The Half-Truth (Drowning Book 2) Page 6

  I drink the last of the milk and wash up the dishes and pans. Outside the sun is sinking lower on the horizon. Wherever they are, they should have come back by now. I haven't checked outside but the truth is that I don't really want to. The pain of the snake bite is still fresh in my mind. I don't want to wander through the brush and I don't want to go out there knowing it will be dark soon. So I sit at the table and wait but Norma and Samuel never come.

  There are candles and matches in one of the drawers. I light one as the last rays of sun disappear. Soon it will be dark. Pitch dark. There are things in this place I'd rather not see. Rats and spiders and sheets that move on their own. Silver bands of light that want to hurt me. With Samuel and Norma here, it wasn't so bad. Now I'd rather be anywhere else. I should have left earlier. Gone to the car or walked back to the road. I could have hitched a ride home. Now I'm stuck here so I won't sleep. That's it. I'll stay awake all night in this kitchen with my candle and a sharp knife. Then I'll leave at first light. Norma and Samuel can go fuck themselves. I can't believe they've done this to me. They didn't even leave a note. It's not fair.

  The candle flickers a few times. I light a second one just in case the first one goes out. Then I light another three candles just to be on the safe side. I place them around the kitchen in different corners so that if a breeze gets one, it won't get them all. They give the room a golden glow. I lay my head on the table and watch the light dance across the crumbling walls.

  In the darkness, the world outside the monastery comes alive and not in a good way. Of course there are the cicadas and tree frogs, the normal buzzing sounds of the night but there are others as well. Rustling in the bushes outside the door that won't completely close. The howl of a lost dog or coyote off in the distance. I keep listening for footsteps. Ready to stab whoever comes near me with the kitchen knife. Unless of course it's Samuel or Norma but by now I'm so pissed at them that I may very well stab them just for the hell of it. I'm so mad at them. But I'm also scared. What if something happened to them? Something bad? Maybe someone came here and hurt them and they didn't know I was here, up in my room drugged and quiet. A thousand horrible scenarios run through my mind and in the darkness they all seem horribly plausible and awfully real.

  Something smacks against the window. I jump to my feet but it's just a bat, drawn to the flickering lights of my candles. But bats are probably the least of my worries. I wrap my arms around my body. Tell myself it’s going to be okay. I only have to make it through the night. I've been stranded before in places a lot worse than this. In a place that was on fire. Then I hate myself for thinking it because now Julia will remember too and I wouldn't put it past her to send out an evil vibe and burn this place to the ground just to prove me wrong.

  "You'd better not do anything you'll regret," I tell my stomach.

  That's when I hear the scream.

  24.

  I grab a candle and run. Run towards danger because I'm not thinking about myself. I'm thinking about Norma and I'm scared out of my mind. The scream echoes through the dark, empty halls. One long, shrill call of terror. Then it stops and I stop too. The way it echoed around the empty cavernous rooms, I can't tell where it was coming from.

  "Come on Norma," I whisper. "Tell me where you are."

  The only thing I hear is the beating of my own heart. Then it comes again, not as strong, as if all the fight has seeped out of her.

  "I'm coming Norma," I shout. "Hold on."

  I run past the empty room with the mirror, past other rooms just like it with half made beds and decaying belongings. The scream stops again but it’s okay. I know I'm headed in the right direction. I kick open doors that are closed, sending animals with blinking, reflective eyes scurrying into the corners. But I don't care about rats or coyotes. I only care about my friend. Only I've opened every door, checked in every room and I still haven't found her.

  "Norma?" I shout. "Norma."

  Nothing. This time she doesn't answer.

  I'm at the end of the hallway. There are no more doors. The wall at the end is covered by a large tapestry. The thread is worn and faded but I can just make out a man being strung up by his ankles in the candlelight. Blood runs down his body and pools on the ground. Around him the crowd laughs and cheers but that's not what I care about. Instead it's the handle I see poking out from the side. I pull the tapestry back and find a door.

