The Pond

He had been gone for hours, but he would return. He always returned.

The wind howled outside, an angry beast that would not be quelled. Snowflakes, usually the epitome of grace and beauty, flurried outside the frosted window angrily. The cement floor was a lonely ice rink devoid of skaters. A dim bulb glowed overhead, casting shadows into the corners. My fingers had started turning from blue to black. I had stopped feeling my toes days ago.

I looked to the window again, straining my neck as far as I could to peer into the frost-bitten glass. There were no signs of headlights in the darkness. I adjusted myself, moving out one cramped leg to stretch out across the dirty floor. A bit of blood flowed weakly back into my limb. In the overhead light I could better study my toes. The little piggies, usually pale, had now begun to blacken. I tried to wiggle them, but found it was more difficult than usual. Across the room on the ragged futon was an old quilt. Some days when he left, he would drape the quilt across my shoulders, but today he did not. He was angry at me and had left this morning in a huff, slamming the door behind him as he entered into the storm. That was three hours ago, if I had to guess, but time seemed to not exist here the way it did in the outside world.

And not that long ago, or in another life, I wasn’t sure anymore, I had been a part of the outside world. Once upon a time I had a name which others used. I would awake in my small apartment and pull on clothes in the morning. I would sip coffee. I went to work and laughed and answered emails. I cooked dinner. But that was another lifetime, a lifetime which had ended six days ago.  

I moved my hands, but no longer cringed at the feel of the coarse rope on my skin. My wrists were too cold to feel it anymore which was one of the only gifts the cold had given me. The first day I had tugged and tugged until my wrists bled, my skin surrendering to the shackles. The blood ran and pooled into my palms and I was reminded of an ancient sacrifice I had read about in school long ago, the image of bloody hands held towards the sun in offering. The idea didn’t seem so silly now as it once had. Outside the wind continued to howl. I moved my other leg out from under me and sat on my butt on the icy floor. From behind me, I could feel the hard metal bars of the old radiator which looked like it hadn’t functioned for decades. 

I straightened my back and heard my spine crack as I did. It felt good to move. My shoulders moaned in pain, but I shut out the noise. I wanted to sleep, but the cold kept me awake. The quilt hung limply on the couch and I stared at it, imagining the feeble warmth it would give. Vaguely, I wondered if I would freeze to death. 

It wasn’t impossible, or even unlikely. The Alaskan winters were harsh and dark, something I had been warned about before I moved here three years ago. Over a hundred people froze to death each year. It had never worried me though, I always made sure to leave an extra hat and gloves in my car. I had a good, wool coat. I wondered where it was, where he had put it.

I longed for my coat now. It was a going away gift from my parents. It was black, knee length and had deep pockets. I loved my coat. I had taken it from the coat rack as I left the office last Wednesday and pulled it on, tugging out my long hair and letting it drape down the back. I found my gloves in the pocket and pulled them on. I hated driving in the snow, I thought, as I headed out into the parking lot. Winter had officially arrived the week before and, as if to make up for lost time, it hadn’t seemed to stop snowing. Once I arrived home, I would make myself a cup of tea and a hot bath, I told myself.

It was the icy patch that doomed me. Even the chains on my tires were no match for it. The car slid in the darkness and I cried out, hitting the brakes to no avail. The car turned and slid off the road, slamming itself into a nearby tree which shook indignantly at the impact. For several seconds afterwards I sat behind the steering wheel, my breath coming out in pants. My heart was a bird fluttering madly in a cage. I put my hand to my head as I gathered myself. I was alive, I thought, as I clutched the steering wheel. 

Headlights shone behind me and I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the hard ground. My car was crushed against the sagging tree. I waved my hands wildly as a truck neared and passed.

“Hey!” I shouted, my breath escaping my mouth in dense puffs of fog. The truck’s brake lights flared in the darkness and I sighed a deep breath of relief. On this seldom used road another car might not pass for hours and the cell service in that area was spotty. The truck pulled over to the side and the driver’s door opened. I walked forward slowly, my boots threatening to slip out from under me on the slick pavement.

“You okay, miss?” the man asked. He was a middle-aged man, no older than fifty with a thick gray beard. He wore a trucker cap.

“My car slid and hit the tree. I need to get a tow truck out here, but have no bars. Could you possibly give me a ride?”

The man looked to my car, then back at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

“Sure, would be happy to help out.”

I grabbed my purse from my car and climbed into his truck. Immediately I was struck with the stale smell of cigarettes and beer.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” I said to my savior as I warmed my hands by the heater which pitifully coughed out lukewarm air.

“No problem at all,” he said.

As we drove I tried to make conversation, but he was mostly silent, usually answering in one syllable answers. The lights of the town came into view and when he didn’t turn onto the main street as I expected he would, I gave him a curious glance.

“I know a guy a few blocks up, best mechanic in town, he can take care of you,” he said, in reply to my silent inquiry. 

“He has a tow truck?” I asked, feeling incredulous.

“Yes, miss.”

“Well, okay.”

But the few blocks came and went and soon we were out of town, back on the secluded roads heading north. I watched in the rearview mirror as the warm lights of town twinkled and extinguished in the darkness.

“Are we close?” I asked and tried to will my heart to slow it’s frenzied beating. 

To this, he didn’t answer. Another few minutes passed in silence. My throat began to burn. Panic swelled inside my chest and I tried to fight it back down. My eyes prickled with tears.    

“Please pull over.”

Silence.

“I’m serious.” I tried to sound authoritative, stern, but my voice wavered.

