back, grunting with effort. Suddenly, he let her go.
She dropped too fast to brace herself. Her head hit the floor. Stars spawned across her vision, night stealing part of the basement.
She was free! She scrambled away on her hands and knees. Fear made her fast. Everything was blurry and unfocused. Without stopping, she looked back.
Billy swam in her vision, his angry face slipping from left to right in slow motion. While she’d been crawling, he’d unlocked one of the big, supply closets. The darkness inside was a solid black.
He came for her and she cringed against the floor, her body tight, the muscles of her shoulders and stomach preparing for impact. He didn’t kick her. Instead, he grabbed her by the waistband of her pants. Her body spasmed, trying to throw off his hands, but he hauled her up and carried her the opening, dropping her inside.
“Run, run, run!”
She tried, crawling to the end of the room. There were no lights. The concrete floor was dry and frozen. She looked back, worried he was coming for her, but he was standing in the light watching.
Sobbing, she picked up her head, defiant. She stared back at him through her tears. He said nothing and slammed the metal door, leaving her in darkness.
For a few hours, she did nothing but cry. The floor was cold beneath her. There was no light and nothing to look at. She kept her eyes closed.
Her whole body was beat-up. Her knees were sore, her hips tender, and her stomach ached where his boot slammed into her soft middle. She cradled her head with trembling fingers, the pain washing over her. The gentlest contact was excruciating, as if she were yanking her hair out by the fistful instead of investigating with a feather-light touch.
Her fingers came away wet and sticky. There was also a painful lump along the left side of her forehead. It protruded from her skin like some kind of monstrous, subcutaneous growth. She cupped her hand over it, feeling its heat against her palm. It felt serious.
Drawing her legs up, she curled in on herself. The worst part was that she was here alone. She tried to think about what was happening outside her room, about her grandmother and her apartment, but the pain drew her back to her thoughts and the whispering voice in her mind.
Those thoughts ate at her. Billy had drugged her, beaten her and locked her in a closet. She was haunted by what he was going to do next. Ghost-like, she could feel his hands on her arms. He was going to come back eventually. She needed a weapon.
Minutes passed, hours. The room was large for a closet. She searched the walls carefully, unable to find a light switch. It had one exit and no windows. The door didn’t even have a handle on the inside. Fifteen steps in one direction, fifteen in the other. She paced it a few times to be sure. Her prison was a square and the cement was cold.
There was something stacked in the back corner. She waded back through the darkness until her foot struck an object. Reaching out with her fingertips, she swept her hand down to feel along the rough wood. She stood there stupidly for a few moments, registering the new pain. Splinters, that’s what she had accomplished.
And without light, she could not pull them out. She wanted to hit something, but she would have just gotten more splinters. The wooden board was part of a crate, the slats made of rough-cut timber. Maybe there was something inside that could help her.
Carefully, she tried to squeeze her finger through the narrow gap between planks. Since the opening was too small, she felt for nails. Nothing. They must have used glue or wooden pegs.
She began at the corner, pulling on each board to check for an opening. She was very thirsty. She tried licking her chapped lips, but it didn’t help. How long had she been in this basement?
She worked slowly at the boards, tugging and pulling. As she checked the third row, her hand brushed against something cold and metal. She drew back, surprised. Slowly, she reached out again into the darkness. There it was, the object short, blunt and metal.
She was disappointed, having wanted something sharp. Still, it might have its uses. She felt it with her fingers, considering, feeling the shape against the palm of her hand. Maybe she could use it as a lever, fit it in between the slants and apply pressure with her good hand.
She fumbled the first time, the bulbous metal sliding awkwardly off the side. It dropped and bounced against the concrete, making a sound like a church bell. She grabbed the object with her good hand, feeling along the slats with her wounded fingers. Her left hand tingled. She could feel every motion, the lightest brush of air against her raw skin. It cleared her head. She pushed down.
Crack! She felt a second of joyful victory mixed with sharp pain. Water or a weapon, she prayed.
