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Ten Years Ago:

        It had happened while Kira was strolling through a busy parking lot, in the light of day, nodding absently to the chatter of her three-year-old. How had no one noticed or helped her?

She had felt the sharp prick of a needle in her arm and caught a glimpse of a gloved hand holding a syringe. She reached feebly for her confused little boy in the shopping cart as her mind and body folded inwards.

        When she regained consciousness, Kira was in a dark, cement-walled room that smelled of cigarettes and piss. Her empty stomach contracted and she retched unproductively. Her brain throbbed and her limbs were slow to respond to her urgent requests to get up and run. Her wild, darting eyes had caught a movement to her left, and there she saw an older woman staring back.

        “Help,” Kira’s burning throat cracked out. The woman smiled, walked to where Kira sat on the floor, and stroked her cheek with a spotted hand.

        “No one can help you, dear,” the woman replied hoarsely. “Benny will be back soon. Then we’ll get started.”

        Kira could only shake her head and stare at the insane woman with short, spiked, white hair, a hot pink t-shirt and ripped cargo shorts. Her wrinkled knees sagged over a roadmap of blue and purple spider veins on bare legs pocked with goose-bumps.

        Kira crab-scooted desperately away from the door as the handle rattled. The door opened, revealing a slight-framed man with thick glasses that magnified his brown eyes. His lank, dirty-blonde hair spilled down both sides of his face. He stared back at Kira as a slow smile lifted his lips, exposing a row of cracked, yellow teeth.

        A piercing, shrill scream reverberated in the room, and then Kira felt a stinging slap on the back of her head that caused her to suck in a breath, cutting the scream abruptly. “Stop that heinous noise this instant!” the old woman demanded.

        “Mama? Why is the lady yelling?” the man asked in a slow, child-like voice.

        “Oh, she’s just nervous and excited, Benny. Don’t worry, she’ll calm down.” Kira felt a sharp pinch of warning dig into the vulnerable flesh on her upper arm.

        The woman waved impatiently at the man. “Now, give those bags here.”

        Benny handed over two plastic Dollar Tree bags and the woman grunted as she bent over them, pawing at the contents. A container of peanut butter, plastic-packaged portions of fruit cocktail, and a box of Toasty O’s. She nodded her head and gave her son an adoring look. “You did good, Benny. This will do us for a few days now.” Benny beamed under his mother’s praise.

        The other bag had a bottle of water, some toilet paper, and a roll of duct tape. Kira went cold as the woman’s gray eyes slid in her direction.

                                                     *********

        Kira repeated “Why?” in a steady chant that first night, not even realizing that she was speaking out loud. The woman ignored her until Benny was snoring in a sleeping bag on the other side of the room. Only then did Kira get the horrifying answer she sought.

        Bernice was broken with regret that she had ruined her son’s life. Benny had been diagnosed with fetal alcohol syndrome as a young child. His dad had left soon after this revelation, and Bernice had only overcome her disabling depression by dedicating her life to making up for her mistake. She was fiercely determined to give Benny the fullest, happiest life that she possibly could despite the irreversible brain damage her drinking had caused him in the womb. She wanted Ben’s life to be as “normal” as possible and was willing to do anything to make that happen.

        Bernice fought for Benny to be included at school, she insisted he be invited to classmates’ parties and go to prom. The only thing she couldn’t do was force others to accept and love him. She could rally for harsher punishments for bullies, but the consequences never healed the hurt.

        As her repeated efforts inevitably failed to give Benny the life she longed for him to have, her grip on reality fractured. There were moments when she recognized her own insanity, but she couldn’t stop bull-dozing the path she was convinced Benny should take.

        On Benny’s thirty-fifth birthday, Bernice told him she had a special present for him. Wouldn’t he like to get married? she had asked him. “Like the prince and Cinderella?” Benny replied wide-eyed. Bernice had smiled with tears in her eyes and nodded at her son.

        After sharing this memory with Kira, the two women had locked eyes. Shaking with despair, Kira understood the role she had been assigned. “But I’m already married,” Kira pleaded. “I have a son of my own.”        

Bernice’s eyes had hardened as she spat, “You will never tell Benny that or I will find your husband and son and kill them.”

        In the days, weeks and months that followed, Kira’s spirit detached itself from her body. It wasn’t really her there on the bare mattress on the floor. It was not she, Kira, who was trapped in the dank and dreary cement dungeon. She could not let herself acknowledge or accept that she had been reduced to a sex slave who washed herself with water from one bucket and squatted over another to excrete her waste. This was just a temporary situation. She would get out, Kira promised herself. She would resume her real life.

        At least she knew she wouldn’t get pregnant in that hell-hole. A complication during Jamie’s birth had required the surgeon to remove her uterus. What seemed a blow at the time was now a blessing.