“Please, pull over.”

With shaking hands I pulled my phone from my purse and dialed 9-1-1. No connection. I tried the door, ready to fling myself out into the road, but it was locked.

“I have money. In the bank. Let’s go back into town and I can give it to you.”

He answered with silence, staring straight ahead onto the road as if I had not spoken at all. I began to cry then, letting the hot tears stream down my face as I watched the trees whip by outside.

Grab the steering wheel, I thought. Crash the car.

I looked at the steering wheel. As if reading my mind, the man’s hand moved from the wheel to his belt where, for the first time, I saw a small handgun there in a worn holster. I froze and stared, unable to take my eyes from the gun. Why had I not noticed it before? I tried the door again, but it remained stubbornly locked.

As soon as he pulls over, scream, the voice said.

We drove for over an hour. I continued to beg and plead. I told him I had a family. I told him they would notice my absence at work tomorrow and call the police. I promised not to tell. He continued to answer with nothing but stony silence. My thoughts turned frantic and fragmented and whenever the voice screamed at me to take action, my eyes fell to the gun at his waist. Fear wrapped her arms around me and held tight, smothering me in her embrace.

The house, if it could be called that, appeared in the headlights like something from a nightmare. It looked to be made of nothing more than tin and I was surprised it hadn’t collapsed in on itself out in the elements. He pulled up to the side and killed the engine, pulling the gun from its holster. I watched as he did, my back against the passenger side door. Without a glance in my direction, he opened up the door and got out, walking around the front to the passenger side. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he did. The door opened, a cold gust of air slapping me in the face. I found my voice then and screamed. For a moment I wasn’t sure if I would be able to, if I would try and find my voice had crumbled to ash in my throat. However, a loud piercing scream erupted from my mouth and I kicked out a leg, aiming for his stomach. He caught my leg in one beefy hand and pulled. I slid off the seat, trying to catch myself with my free leg. I continued to scream, but the man didn’t seem concerned at all with the noise I made. I looked around the darkness frantically, trying to find something -anything- that could help me. The trees looked down on us impassively. The stars were silent. I tried to run, but his hands found my long hair and my neck snapped back. I landed hard on my back on the icy ground and stared for a moment at the black sky above, my breath creating large puffs of fog in my vision. He grabbed my ankle and began to pull me towards the shack. I reached out, my arms scrambling to find something to grab onto and I felt nothing but snow.

Once in the house, I tried to flee again but was shoved back. He eventually grew tired of hearing me plead and yell and the butt of his gun came down hard. Darkness exploded behind my eyes and I staggered, hitting the floor. My clothes and purse were taken away and I was dragged to the radiator and tied. There I spent the night, shivering in my leggings and undershirt, watching the snow flurry past the window.

 I came out of my memories and looked back at the dim room. I adjusted my arms and stilled when I felt a foreign, thrilling sensation. The rope began to slip. I paused, my heart resting in my mouth and, carefully, moved my arm again. The rope continued to loosen. I barely dared to breathe as I slowly pulled my hand from the knot. I held my hand in front of my face like I had never seen it before. My fingers were dark and my wrist was blistered and bloody. I turned and, with my free hand, grabbed the rope, my fingers fumbling as I did. Within a few minutes, both my hands were free.

I must be dreaming, I thought as I feebly pulled myself to my feet. It felt good to stand after so many hours on the floor. I stumbled forward and caught myself on the edge of the futon. My legs were water. Adrenaline began its quick journey into my veins. For the first time in days I felt alive. I moved slowly from the futon to the short hall to the bedroom. The room, like the room I had just left, was bare, save a dirty mattress on the floor. I looked for my clothes, my coat and boots, but they were nowhere to be seen. He must have taken them with him. I moved back to the main room to look for a phone but knew there wasn’t one. The house was bare, with no cabinets or shelves to hide anything. I pulled the quilt from the futon and wrapped it around my shoulders. I felt so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

The wind continued to bang on the door, demanding to be let in. I opened the door and stepped out, holding the quilt tight around myself, but it did nothing to shut out the biting wind. I walked through the snow in the direction of the road, but a look at that silent strip of concrete made me stop. I stared at the silent road. I hadn’t seen a car but his drive down that road in six days, I could walk and walk, and no one would find me. It was so cold, I thought, as I wrapped the quilt tighter around me. I wanted to sleep.

I turned then and headed back the way I had come, my legs heavy with each step. My feet were numb and my leggings were soaked through. I stumbled and fell into the soft powdery blanket beneath me. I could rest here, I thought. I could wrap myself into the folds of the earth and rest my head, just for a little while. No, I thought, forcing my tired limbs to move. I had a better place in mind.

The moon’s feeble rays shone off the pond creating a glittery mirror in the earth. It's like something out of a fairytale, I thought as I approached. I stood before the pond, watching the stars sparkle and dance on its glassy surface. Alice once stepped into a mirror and found herself in Wonderland, my mother had told me. I lifted my foot from the snow and delicately placed it on the frozen surface. One step, then two. I was floating, I thought and smiled. I would float across the pond like a fairy creature. I took another step, dropping the quilt behind me. The pond would open up and let me in, let me sink into the shiny surface and disappear, deep into Wonderland. It would be warm and sunny and safe there. There was the sound of thunder and the earth beneath me split open and I was vaguely aware that I was falling, falling down into the hole as Alice fell. It was so cold, I thought with some dismay. So, so cold. But before long, the cold vanished. I was warm down there and soon I heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing. Warmth came and swept me up in her sweet embrace.

I slept.