  I’m reaching for the handle. I have to go through the door. I must do this. The knife is in my other hand, the candle the only light I have. If whatever made Norma scream is behind the door then I'm not sure I'll stand much of a chance but I have to try.

  I turn the handle and step into the darkness.

  25.

  The room is black. The kind of dark that eats your soul alive and then spits it out. I just stand there in the doorway, the light of my candle creating a small circle of dimness around me. Then it goes out. I hold my breath, waiting for something to happen. A horrible fate far worse than the painful snake bite I nearly died from. Then I feel it, that stir in my belly. The one that means Julia is excited about something. That's when a hand closes around my wrist and pulls me inside.

  The door slams shut behind me and I'm screaming but nothing is coming out. My voice has disappeared. I struggle like a wild cat, fight tooth and nail to get free. I stab my knife out into the darkness and the hand lets go. I fumble with the knife and drop it. Not knowing what else to do I fall to the floor and try to make myself as small as possible. Then I listen.

  There is breathing inside the room that isn't mine. Fast and hard. My only hope is that I fatally stabbed whoever grabbed me and that they'll bleed out quickly. I try and feel my way back to the door but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out the outline of three doors and now I'm not sure which one I came through. I only have one chance to get out and opening a door will immediately give away my location in the room. I crawl on all fours to the wall with the doors, looking for a clue. A familiar handle, a wisp of tapestry, something. Anything.

  But a hand grabs the back of my hair and pulls me to my feet. This time I find my voice. I scream as loud as I can.

  "Shut up."

  It's a man and it's not Samuel. He has me by the hair and he's pulling me backwards. I try and think of every self-defense move I've ever heard of. They fly through my mind like a movie trailer. Stab him in the eye with my thumb. Kick him in the crotch. Scream as loud as I can for someone to help me. Only that one won't work. There is no one around to hear. I try my best to kick and scratch him but all that gets me is a swift blow to the back of the head. The pain shoots down my neck and I stifle a sob. This is what it's come to.

  He shoves me into a wooden chair, binds my hands behind my back before I can even pull my arms away and then does the same to my feet, tying them to the wooden legs. I'm a prisoner and I won't be getting away any time soon.

  "Why are you doing this?" I cry.

  He doesn't answer.

  "Please. Talk to me. I'll give you whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."

  He turns away but I beg him to look at me. Even in the darkness I want to see his face. Want to know who he is and what I've done to deserve this.

  "Please don't hurt me," I say softly. "I'm pregnant."

  "I know," he says.

  "Then why are you doing this?"

  He stands with his back to me in the dark. I want to know who he is and what I've ever done to him. Why he's going to punish me and more than likely kill me. I know there probably is no reason. Just a crazy man who wandered into the woods looking for shelter and found a young girl all alone in an abandoned place. No one knows where I am. No one is coming to help. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life but staying here is going to be the thing that gets me killed. I know that now.

  "I don't want to hurt you," he finally says.

  "Then let me go," I plead through my tears. "I won't tell anyone you're here. I won't even tell anyone what happened. I promise. I won't look at you. I won't tel
l a soul. I swear. You have to believe me."

  He's silent for a moment, his head bowed. "I can't," he says.

  "Why not?"

  "Because I can’t trust you."

  Then he walks out of the room, through the middle door.

  I'm left in the darkness with only my madness for company. I know what will happen next. I've seen too many horror movies and read too many books. Hell all you have to do is watch the news to know what happens in situations like this. He'll torture me or rape me. Probably both. Then when he's done he'll kill me. Bury my body out here in the swampy woods where no one will find it. When Norma and Samuel come back they'll find that I've vanished without a trace. When they finally report that I'm missing, the police will look at my mental health records. They will see that I've been institutionalized more than once. They'll see what happened at Victoria College and think I've snapped. Killed myself or run away. They might look for me but not very hard. I'll just be a fading memory. Some girl they once knew who wasn't playing with a full deck. Unless they've been hurt too. Perhaps they never left at all? Maybe they're dead.