The first thing she found was some kind of soft animal fur. Inside it was a container. Without any light, it was difficult to determine the shape. Without a good grip, she couldn’t pull it out of the hole. The crates were large, three feet long by two feet deep and wide. She estimated six containers in each. What if it was something to drink?
She shook her head in the dark, feeling the awkward way her hair pulled out from her scalp as she turned. It took her a long time to chip off pieces of wood in the darkness. Palming the cool metal, she tried again, using her bad hand to guide it. Ignoring all her bruises and injures, she focused.
Crack! the wood splintered.
Bekka flinched, feeling the pain in her hand echo in her head.
“You’re ok.”
It’s ok, you’re ok, she told herself.
She wondered if Billy had heard the noise. The seconds stretched into minutes. He didn’t come. She did it again, pausing after each break.
It was impossible to hurry. The pain was too much, and her hand and head were too sensitive. Every time the wood shattered, she felt queasy. The blackness swayed around her like dark waves of pudding. She paused until the hurt died down. She tried again, stubbornly. She wasn’t going to wait for him to hurt her. There had to be something potable in these containers, something that was going to help her get stronger. She could do this.
Crack! Crack! With trembling hands, she removed some of the wrappings. When she had enough room, she used both hands to pull out the bottle-sized container. She set it carefully on the ground. Feeling along its surface in the dark, she decided it was rounder than a two-liter, but shorter. After rapping her knuckles against the smooth surface and declared it glass.
She couldn’t find a latch along the mouth of the vessel. The top of the container had been sealed with some kind of wax. It wasn’t like a candle or paraffin, but something thicker and heavier. She scratched at it with her good hand and it didn’t flake away. The metal bar was too thick and blunt to be of any use, so she wrapped some wood with a piece of her shirt.
Her hand cramped long before she was done, her fingers like claws. She ignored the new pain. If she found something to drink, then it would all be worth it. She hadn’t been this thirsty in her entire life.
It didn’t occur to her what she was opening might be dangerous.
One moment, she was whittling away at the top and the next, she was stumbling back, her tool falling from her fingertips. The smell erupted into the air, strong and chemical. It smelled like an industrial cleaning product.
Bekka pulled the neck of Billy’s shirt over her mouth. The chemical stung her eyes, prickling the inside of her nose like Clorox. She found the jar without knocking it over and after stabilizing the container against the crate, she gathered the hides. The fur was soft and downy. The leather on the inside was supple.
Thinking quickly, the wadded the material around the container’s top. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. Bekka searched behind her, wishing for the thousandth time that it wasn’t so dark. It took a few minutes, but she found the small metal object she’d left on top of the crate. Using it and the edge of a board, she ripped a piece of hide into long strips and tied the lengths of fur around the opening.
Lying back down on the floor, she stuck her nose to the small opening beneath the door. The air was better there.
She should have known it wouldn’t be water. Why would he keep water in crates?
The hours passed and the room grew smaller. Alone, with only her ragged breathing to keep her company, Bekka worried that Billy would come back to hurt her. She worried about her grandmother, and most of all, about the chemical smell. It was a slow progression, each breath sounding louder and heavier, her nasally inhale rough and full of potential.
“Calm. Be calm.”
She listened and focusing, put all her effort into relaxing her lungs. In and out, she could feel her lungs expand and contract inside her chest cavity. The smell died away. She stopped panicking. Whatever she was doing seemed to be working.
“I’m here.”
She touched the necklace in her pocket, thankful that she’d been smart enough to hide it. Obviously, she hit her head pretty hard. If there hadn’t been a hundred other reasons to worry, she’d have been concerned that she was still talking to herself.
At some point, she could sit any longer. She was careful to stay along the wall. Around and around she went, pounding against the door whenever she got close. She kept count as long as she could, until dizzy from pacing and pain, she sat back down beside door, resting her head against its smooth surface.
It was cold, but the chill made her head feel better, so she stayed, waiting and listening, hoping to hear someone’s voice. Nothing and more nothing, there was only silence and the soft whoosh of air. She was there for a long time.