You'll Always Answer for Your Past

I stare at the figure above me, the reasoning behind my being here. The culprit of my abduction, the one who put me in these chains, the one who brought me to this basement. He stands there, unwavering. I look back at him, unable to see his face through the ski mask that adorns it. His eyes, however, are a different story. I can see his eyes. I can see the cold, calculated look he holds. I can see how his gaze burns brightly with hatred and anger, as if I had committed unspeakable acts against him, ones that could never be forgiven. I instinctively press my back further into the cold concrete wall. His state never flickers, never wavers, never breaks. It feels like his eyes are piercing my soul. I’ve learned now that begging does nothing. Pleading won’t help me. Every few hours, he comes back down, and just stares, glaring at me with pure hatred, for a few minutes, before he retreats back up the steps, leaving me alone in the cold darkness once again. That’s the pattern.

Right on schedule, just like clockwork, he turns back around again, withdrawing back through the door. The door clicks once, shutting, and then clicks again- the turn of the lock. I hear his footsteps start again, and then slowly fade away as he descends the stairs beyond the door. He’s been down three times today, which means I can expect one more visit before nightfall. Or, at least what I assume is nightfall. He comes back three times every day, always on the same schedule. After the third visit, he disappears for longer than the normal window. I’ve begun to assume that he’s asleep during that time period. Despite noticing this, I’m beginning to lose track of time. At first, it was easy to keep a hold of it. Now, it’s getting harder. I’ve been here for at least a week, I think it’s somewhere between three and four. I’m sure at some point I’ll forget how long it’s been entirely.

I hear footsteps again. For a brief moment, I think it’s above me. That feeling doesn’t last long. I know that sound by now, the sound of his feet coming down those stairs. But that’s not right. He shouldn’t be coming back so soon. It hasn’t been nearly long enough since he left, maybe half an hour at most. Maybe I’m finally losing it. I don’t think I am. I feel awake, I feel lucid. His steps seem to be moving faster. Instead of the swift, succinct sound of the key going in the lock and turning, I hear clattering, as if he’s struggling with the lock. That’s never happened before. Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong. My body surges with a fear that I haven’t felt since I first came down here. Everything until now has been predictable, he’s always followed the same pattern. There’s never been any reason to worry. He’s never even spoken to me before. This is different. And different is not good.

After what feels like an eternity, the door swings open with a force it never has before. Even from here, I can see he looks different. His mask isn’t on right. It’s slightly skewed, higher on the left side than it is on the right. And his eyes? If I thought he was looking at me with hatred before, I don't even know what to call this look. He stares at me with a wrath that I’ve never seen before, an emotion so strong I didn’t even think it was possible for a human to feel so intensely. He’s paused in the doorway, which is also new. His chest rises and falls, I can hear angered breaths coming from his nose. Usually, he comes right towards me when he comes down. This is different. Different, and horrifying.

“You.”

I stare at him, frozen. He’s never spoken before. Not once. In all my time down here, I’ve not once heard his voice.

“You. You did this.” He still hasn’t moved from the doorway, staring at me. His words are angry, angrier than I’ve ever heard before- but also quiet. He’s not shouting. He’s speaking soft yet harsh. It feels like he should be screaming. But he’s not.

I’m not sure if I should answer. Even if I should, I’m too shocked to do so.

“It’s your fault.” He takes a single step towards me. “You did this.” Another step. “Everything, all of it, is because of you.” Another step. “And you never apologized.” Another step. “Not to me, not to anyone.” Every step feels like it’s booming, echoing through the barely empty basement. “You probably don't even feel guilt. Do you?” He sneers the question at me, picking up his pace. He stops right in front of my face, glaring at me.

My voice shakes, just like the rest of me, as I speak up. “What did I do?” I whisper meekly.

He laughs in return. “What did you do?” He asks incredulously. “What did you do?!” His laughter rings through the room, the unsettling sound filling the space. Abruptly, he stops laughing. He lets out a shaky breath, staring at me. “You know what you did.” His voice is deadpan. “You know exactly,” he pauses, “what you did.”

“I don’t!” I plead. I try to think of my wrong doings, any mistakes I’ve made- anything that might explain why I’m in this situation- but I’m too panicked to focus. “I don’t even know who you are!”

“You’re gonna tell me that you can’t think of anything, anything at all, that you could have done to warrant this? Because believe me, you deserve it. You have no idea what I’ve gone through because of you.” He spits. “I’m gonna stand here until you figure it out.”

I sit there. I stare back at him for a moment, before averting my gaze. I continue to search through my own memories, my own thoughts, for what I could’ve done. Pieces of my life play through my head, everything I’ve done wrong- from missing curfew to shoplifting as a rebellious teen, I think through everything. Slowly, fuzzy, drunk memories start to fade in. I’m unsure of what I’m remembering at first- but when the thoughts become clearer, I feel my heart sink from my chest. I swallow hard before forcing myself to look back up at him. “Are you…?” I can’t bring myself to finish my question.

“I knew you’d remember.” He pulls his mask off, revealing him to be the exact person I thought he was. My body shakes as he continues to speak. “I knew you’d remember me. I knew you’d remember the father of the-”

“Stop, stop please!” I beg. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. What do you want from me? Please just let me go! I’ll-I’ll turn myself in! Is it justice you want? I’ll give you justice. Just please don’t kill me.”

“Justice? I don’t want justice. If you’re convicted, you’ll probably be out in ten years. You killed my son. You hit him with your fucking car, he won’t be back in ten years! He’s never coming back. No, I don’t want fucking justice. I want revenge.”

I choke back a sob. “He- He’s dead? I didn’t know he died! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I swear! It was an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident to get behind that wheel. We all know you were drunk. You know, the police knew who you were. They asked me to identify you from a lineup. I recognized you immediately, but I said I didn’t. I found you online, and took matters into my own hands. You’ve been down here for as long as he was in the hospital- three weeks. Three weeks and four days. He died on the fourth day. This is your fourth day.”

I can’t hold back my sobs anymore. I see him reach into his back pocket. I know what’s about to happen- I see the gleam of the blade. He storms towards me, taking the back of my head into his hands. The last thing that crosses my mind as the blade slices across my throat, is that this is all my fault.