Winter's Embrace

Jordan’s breath fogged the basement window as tears streamed down her face. She realized how much time had passed. Like the sand in an hourglass, the snowflakes counted each second of her youth, and it was only the first of the season.

I will not be here for Christmas. Anywhere but here, she promised. 

Her memories drifted to where the resonant echoes of her father's hearty laughter reverberated, radiating warmth within the walls of her childhood abode. Seated alongside her siblings, they formed a circle of camaraderie, basking in the crackling glow of the fireplace. Her mother, a joyous and selfless woman, always found some way of tinkering around in the kitchen by baking, deep cleaning the stovetop, or what-have-you. Her brothers bickered about politics and inevitably retired to their rooms before anything too hurtful could be said. Jordan felt her heart ache at the thought of not being there to pilfer the sparks of their conversations and ignite them into a more blissful flame. 

That’s who she was, the mediator, the peacekeeper. 

She stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the pillows of white that concealed the wreckage beneath. As she turned her head, a tightness tugged at her neck muscles, drawn to the warm light slowly descending the wooden stairway.

Before, bile would rise in her throat and her heart would race, but now, a lazy glance in his direction was all she could manage. He came down once a day and brought some sort of food. Four days ago was half a bag of original Lays potato chips, and the day before that was a box of stale Mini Wheats. 

Every morning, he thundered down to the fourth step, his button-up and tie perfectly in place, a cloud of peppery cologne trailing behind him. Without a direct glance, he tossed a mishmash of food in her direction, muttering a quick "be back soon" before bolting back up the stairs. His eyes only scanned the room to ensure the window's integrity. 

And with clockwork precision, he descended to the fourth step, keys jostling in one hand, he playfully tossed a can of corn into the air twice before letting it land on the sorry excuse for a bed. 

“Be back soon,” he huffed as he leaned over the railing. As quick as he came, he was gone. Muffled footsteps echoed above Jordan as Ralph left the house. She returned to the window, exhaling slowly to fog the glass again, then pressed her forehead against the cool surface. The realization hit her as she sighed, "A can of corn," acknowledging the predicament of having no means to open her sole source of food.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Ralph had abducted her in May, and spending all summer in a literal and metaphorical hell was not even close to what she wrote down on Mrs. Johnson’s “Summer Break” assignment. He had originally kept her in one of the small bedrooms, clearly a little girl’s room, on the first floor, but Ralph wasn’t the smartest kidnapper. Jordan had broken the window glass with her fists as a means to escape, but the bars had kept her locked in like a rat in a cage. She had screamed for help until her vocal cords gave out, which, of course, alerted the neighbors and landed her in a world of trouble with her assailant. He had grabbed her by the hair and tossed her down the basement stairs - CRACK. Her ankle had become her villain at that moment, and she had half expected to see a bone protruding through her flesh. Swollen, tender, and most likely broken, her skin had remained intact. Hushed screeches exited her mouth as she contourted her body on the basement floor. 

Her awakening came with Ralph's face hovering above, his light slaps urging her to consciousness. 

"Wake up. Wake up! You gotta get outta the walkway, silly," he grinned. The sweat on the back of her neck confirmed her ordeal. Jordan, realizing she had succumbed to the pain, fluttered her eyes, attempting to swat at his face—her weakness evident.

"Okay then. Have it your way!" Ralph seized a fistful of her hair, dragging her five feet, her screams reduced to a raspy whimper. 

“We could have avoided all of this if you would just behave yourself, you know? Now I have to get the window fixed before 5pm today. I didn’t like being mean, but you made me do it. And you made me lie to an officer of the law about all that screaming. I committed crimes because of you. That’s probably why your parents haven’t found you yet. I’m sure they would thank me for taking such a trouble-maker off their hands.”

Ralph laughed at his “good deed” and let his eyes wander down the length of Jordan’s body, examining closely.

He’s probably making sure my hands are empty, she thought as she then wished badly that she would have snagged a piece of glass from upstairs so she could plunge it into his neck that was an arm’s length away. 