  My stomach churns horribly. I lean to the side and vomit, retching until everything I ate earlier has come back up. Shaking, I try to wipe my mouth on my shirt. I won't let him rape and kill me. I won't give up. I fight against the restraints, pulling and straining against the chair. But the rope bites into my wrists and ankles and doesn't give. Even the chair is solid. No loose legs to kick out or splintered wood to break. All my fight gets me is rope burn and the knowledge that until he comes back for me, I'm tied to this chair in the dark. Trapped.

  26.

  I sit here for hours. Forever. At least that's what it feels like. There is nothing in the dark room except me and my terror. It eats at my soul like a cancer. I sit there knowing my fate. Facing my fate and eventually, it doesn't scare me anymore. I realize that my fear gives him power, feeds into the horrible fate as much as his actions. I find myself detaching from the situation, a trick I learned in the psych ward.

  There was this girl, her name was Willow. She was there for cutting and a host of other things. She used to steal the plastic utensils from the cafeteria and fashion them into sharp little tools. Then she'd cut words into her skin. Hostile, ran down her arm. Fragile, slipped across her wrist. Sometimes they weren't even words. There was a dagger etched on her thigh. I caught her once in the bathroom. A pool of blood on the floor and her most recent handiwork finished. Liar, on her breast.

  "Willow," I said. "You did it again."

  She looked up at me, eyes glazed over. “Did what?" she asked.

  She looked down at the plastic knife in her hand and the blood. She didn't seem to know what she had done. I grabbed a towel and pressed it against her to stop the bleeding.

  "Doesn't it hurt?" I asked.

  "No," she said dreamily. "It feels better."

  She laid her head back against the tile and smiled. I knew then that she wasn't really there, inside her body. She was somewhere else. Some place where it didn't hurt anymore.

  Later, I went to that place myself. When the orderly sexually assaulted me, I couldn't get away. I tried to fight him off but he was bigger and stronger by at least a hundred pounds. He held a switchblade against my neck and I believed with all my heart that he would slit my throat if I didn't do as he said. After all it wouldn't be that hard to believe. Kids still managed to off themselves even in the psych ward. I'd just be another unfortunate, one of those they couldn’t save.

  So I let him do those things to me and I went to another place. One where I wasn't even inside my body at all. I was floating above it, looking down at a girl who should have been crying and screaming but she wasn't because she wasn't really there at all.

  The only trouble is that when you've done it once, it's easier to do it again. Sometimes you don't even realize it's happening. But here and now in this dark room, I realize that I don't have to be here at all. I can sit still and do as he says and yes, even let him kill me if that's what he wants. But it won't really be me. I'll be up here looking down at the crazy girl and the homicidal man. Knowing that he can never hurt the real me.

  27.

  He comes back and he’s carrying something but I don't care what it is. The tears have dried up. The fear is locked away deep inside me. I won't let it out again. I wait for him to do whatever he wants.

  "Are you alright?" he asks.

  "Why do you care?" I snap.

  He sets a tray beside me on the floor. Then picks up a cup and holds it to my lips.

  "Drink this," he says.

  "What is it, poison?"

  "Water."

  I take a sip but only because my throat feels like I swallowed a thousand razor blades after throwing up. Swilling the water around my mouth I try and taste for anything that shouldn't be in it but I can't tell. Eventually I swallow. A few more sips and then he puts the cup down.

  "Eat."

  He holds up bread to my mouth but I don't open. This I can refuse. I'm not sure how long I can go without food but I'm willing to hold out for as long as I can.

  "Eat," he says again, this time harsher.

  I clench my lips tight. There is no way I'm opening my mouth for him unless it's to bite his fingers off. I stare at the top of his head in the dark. Notice blond hairs in the dim light. I lock that piece of information inside the vault. If I ever make it out of here, I want to make sure the son of a bitch pays for what he's doing to me. He stands and walks away. I still can't make out his face in the dark.

