Keep Your Voice Down!

Heavy footsteps cross the floor above, raining down bits of dust that sparkled in the faint light before landing all around the basement I call home. He was pacing. Pacing wasn’t a good sign.

My eyes track his path, picturing the rooms as he wanders through them. I had been in them, from time to time over the years, but my memories were tarnished. Fear has a way of doing that.

In the corner of the tiny window, set up high in the stone wall where it lets in a daily sliver of light from the ground level, and scraps of green from the grass that let me know it is finally Spring, I see something that makes my heart race. A cobweb, beautiful and delicate, spans the lower corner of the window’s scarred frame. 

If he sees it, and I’m sure he will soon enough, there will be consequences. He’ll think I am trying to catch a pet again. I did try, once. There was a tiny mouse running along the walls and I thought how nice it might be to have a friend. I found a little box, filled it with torn scraps of the meager roll of toilet paper I was allowed, and added strands of hair. I had to pull them from my own head, of course, but with the decline in my health it wasn’t really as hard as I had thought it might be. They just about fell out when I ran my hand through what used to be thick, wavy locks.

When he found out, spying my beautiful Chester sleeping in a sweet little ball in the box, there was Hell to pay. Pets were against the rules. So many rules!  

The spider’s web, sparkling in the window, needs to go. Even a spider, something I used to fear back when I had normal childhood fears, was forbidden.

Moving soundlessly I scoot to the edge of my chain and gently wipe away the web, careful not to accidentally snag the spider. It could live another day, spin another web and maybe, just maybe, survive. 

My ears pick up the jangling of keys and I freeze, picturing his habit of flipping the heavy ring in his hand as he thinks. Seconds tick by and I begin to pray. My lips twitch as the silent words pass through them.

“You know, if we all work together we can fight back,” Rachel’s voice whispers. Her voice is deeper than mine, seeming to come from low in her throat where mine is higher and almost whiney. 

“Shhh,” I hiss, shaking my head and narrowing my eyes. “Keep your voice down! He might hear you.”

“He won’t. He’s still upstairs,” Rachel answers. Her voice is quieter though. Despite her brave facade I know she fears him too. Anyone would.

“Please, you two, just follow the rules. Don’t make him mad,” Amber pleads. She’s been here, trapped with me, longer than Rachel. She’s seen more. Plus, she’s just not built as brave.

“Oh, come on!” Rachel says, beginning to lose her cool. “Are you just going to wait for him to kill you? You’re not even going to try to save yourself?”

“I did try,” I snarl, beginning to lose my cool as well. When I first came to be locked in this basement, getting away was my one and only thought. Well, except for missing my parents of course. 

I had learned very quickly that trying to run when he opened the door only earned me  bruises. He was simply too fast. And he was mean.

“It’s better this way, Rachel. We have to be smart, really smart, and wait for the right time. When it comes, then we’ll act,” I say, imploring her to understand. 

“Yeah, yeah, right. If we leave it to you, it’ll never be the right time,” Rachel says. I hear a sniff and it makes me realize just how scared she actually is. Unlike me, she’s more scared of staying here than she is of him. Rachel hasn’t been here as long as I have. She doesn’t know everything I know.

“I promise, when the time is right,” I say.

Amber nods her agreement and I think the argument is over. From the space above I hear the scraping sound of a heavy piece of furniture being moved. Sweat instantly beads along my forehead and palms. He’s dragging the hutch away from the hidden door at the top of the basement stairs. It won’t be long before he unlocks the door and comes down.

“Just let me out and I’ll help,” Rachel begs.

“Rachel, please, keep your voice down,” I say, eyes bulging and strands of neck muscles popping out. Amber sits, cowering, with her body wrapped in a tiny ball. Rachel gives us a disdainful sneer before falling silent just as the key slides into the lock.

I count each step as he makes his way down the old wooden staircase feeling the air being sucked out of the room as he gets closer.

“Have you done your chores yet?” he asks. “You know the rules.”

“Yes,” I say, forcing my breath to make the word more than a raspy whisper and making sure to sound respectful. Whispering will get me the belt. Talking back will get me the boot.

“That’s good,” he says. His eyes finally leave mine, searching the basement to see if I was lying or telling the truth. I had learned that lesson early on too. Lying cost me food privileges. Maybe for a day, maybe for longer. It just depended on his mood. So now, when I need to lie, I make damn sure I do it well. But this time I was telling the truth. I had done each and every one of my chores. What else was I going to do down here?

The frame of the bed squeaks as he sits next to me. He holds the bowl of food in his right hand, just out of my reach as if I might even think of lunging for it, and he smiles my way. I think I know what he is about to say and my stomach sinks.

