The Box

The Box - Part 4

Olivia climbed down from the trough silently, taking the time to gather anything she may need. As the chilly air settled on her legs, she tossed aside champagne bottles and strawberries, candles and socks in a search for something, anything. She found a battery-powered lantern and turned it on, the soft glow illuminating the space and making it look like an indoor cemetery. She grabbed her open water bottle and drained it as she glanced around. She was leaving, escaping once more. Maybe it wouldn't be the last time, but she knew that with each challenge she became more the person she was meant to be.

She sat on her haunches as she thought about Eric again. If she left him here, would he live? Would his men come to get him at a pre-arranged time? Or did they have a signal, a safe word for the radio? Did she care that he might die if she left him here? Or would she be sinking as low as he had? She didn't know if she could live with the uncertainty, the not knowing if he was about to show up in her life again. Did she want to live her life looking over her shoulder? The answer was a resounding no, but could she take his life? She had already tried, and failed, but that moment felt like so long ago, when she was consumed with rage. He had pointed a gun at her and she had defended herself. Now he was unable to fight back, so could she? Could she kill him?

Olivia squatted for so long in the midst of her mental toing and froing that pins and needles invaded her feet. Despite wanting to since she emerged from the coffin, she couldn't find it in herself to kill Eric. Not unless he tried to kill her first. She should get to shore and call the police. That was the only option that her conscience felt at ease with.

She stood up, shaking her legs to get the blood flowing again. Eric had remained silent for the past few minutes and she wondered if he'd finally succumbed to the head injury, despite a lack of evidence that it had even happened. She paced over to the trough and knocked on its side, aware of the ridiculousness of the situation as she waited for a reply. As the seconds ticked by, she started to think that he was indeed dead.

Olivia paced around the area, glancing up at the skylight that represented her freedom. On top of the trough, her elbows reached the roof; she wasn't at all sure that she was capable of making the leap, climb, or whatever she needed to do to get her whole body through the small hole and out onto the roof. But she had to try.

Several moments passed and Olivia had made no moves to leave. Why was she still standing here, in this prison? Her ex husband had tried to kill her and had succeeded in doing the same to her boyfriend. Why the guilt? Contradictory feelings were churning around her body, her stomach fighting knots as her heartbeat increased and her circular pace quickened. She hadn't survived all she had only to take another person's life. Her role had always been to save and protect. But if she fled now, would Eric have a chance to escape? To evade the police?

Oh, for God's sake.

Olivia pushed against the bottom of the trough until it began to rock side to side, gaining momentum as she kept her eyes on the opening by the floor. She waited for an arm to appear, for a hand to grab her ankle. Nothing. No noise, no movement. She had to check if Eric was alive or not, to know if she would continue to live in fear or if it was all over.

She gave a final push and the trough swung away from her, crashing onto its side to reveal what lay beneath. Eric was covered in dirt and sweat, the Italian shoes he always wore come rain or shine, now smeared with soil and scuff marks. Her coffin lay by his side, a metaphor for her re-birth. His eyes were closed, a sign that he may not actually be dead. Olivia had seen her fair share of bodies and knew that most people died with their eyes open. She liked to think of it as a chance for their souls to escape skyward because the vision was more often than not very disturbing for the onlooker.

Is he faking it? She stood motionless for several moments, her eyes never leaving Eric's body as she searched for a micro expression, a flinch or his chest rising with an intake of air. She poked his side gently with her toes. Still nothing. Unwilling to get close enough to check for a pulse, she took a step back and shouted his name, looking for a reaction to the loud noise. Nothing.