“Uh oh!” Ralph placed a hand over his mouth, mocking surprise as he pointed at her ankle. 

“Looks like it’s broken, sweetie. Let’s go ahead and fix it. You know, I do have my doctorate…in Humanities.” He chuckled quietly to himself while looking down at her swollen ankle. 

“Well, we have to set this. You’ll thank me later.”

Jordan found the last of her vocal cords at that moment. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Jordan stirred, sitting upright on the ladder step, arms stretching so high her fingertips brushed against the ceiling. Her gaze swept across the basement, searching for anything that might serve as a tool to open the can. Towers of boxes teetered on the verge of collapse, heaps of magazines were cloaked in a thick layer of dust, milk crates harbored miscellaneous trinkets, and a vintage refrigerator lay broken—nothing but a collection of discarded items cluttered the space- herself included. 

Descending from her perch, Jordan surveyed her prison once again, a routine etched into her existence. Her quest was singular: finding a tool for defense or to open the can. Her thoughts constantly led her towards the window she enjoyed looking out of, but if she busted that one, she’d have to fight Ralph, given it’s the size of a doggy door. There’s no way she’d risk getting stuck while trying to flee to freedom. 

The headrush of malnutrition sent her clumsily to her pallet, the basement concrete wall  supporting the weight of her hands as she caught her balance. Slowly she sipped the air as a means to pull any nutrition from it she could.

Grumble. 

“Why haven’t my parents come?” she whined, and the tears followed. Her face flushed with heat at the thought of them forgetting her. Quiet sobs escaped her, and she shifted, pressing her back against the cool concrete. Tear stains marred the collar of her school shirt; her chin tilted upward in silent despair. As her breaths labored and her heart ached, hunger gnawed at her stomach, momentarily diverting her focus. A deep breath in, and it was back to scanning the room again, though something she hadn’t noticed before caught her eye. A glint of silver illuminating from under the wooden stairs. A spoon. 

Ralph had brought her a half-eaten cup of yogurt the previous week and must have dropped it in his rush back up away from the rat in his basement. Jordan shuffled under the stairs to retrieve her boon. She had heard stories of her brothers rubbing the spoon’s tip against the crimped edge of the can and popping it open when they didn’t have a can opener. At this point, she’d sink her teeth into the can if it meant she could eat. 

After using most of her energy vigorously rubbing the metal, she finally felt the can give way. Jordan slid the spoon’s tip under the edge and pried it upwards in a satisfying pop of the can’s lid breaking away. 

The rim met her lips in a swift motion, and she guzzled down the liquid, followed by the kernels. The can was empty when she finally remembered to breathe. Leaning against the wall beneath the stairs, her eyes tempting sleep, a notion sparked—tearing away the lid to wield it as a weapon.

Yes! 

In a frenzied burst, she attacked the can, the spoon prying, sliding, and scraping. Midway through her attempt to free the lid, the realization dawned that the spoon was now useless. Bending the metal back and forth became the strategy. Her thumb, index, and middle fingers grasped the lid, pushing it as far back as possible, then pressing it into the can. Quickly, she realized that doing so was a mistake. Jordan plunged the spoon into the can and desperately picked and pried at the lid in the hopes it would pop back through. 

A huff of frustration escaped her mouth; Jordan threw the spoon across the room, landing it under the broken fridge in the corner. The can lay there, mocking her efforts as the other unopened side gleamed in the soft light from the window. 

In a hurried dash, Jordan reached the fridge, pressing her head against the chilly floor to spot the silver spoon nestled somewhere in the dark abyss. She could faintly see it against the back wall. Remembering that the broom claimed a home near her makeshift bathroom, she quickly grabbed it and rammed the long handle under the appliance and swiped to the left. The spoon skittered across the floor with a delicate tinkling sound accompanied by the clunking of a pair of black-handled scissors. 

Her whole plan flashed before her eyes, but she needed Ralph to come back down at some point tonight. 

Ralph’s footsteps were heavy over her room, almost as if he wanted her to know that he was walking around freely up there while she sat in her own filth. 