        Kira felt constantly fuzzy-headed and uncoordinated. Bernice was adding drugs to Kira’s meals which left her feeling drowsy and weak. Kira knew this must be why Benny was strictly forbidden from touching her food or water bottle. Whenever Kira refused to ingest what was offered, shrewd Bernice would ask Benny to give Kira a tight “hug” while she injected Kira with a stinging substance that rendered her unconscious. Bernice told Benny it was medicine that Kira needed.

        The same ritual was performed at bedtime. Every single night she was pricked into a drug-induced slumber. Kira’s arms were bruised tender from being poked so many times.

        In her dreams, Kira saw her sweet little boy, Jamie, cry out for her. “I’m sorry, little one. Mommy will be home as soon as I can,” she whispered each night as she fell back asleep on a pillow damp with tears. Her heart cracked open imagining Paul distraughtly thinking of her non-stop, frantically searching for her day after day. She knew her husband wouldn’t rest until he found her. This thought was all that kept Kira going.

*********

Present:

        Kira let out a yelp of pain and shielded her eyes from the glaring sunlight. She hadn't been outside or seen the sky in so long, she had forgotten how bright it could be. She blinked rapidly and got her bearings. Then she heaved the heavy door shut behind her and leaned her back against it, as if to keep the evil in.

        Her legs were shaking and she allowed them to collapse beneath her as she slid to the ground. Hot tears cleared rivers of blood from the surface of her cheeks. She touched her face, and then looked down at her blood-soaked shirt. It made her laugh. That glorious blood had saved her life. Or whatever was left of her life.

        Kira had stayed under the covers that morning, moaning that she didn’t feel well. The previous evening, before the obligatory injection, she had felt the tug of her period starting and it had given her the idea. Instead of asking for a tampon as she usually did, she had surreptitiously bunched a spare t-shirt into the space between her legs. Through the night and into the early hours of the morning, she passively let her monthly fluid leak into the fabric of her shirt. When she awoke, she felt the sticky, soaked fabric still in place, and her heart sped up in anticipation of enacting her plan.

        With very slow, spaced-out movements hidden under the covers, Kira carefully put the blood-soaked shirt on her torso. She lowered the blanket discreetly and glanced at her captors. They were munching on dry cereal and paid no attention to her. Her heart beat against her sternum like a frantic bird trying to escape her chest. She placed a shaking hand between her legs to collect some blood on her fingers and wiped this over her face.

        She had to count to three twice before she summoned the courage to launch herself off of the mattress and onto the floor, wailing loudly. As she heard Bernice and Benny exclaim and then come rushing towards her, Kira dramatically flopped onto her back with her arms splayed out, feigning unconsciousness.

        “Oh, no. Oh, no,” Benny repeated in a high-pitched whining voice, taking in her blood-soaked shirt.

        “It’s alright, Ben,” his mother said in a too-calm voice. “We’ll get her fixed up. Can you go to the Dollar Tree and get some supplies?”

        “Should we call 911?” he asked.

        Bernice hesitated a couple of beats before replying. “No, don’t worry. I can handle this. You take this,” she handed him a wad of bills and a list of items, “and bring back what we need, ok?” Kira got the distinct impression that Bernice just wanted to get rid of Benny so he wouldn’t object to whatever she thought she had to do about this inconvenient development.

        Kira listened carefully as Benny ran up the steps and banged out the door. She held her breath listening for the usual clunk of the deadbolt sliding back into place, but it didn’t come. Just as she’d hoped, they were too distracted to be on guard as usual. Through a thin slit between her lids, Kira observed Bernice tapping nervously at her mouth, looking around the room. For what, Kira didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to wait to find out.

        Kira gathered her flaccid muscles in preparation, took a deep breath, and sprung up with all of the strength and speed she could summon. She leapt at the metal box against the wall just as she had planned, scrambling to get her hands on the syringe she knew Bernice always kept loaded and ready for emergency use.

        She pulled the cap off the needle as she looked at Bernice, who was frozen with a stunned look on her face. But as Kira lunged towards her, Bernice’s eyes hardened in anger and Kira knew she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

        Kira feigned a right dodge as she swung her left hand forward with the syringe, plunging the needle into a squishy thigh. She pushed on the plunger even as Bernice roared and swatted her hand away. She probably hadn’t received the full dose, but Kira hoped it had been enough.

        Moments later, she got her answer as Bernice crumpled to the floor. Kira didn’t hesitate. She ran up the steps and out the door. Propelled by adrenaline, she burst onto the sidewalk panting. She pressed the door closed and leaned her back against it, as if to keep the evil behind it.

        Not knowing where she was, Kira stumbled away from the Dollar Tree she spotted at the corner. A woman walking a plump, tawny dog raised her eyebrows at Kira before diverting her gaze and briskly continuing on.

        “Please,” Kira croaked, “Help me. I’m Kira Randall. I need help.”