“You’ve been a good girl lately,” he says, surprising me. Instantly I smile back. I can’t help it, it just happens. I hardly ever hear kind words. “Maybe you can come upstairs with me for a little bit today. What do you think about that?”

“Thank you,” I say. My mind jumps to the possibilities. Upstairs is where the front door is. And the back door too, but that one only leads to the fence-in yard so I don’t count it. I see his eyes darken, a scowl forming, and quickly realize my mistake. Hoping the pause wasn’t too long I add, “Sir.”

I can’t breathe while I wait to see how he is going to react. I say silent appeals that Rachel and Amber will stay quiet and ride this out. I have the most experience, I think quietly, please just let me handle it.

“I have a friend coming over,” he says while looking straight into my eyes. His cold, flat stare is measuring me so I concentrate on not reacting. He places his hand on my leg, his left thumb gently rubbing circles where my thigh becomes my knee. “I’d like you to meet him.”

 I cringe. I try not to but I can’t help it. I hear Rachel’s sharp intake of air. I feel, without needing to see it, that Amber has shrivelled even more, doing her best to disappear. Without warning his hand is making contact with my face. I never saw it coming but suddenly my ear is ringing and the corner of my lip is split. I hear the bowl he had been holding hit the ground, metal clanging against the cement floor, and I know I won’t be eating for a while.

Both of his hands circle my neck and his face blooms into a raging furnace. 

“Is that how you show gratitude?” he says, spittle flying from his rubbery lips and landing in frothy drops upon my face. “Is that how? After everything I have done for you?”

I try to shake my head, desperate to calm him down but knowing at my core that it is too late for that. My head moves just a slim fraction of an inch and I’m sure it’s not enough to convince him that I am thankful. 

“No, sir,” I try to say, but his hold on my throat is so tight the air can’t pass through. I picture myself looking like a fish gulping air out of the water.

I know better than to fight back, honestly I do, but at some point the instinct to survive takes over in all of us I guess. My feet scramble along the floor, looking for a way to push me up and away from him. The floor is smooth, and I am barefoot of course, so the effort feels useless. I buck my hips as the tunnel that is my vision narrows and starts to fill with gray dots.

I watch as a whole new level of rage takes over. His eyes become pinpoints of hatred, his chest and shoulders swell with power, and tendons pop out morphing what I can see of his neck into something wild. I’ve seen this a couple of times before and I almost didn’t live to remember it. There’s a good chance I won’t remember this time.

“Let me …” Rachel says, not bothering to whisper now.

“Sh, Rachel, stay out of this,” I gasp. 

“Let her help you,” Amber says, surprising me. She never talks back.

Towering over me my captor lashes out, lifting my entire body from the bed and slamming me to the floor. The cold concrete knocks the air from my chest and bruises my ribs. Pain from the back of my head erupts in a cascade of colors that streak through my vision before it clouds.

“Let…me…help!” Rachel growls. 

My foot, kicking and sliding along the floor desperate to aid as I try to slither out from beneath my tormenter, brushes the metal dish that once held my food. I nudge it up toward my hip then take a leap of faith and let go of the hands crushing my windpipe to reach for the meager weapon. 

With a dull thud the rim of the bowl smacks the side of the monster above me’s head, instantly drawing a thin trickle of blood. More importantly, it draws his attention. He lets go of my neck, allowing much needed air to rush in, and sits back, taking just enough pressure off my battered torso.

“You bitch! You cut me,” he says, words dripping with astonishment. It had been ages since I had fought back. Beneath my fear the power that is growing feels good.

He shifts his weight and I know the window of opportunity is closing. I might not get another. Most certainly I will not.

The chain attached to my left hand rattles as my arm lifts. From a dark, safe corner of my mind I watch as my hand swirls, wrapping the chain around his neck. He bucks and twists, futilely digging his fingers into the links, but the chain is embedded too deeply already.

“No…more…you…creep!” 

It is my mouth moving but it is Rachel’s deeper, stronger, voice that spews the words. It is Rachel who gives my tired arms the strength to hold on until his body lays still.

“What have you done?” I whisper quietly, shrinking back. “We’re going to die down here now! No one will find us.”

“He keeps the key in his pocket,” Amber says, beginning to unfold herself. Beginning to take up just a bit more space.

We find the key, just where Amber remembered he kept it, and slip it into the tiny hole on the handcuff circling our wrist. Rachel helps us stay steady as the key twists and the lock pops. The click sets my mind free and I twist our arm, eager to get away from the cold metal band that has held me for years.

Stumbling up the rickety stairs I can’t help but wonder which of us will be in charge now that we are free. I know we’ll manage it. I also know I will never again tell them to keep their voices down.