He was active in the kitchen, she thought to herself as she prepared the first step of her plan. She pressed her weight against a towering stack of boxes near the ladder at the window. 

Please make enough noise. 

The cardboard skyscraper collapsed, clashing loudly with the metal ladder before settling with a metallic smack against the concrete wall.

Ralph’s swift movements prompted urgency, forcing Jordan to act swiftly. Taking her stance under the stairwell, precisely at the fourth step, she held her breath. 

Creak. Creak. 

The hesitant descent of Ralph's bare feet resonated in the slow creaks on the stairs.

“Hello? What happened?” he asked with slight annoyance dancing in his tone. He was always annoyed with her to some level. Ralph stopped at the third step down. 

“H-help,” Jordan’s raspy voice came out softer than she meant. 

She needed him to come down farther but hoped to God he wouldn’t realize it was a ruse. 

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Jordan’s eyes burned from staring intently between the space of the third and fourth step, not wanting to miss her chance. 

One more step and I will be free. 

“Jordan? Don’t fuck with me. Where are you?”

His voice wavered with uncertainty, a sound Jordan couldn't ignore, knowing she couldn't afford him leaving. She stood to a hunched position under the stairs, opened the scissors as wide as they would go, and squeezed tightly right above his heel bone, hoping that she severed the tendon. 

A sharp yelp escaped him as he crashed to the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Jordan emerged from her hiding place, sprinting towards the crumpled figure on the floor. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

The surreal feeling of wood under her feet propelled her. Her heart raced, its thunderous beats resonating in her ears, while blood surged to her cheeks. Fingers clawed at the steps as she scrambled upward toward the door. Pausing at the top, the absence of echoing steps hinted at the retreat of her pursuer. Glancing over her shoulder, she observed Ralph steadying himself against the railing, fingers gripping his lower thigh tightly. Without hesitation, she closed the door, shutting out the expletives yelled from the depths below. Ralph's keychain dangled from the basement door lock, presenting an opportunity. Jordan seized it, swiftly locking him in.

She didn’t remember much of what the interior of the upstairs looked like, but she memorized the sound of Ralph’s footsteps around the house, so finding the exit wasn’t as challenging. She ran down the hall that housed the master bedroom and guest bathroom. Her legs felt weak beneath her; she wobbled like a newborn horse. Her speed was too fast though, and she crashed into the wall that hung various portraits of Ralph, a woman, and a little girl. Two frames plummeted to the floor from the impact, littering glass across the hallway’s floor. Jordan’s eyes never left the view of the front door. Home. Safety. Freedom. It’s all behind that door. 

Bounding past the little girl's room that once sheltered her, Jordan encountered a scene of a child engrossed in play on the floor. Her pace faltered, coming to a standstill as she stared in awe at the evidence that others lived here. Locked in a gaze, her eyes reflected amazement, contrasting sharply with the little girl's horrified expression. The staring contest abruptly ended with a blood-curdling scream emanating from the front door. A woman appeared, hands covering her mouth in sheer horror. Reacting, the woman rushed to the closet left of the entrance. Jordan's focus shifted back to the wooden front door, and she breezed past the woman struggling with a box on the top shelf, leaving behind bloody footprints. Nearly wrenching the door from its hinges, she was met with the biting cold air beyond. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Jordan’s bloodied feet ran down the porch’s stairs, finally finding stability in the snow-covered ground. Tears traced a path into her hairline, a testament to the rapid pace. The wind tousled her hair, and delicate snowflakes caressed her skin. 

Suddenly, a thunderous crack resonated through her bones, and an intense internal force propelled her forward into the snow. 

At the porch's edge, the woman stood with a smoking pistol in hand, shaking violently.

“Oh my god,” she whispered to herself in utter disbelief that she had just shot her home intruder. 

“Ralph!” she yelled as she ran back into the house towards the monster. 

Jordan lay there on her side, half her face buried in the snow, and the flakes continued kissing her skin delicately, as if they were making up for all the affection she never received while in captivity. The first snowfall this season brought her the most unexpected kiss of all, the kiss of death.