        The woman assessed her for a few moments before recognition seemed to cross her face. “Kira Randall. That sounds familiar…”

        “Call the police. Please,” Kira begged, her knees buckling.

A police car pulled up a few minutes later, silent lights flashing. Two officers got out. The older one approached her warily, shining a flashlight in her face.

        The officer began asking her questions. He wanted to know if she was on drugs. If she had a home. Where the blood had come from.

        “Yes, I have a home!” Kira replied indignantly. “216 Maple! Take me there, please. My husband and son must be very worried about me. I’ve been gone…” Kira didn’t actually know how long it had been.

        Kira told them her full name and explained that she had been captive for years and only just escaped. Surely they had been searching for her? The two officers conferred briefly and then ushered her into the back of the squad car to go to the station, offering no reassurances. On the way, Kira gave them the name of her husband and begged them to call him for her. Then she stared out the window as sites, some familiar and some foreign, flashed by.

        Seated in the bare room awash with artificially bright light, Kira had never felt so alone. She stared at the large white door, willing it to open and let Paul and Jamie come rushing through. She couldn’t wait to hold them close and tell them how hard she had fought to come back to them.

        Finally, she heard the heavy metal handle of the door being engaged, and she grasped the arm of her chair ready to launch herself out of it. But when the door opened, it was just the younger officer with a concerned look on his face. “I need to ask a few questions and collect samples from you, Ma’am, to confirm your identity.”

        Kira was stunned. “Where’s my husband?” she gasped.

        The officer looked uncomfortable. “We did contact Mr. Randall about his first wife. He is skeptical you are who you claim, but he said he would come by after work to help us sort this out.”

        Kira’s mouth dropped open. First wife? After work? Why wasn’t he rushing right over? The officer sat down in the chair across the table from Kira and took out a pen and notepad. “What is your date of birth? And what hospital were you born at?”

        Kira was in shock and couldn’t find the energy to be angry at how she was being treated. She answered the questions robotically. She let herself be an inanimate object while her cheeks were swabbed for a DNA test and her fingertips were covered in ink, then pressed onto a card. Someone handed her a new shirt and collected the bloody one in a plastic bag. It was the same disembodied feeling she had used when Benny had raped her. She was no longer in her body.

        Then she heard a familiar voice outside the room, and this time when the door opened, there was a man who she faintly recognized. He had a beard now, and his hair had greyed. His face was a bit fuller, his eyes a bit droopier, but it was Paul! She shouted his name and jumped to her feet, ready to embrace him.

        But Paul took a step back with a hand raised to ward her off. An officer stepped up beside him and told Kira to stay back. She couldn’t believe it. “Is this your wife?” the officer asked.

        Paul looked hurt and defeated. “No,” he whispered.

        “What?” exclaimed Kira. “Paul! How can you say that?”

        The sound of her voice changed something in Paul. He looked at her closely. “Kira?” he asked incredulously.

        “Duh!” she replied. It was a common refrain of hers and Paul grinned widely back at her.

        “You look terrible. I can’t even recognize you,” Paul explained.

        Kira was awash in relief. More officers came into the room to get Paul’s confirmation of her identity. This broke the spell and a buzz erupted. Now they wanted to know where she had been held captive and a description of her kidnappers. She told them everything she could, feeling revived by Paul’s presence and the fact the police finally believed her.

        Thirty minutes later, a tall, skinny teenager in baggy clothes arrived at the station. He locked eyes with Kira. She knew those eyes. She dropped to her knees and wept, holding her hands up towards her son. He came closer but didn’t touch her. She was a stranger to him. Paul introduced them. Kira’s chest emptied.

        Kira’s mind whirled helplessly, trying to comprehend what surreal life she had stepped back into. She had been forgotten. Life hadn’t waited for her return.

        Kira had been declared dead eight years prior when a convicted murderer falsely claimed responsibility for her disappearance. Paul had remarried. They divorced after two years, but in that time, Heather had adopted Jamie. He called her mom. Kira numbly held the pain at bay. It was too much to process.

        The police located the hovel where Kira had been held. A dead woman was found on the floor. Kira wondered if she had injected too much of the “sleep” solution into Bernice. She wasn’t sorry.

        Kira said no, she didn’t want to press charges against Ben. “It wasn’t his fault,” she said sadly. She wondered if he would become a ward of the state.

        Kira went back to the house that didn’t feel like hers anymore. She took an obscenely long shower. While hot water ran through her hair and over her skin, her thoughts percolated. Paul hadn’t betrayed her. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault he couldn’t remember her. She knew she could either accept the new normal and build from there, or she could be bitter and take her anger out on the people closest to her.

        She thought of how Bernice had let disappointment poison her life. She was nothing like Bernice. Kira shut off the water, reached for a fuzzy blue towel, and decided simply that she had to forgive the wrongs if she wanted to be free of them. She longed to get to re-know Paul and Jamie. She had yearned painfully for another chance as this life. She intended to use it well.