Escape

When Layla stared into the mirror, all she could see were her mother’s eyes. The rim of her iris’s were an emerald green that gradually faded into shades that reminded her of blades of grass glinting with fresh morning dew, flecks of gold weaving throughout. She could not tear her eyes away from her sunken cheekbones and the grayed hue that hung in low rings beneath her bottom lashes. She bit her crusted, swollen bottom lip, her tongue like sandpaper as she licked it for the hundredth time.

God, what she would do for a bottle of water or even like a stray cat, she would slurp the leftover rain from a slightly molded bowl. Her hair was in complete disarray, the fuzzy black strands caked to her face and neck.

She’d been trapped here for what she believed to be a week. A room with a dim light tucked in the far corner above a cot, that creaked any time she moved. Those creaks being the only sound she could hear above the slow drip of a water leak from the ceiling and the skitter of mice as they searched desperately for any leftover crumb.

“Ha, good luck,” she had thought. If there were anything left she would have already inhaled it at this point.

The only other furniture that existed in the room was a worn, wooden school chair that she spent the majority of her time in and a thin metal desk that was screwed to the wall. Above, sat a medium-sized mirror. This was her new life. Wake up, pace, die internally of embarrassment as she squat over a bucket on the opposite side to relieve herself and then sit in front of this mirror. Pick at the skin around her nails, hum a tune. She was absolutely going mad, but that was the point right? Why else would someone keep a person here, with no food, no water, no window?

She heard movement outside of the heavy metal door, turning in the chair she held her breath as she seen shadows of boots from underneath. She heard a jingle. Shit, keys! She jumped up from the chair, sprinting to the musty cot. Her feet were caked with filth from the floor but she didn’t care as she pulled them onto the cot, pushing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, her big green orbs raised just enough to peer over top.

She whimpered when the large figure pushed the door open with an eerie creak as it swung wide enough to reveal the stairs to freedom that lay just before her. She’d noticed it the night before last.

“Are you ready to play?” the man’s gravelly voice boomed through the tiny room.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling as he walked into the light. He was gigantic, reminding her of Paul Bunyan if he was severely mentally damaged. She had just moved to the country-side of South Carolina just over a week ago, figuring she could simply go for a walk… big mistake. This man had drove his beat up hunting truck right next to her and snatched her in broad daylight. Thanks to living on old dirt roads there was no one to hear her scream for miles as he knocked her unconscious, bound her hands and stuck a large piece of duct tape over her mouth.

She had not known how far they had driven but when she had awoken from her unintentional slumber and her vision had finally adjusted, a house came into view that looked as if it should have been demolished years ago. Rotted wood covered the porch and the sides of the house, the roof caving in and the yard riddled with overgrown brush and weeds.

He had dragged her kicking and muffled screaming to this basement, threw her to the floor, telling her this was her new home. That he needed a new friend to play with. He had made her change into a cotton, dirt-covered dress insisting that, “it made her look like Gayle-Lynn,” who she assumed to be the ‘friend’ he spoke of.

He looked unwashed, smelled it too. He wore dark brown overalls over a white t-shirt covered in stains of lord only knows what and a few tears. His brown hair was greasy, his boots muddy. But, what always shocked her was his face. His features distorted, many teeth missing causing drool to dribble down his chin.

“I want to play Gayle-Lynn!” He wailed, huffing and crossing his arms across his broad chest.

She shook her head an inch, terrified of him getting any closer.

“Are you thirsty?” She shook her head yes.

“Are you hungry?” She shook her head yes, again.

“Dance and play with me!” He spit.

She tightened her arms around her legs, hiding her face. When would this be over? But, she'd had enough.

Maybe it was time to play…

She looked up, gaining the last ounce of determination she had left. If she died, then be damned at least she tried to do something.

“I-If I play with you, can I eat?”

This earned a smile that made her clench her core with disgust.

“A-and have water?”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay… Let’s play.”

This over-grown man jumped up and down for joy, squealing and dancing. Laughing in a way that caught his throat, making him cough. He sauntered over to her, the front of his shirt dampened from the remnants of his excitement.

He leaned down on his knees coming face to face with her. His breath made her want to dry heave.

“Do you know how to play tag?”

She nodded her head.

He jabbed her leg with his meaty finger.

“Tag! You’re it!” She had noticed before that he had never even closed the door, the big idiot.

She jumped up, as he backed away, swaying back and forth to keep her from tagging him. She faked left, then right. He was quick for someone so big.

Her eyes sifted over to the chair, one of the few things in the room that wasn’t screwed to a surface. She faked left, then right again, this time quicker than the oaf. She used the last of her strength to run to the chair, grabbing it in her frail hands and then swinging the leg directly into his nose, busting it wide open, leaving blood running around his hands as he cupped them around it.

“Argghh!”

She proceeded to kick him in his shins for good measure making him fall to the floor with a thud, using the remainder of the chair to knock him unconscious. The sickening crack of bone reverberated against the dull walls. He fell backwards, his body sprawled across the concrete covered in rat droppings.

She stared at him, eyes wide as she took in what she had just done.

She couldn’t manage to feel bad about it while she kicked his ribs for her own satisfaction. How dare he?

Tears pooled as she felt the first bout of relief in days but it was short-lived.

A hand wrapped around her ankle, pulling her forward.

“Gayle-Lynn!” he gasped.

She scrambled backwards in efforts to release his tight grasp, her heart fluttering wildly as she struggled. She grabbed the last piece of broken wood from the chair, stabbing it into his muscled bicep, making him gasp in pain.

“I’m. Not. Gayle. Lynn.”

She twisted the splintered wood deeper with every word.

She kicked his arm away from her, inducing another bit of pain. The man rolled around, gasping through the waves of pain caused by her successful attempt at injury. It made her smile inside.

She jumped to her feet, her ankle sore from his grip. She hobbled to the basement stairs, climbing her way up. When she reached the top she found two doors that opened up and outwards, revealing to her delight, that she was in a basement on the outside of the house.

Her days, nights and where she was had become distorted.

She inhaled deeply, appreciating the fresh, uncontaminated air. She heard him shuffling around downstairs, wailing once again, calling out for his friend that was suspiciously nowhere to be found.

That’s when she decided to run.

Run with a swollen ankle. Run without a clue of where to go.

Run to anywhere in this world but there.

As tears streamed down her cheeks she ran faster than she ever had before, a garbled laugh escaping her lips.

Layla never thought herself to be a killer. However, she knew without a doubt that if she heard that name ever again, she would kill the person who dared speak it with her own bare hands.