Speak Truth!

“Speak now.”

I heard the voice: I could hear it quite clearly. But what to say? I was blindfolded, hands tied behind me, and feet tied to the legs of a chair. 

“I don’t know what to say,” I began.

“Speak only truth,” the voice said. 

Male voice, I was pretty certain. The expectation of rape or worse. Was there worse? Of course, there was. There was . . . nothing. Death. 

“I will tell the truth. But I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Not what I want! Truth. Say what think.”

English must not be native to whoever this was. I didn’t detect an accent. 

“I think, well, I think I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I was asleep in my bed, wasn’t I? Did you take me?”

“Say what think.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want me to think! You have to tell me. Why am I here?”

His foul breath was on my face. The force of his voice threw my head back against the chair. “SAY WHAT THINK!”

“Okay, okay. I’m scared. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know if you want to rape me, kill me, cut me up in little pieces, or watch me slowly die. It’s dark; it’s very dark. I can tell it’s very dark, even with the blindfold on. My shoulders are aching because my hands are tied behind my back. Whatever is holding my legs to this chair is too tight, and I’m rubbing my ankles raw; I can tell. Please, can you at least loosen the ties?”

A growl was the only response.

“Yes, yes. I’m thinking. What am I thinking? My mind is rolling around, and I don’t know what to say to make you let me go. That’s what I want to say. That’s what I’m thinking. But since I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t even know how to guess what it is you want.” I could feel the tears; my eyes were wet, and blinking behind the blindfold didn’t help with the burn. 

I must have paused too long. A growl and then “Speak,” in a low, commanding tone, leaving no room for respite. I’ve got to personalize myself; that’s it, right? Yeah, I think so.

“Perhaps you want me to tell you about my life. It’s not so great, you know. I don’t have much money, so it couldn’t be the money you’re after. My husband barely acknowledges that I’m alive, but that’s mostly okay with me. I don’t get lonely. I have two grown children who stop by occasionally. I piddle around in the kitchen; I work in a little garden; I go to church; I volunteer at the local elementary school, and I read to the little ones every week. I’m a nobody! Why would you want to take me? No, no. I know. No questions. Okay, there’s that. There’s no possible reason for you to take me. So why am I here? I must try to figure that out on my own, right? I’m not expecting you to answer.”

“I’m very thirsty,” and responding to another growl, “but I’m not asking for anything to drink. I suppose you’ll give me something at some point. Maybe not. Perhaps I’m meant to die of thirst. I can’t concentrate. The blindfold, my shoulders ache, and my ankles are bleeding, I’m sure of it. My husband. I wonder if he misses me. Maybe not yet. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone. Let’s see. I woke up here and couldn’t see anything. When I realized I was blindfolded, I tried to remove the blindfold and noticed that my hands were tied and I was sitting in a chair. So I have no idea how long I’ve been here. You could have drugged me. It might have been a very long time since you took me. Where did you take me from? Oh my. There are so many questions. If you could just give me something to go on, what you want me to talk about, please, please!”

Did I hear something? Another voice? It almost sounded like subdued laughter. I’m not going to say anything else until …

“Speak truth.” Same menacing voice. 

“I don’t know anything but the truth!” I yelled. “Okay, okay,” I said, noticing the growl’s commencement again. “If I’m to say what I think, I can say that I think there’s someone else in here – wherever here is – besides you and me. I suppose there could be lots of someones. I could be in a large circle surrounded by whoever or whatever. I could be sitting center stage at a large venue, like Taylor Swift at the Bridgestone Arena! No, not there. I think there would be an echo, and there’s no echo, is there? Haalloooooooo! Nope, no echo.”

Panic is setting in; I can feel it moving up my back. Instinctively I know that screaming will not bring good results. But I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve always prided myself on staying calm in a storm, but this is unlike any storm I’ve been in before. My worst nightmare – buried alive – at least it’s not that. 

“Speak!”