  "You have to eat," he says.

  "You have to let me go," I counter.

  "If I untie you, what would you do?"

  I'd kick you in the balls and bash you over the head with this tray. Then I'd run away. But I don't tell him this.

  "I know you'd run," he says. "But you wouldn't make it."

  "Why not? You think I'm no match for you then fine. Untie me if I'm not a threat."

  "I don't want you to get hurt."

  "Then don't try to hurt me."

  "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

  He leans against the wall in the dark, arms crossed and head bowed. I will him to step into the one ray of light that slips through the heavy drapes but he doesn't.

  "You were sick," he says, looking at the vomit.

  "What do you expect, asshole?"

  I struggle again against the restraints. The chair creaks and groans but doesn't budge. The rope burns and this time I feel blood trickle down my wrists.

  "Stop it," he says.

  But I don't stop. I fight harder, the pain getting worse as I try to show him that while I may not be inside my body, that doesn't mean I won't go down without a fight.

  "Stop it," he shouts.

  Finally the chair tips. For one moment I'm suspended in midair, then I'm crashing into the ground. The chair doesn't break. I hit the floor with my shoulder, my left arm pinned under the chair. Pain rips down my arm but I don't even care. I'm still struggling to get free from the ropes.

  "Hold still."

  He's beside me now, trying to lift up the chair and set it back on its feet but with me still attached, he can't. His face is near mine now. I make out chiseled features in the dark. The sharp line of his jaw. A hollow cheekbone. His scent hangs in the air. Cologne and sweat and a smell that is all at once so familiar and so lost to me that I immediately stop struggling.

  "Don't do anything stupid," he says, untying the ropes.

  I'm quiet as a mouse as he fumbles with the knots but as soon as I'm free, I lurch for the tray and swing it at his head.

  "I said don't do anything stupid," he says as I miss.

  The tray is useless. I can't get near him now. He's bobbing about on his feet like a drunk boxer and I'm wasting time. Instead I bolt for the middle door. He's behind me, reaching for my shirt. His fingers clasp the edge, grab it but I don't care. I wrench the door open and run down the hallway as fast as I can, the fabric tearing so that all he's left holding is a piece of m
e.

  I don't know where I'm going, I just know I have to get away. If I stay in the monastery he'll find me. I can't hide forever and it will only be a matter of time. So I run through the empty dining room, past the kitchen and out into the garden. The first milky rays of dawn are leaking over the horizon. I don't stop to see which direction I should go in, just run like my life depends on it. And it does.

  He's back there, crashing through the rooms. I know he's faster than I am. Stronger. But I'm small and light. I can fly over the long grass and hide in the bushes. Creep across the swamp while he can only splash. I have to get to Norma's car. It's my only way out.

  Twigs and branches catch my arms, snapping back as I pass through. It seems like a million years ago that Norma and I pulled off the road and made our way out to the monastery. I don't even know what I was looking for anymore. I thought there was a man here who could help me, someone who could expel the demon from deep inside and rid me of Julia once and for all. I thought that was why the memories were coming back. I should have known it would never be that easy. I led us into danger and now I'll be lucky to escape at all.

  I pause, stitch in my side and breath coming ragged and fast. Listen for him in the early light. I don't hear anything. He must be waiting like I am, watching for a rustle in the weeds or the snap of a twig. Looking back at the tumbledown building I see how lucky we were that the whole place didn't fall down on top of us. There are giant, gaping holes in the roof and cracks in the stone walls. The place is a death trap and I already know from experience that so are the gardens. But I don’t have time to worry about that now because as a stubby palm sways in the distance, I know he's gaining ground.

  28.

  "Ana," he calls out. "Wait. Come back. Don't do this."

  His words float over the early morning mist. But how does he know my name? And why does his voice stir up a hornets nest in the pit of my stomach? I crouch in the dirt and hold my breath. It can't be true. Can it? But I did think I saw him. Believed in my heart that he was truly alive. So why am I still hiding?