I ramble on, about nothing, about everything. I talk about my garden, my dead parents, and my dead grandparents. I talk about my school days and long-lost loves who probably live far away and enjoy their lives without me. I talk and talk until my throat hurts. I fear I’m going to nod off; I’m so sleepy. 

“Speak!”

“Yes, yes. I’m running out of things to say, to think. I’m scared. I’m very scared. I want to see my husband again, even though our passion died long ago. He’s still my husband! I want to see my children again! I want to have the chance to be a grandmother, don’t you see? You are a monster; you must be. Why do this to anyone? I’m a good person; I am! You must want something. But I have nothing to give. Take me! Rape me, kill me, do whatever it is you are going to do. Let’s get it over with.”

There it is again; I’m barely able to hear it, but I’m sure there is laughter. Maybe more than one person is laughing. But it is a different person. I haven’t noticed the smell before; now it’s becoming stronger, so it must have been there all along. Smoke? Cigarette smoke? Probably. It’s rancid. Not strong enough to make me cough, not yet. There is a damp feel to wherever I am. Cold dampness. Could it be a cave? No, I don’t think so. The sound of my voice doesn’t register as a cave. I think I may be glad I cannot see. I don’t want to see; at least right now I don’t want to see. 

The smell suddenly close to my face makes me hold my breath. “Speak truth.” The same male voice, menacing and forceful. When would I become so tired that I didn’t care what he did to me when I didn’t speak? I wasn’t ready to find out.

“Yes, okay. So you’re not ready to do whatever you will do to me, is that it? I will speak the truth. You’re right, of course,” although he had not answered any questions. “I am not all that good, am I? I don’t do the things that I should be doing. I could help out at the church more; they had that night last week when they filled up bags for the homeless and delivered them to those poor people living under the bridge. I was busy watching my show and didn’t want to miss the episode where Darlene gave her choice the rose. I should have taped it and watched it after I returned from church. And that woman on the corner! I know she is lonely; I drive by there almost every day and think I should stop, but I haven’t. She could use some company, I’m sure. Her husband has been dead for over two years now. Her kids live far away and never come home. I wish I had gone to see her. Now it’s too late, I suppose. Ouch!”

Cold water drenches my feet like a bucket of ice water was upended over them.  Shivers are going up my spine. ‘The devil’s come knocking,’ my granny would say. I thought the tears had dried up, but no, the burning in my eyes begins anew. 

“I don’t know why you did that. I seem to remember that if you throw water on rope, it gets tighter. Is that why you’ve done this? Oh, dear. I suppose I should say my prayers; I think I shall die soon. That is the plan, isn’t it? You’re just going to sit there and watch me slowly die. Of what? I don’t know. I wish I had a choice, at least. You know, either this or that. I do prefer to go out with the least amount of pain. I’m not quite sure what that would be. Oh, there is so much I should have done. I would pray, you know, if I thought anybody was listening. I wish there was. But I guess I’m too late. Oh, I went to church and all that religious stuff, but when the shit hits the fan, so to speak, like right now – I wonder if there is a God, or maybe He’s too busy with the good people to fool with me.”

The same voice, softer, his breath touching my lips. “Open.” 

I knew what he wanted and opened my mouth, expecting everything and nothing, all at the same time. Two, no three, pills dropped onto my tongue; then water was poured into my mouth. I drank and swallowed the pills easily, without regret. 

“Thank you. This is, of course, an excellent way to die. Just go to sleep. And sleep. And die.”

I awaken on my front porch swing. It is evening; I hear the television inside the house. I look down at my ankles, they are bandaged, and my wrists are red and blistered. I wipe my eyes and feel dried makeup flaking on my cheeks. 

Rushing inside, I run to my husband’s chair. He is watching the latest game in the March Madness cycle. The words tumble out; I have been kidnapped and tortured; my ankles and wrists hurt; I was drugged and woke up outside. As I stop to take a breath, my husband turns to me.

“Good god, woman! Shut up! Don’t you ever stop talking?”

I’m so glad I have a garden.