Sianna and the Soulweaver

Chapter 4 - The Past Prisoner

The tears that have been threatening to spill finally escape my closed lids and fall down my cheeks, my body shaking and my hope failing me once more.

I am never getting out of here.

•••••••••

Time drags by as I slip in and out of unconsciousness, the leak above acting as a form of water torture. It seeps into my dreams and haunts every passing second, flooding my ability (or current lack thereof) for rational thought.

I'm scared to get up. I'm scared to move at all. I'm absolutely terrified because someone out there is clearly waiting for me to wake up.

But why have they done this to me?

My throat is sore and my eyes are stark dry, each of my senses exhausted of their use. My ears are clogged and inflamed, something I recognize from a childhood of ear infections. Truthfully, when it comes right down to it, I feel like a giant sack of shit. I have got to formulate an actual plan, and fast, or I am going to die in this Godforsaken place.

I need to consider that perhaps the door is too obvious of an answer to my dire situation. I'll just take a look around, familiarize myself with my surroundings...quietly. I definitely do not want to alert my captors of my nosing around, especially if it means I'll have to face them and meet my fate. Every movement I make has to be planned out seconds in advance, my body inching itself little by little off the hay. I pause to breathe and move again, angling myself ever so slightly so that my feet hang off the side. Bracing myself once more, I use my right foot to hold most of my weight while I try to keep pressure off the broken toe.

Ah! Sheesh, that hurts.

My ribs ache in ways that I never really imagined were possible. They stab and poke my insides, giving me the impression that they're broken but of course I cannot be entirely sure. I begin wobbling as stealthily as I can around the hay bed, leaning forward and crouching down so that my hands and knees gingerly touch the floor. Crawling now, I move opposite the door and instead check the far rear area of the room. I crane my neck and wince at the pain it brings, inspecting for windows or hidden panels.

That would just be too easy, wouldn't it?

On a whim I check the bucket, seeing if there's anything useful inside: alas, nothing but stains and emptiness. I crawl along the ground and check behind the wooden chair, again finding nothing despite my determination. Closing my eyes, I attempt to mentally channel every horror movie that I've ever seen and the many thriller novels I used to read in high school when I actually had the patience. If there were past victims in this room, they may have left something behind; a shard of glass to use as a weapon, some hint as to where we are maybe, a spare cyanide pill just in case all else fails―morbid but potentially my only merciful option.

No such luck. Not yet, anyway.

I keep searching, even going as far to check the cracks in the stone on the floor. My knees give way at some point and I collapse, lying on my back as my rib cage screams in agony. I stare up at the ceiling and contemplate what to do, knowing full well that my time is becoming extremely limited. My damp and torn clothing do little to keep me warm and I shiver, wishing I was at a beach instead of prematurely dying all alone. It is in this moment of reverie that I notice the messy scrawl not far from the leak that's been plaguing me; messy scrawl scratched God knows how by God knows who right up on the freaking roof. Squinting, I force my tired eyes to read and comprehend the letters, melding them into words that make sense inside my mind.

FIND THE BIRD ⬤

The bird. I remember it now. The bird that was staring at me the night I was taken, so out of place in such a desolate memory. I had forgotten all about the little guy, a split second of saffron feathers right before the men knocked me out cold. What in the world can a bird do to help me, though? There is a scribbled-in circle next to the words as well, a dark brownish color that resembles dried blood. Is that where I'll find this bird? A surge of hope ignites inside but is crippled by the leagues of doubt drowning me, waves of fear that I'll never come out on the right side of this riddle.

Yes, you will. Just keep looking (or swimming, thank you Dory.)

I check between the creases in the moldy hay, sifting through any open spots with my fingers. Coming up empty-handed, I move on to the bucket to check for any clues I may have missed the first time around. Finding not a damn thing, I sigh and lean back on my shins, praying to prisoners' past to guide me on home.

Wait...I think I see something.

It is almost completely hidden, nearly impossible to spot unless actively searching. Across the room, the tiniest gleam of light visible through the glowing wall. Basically dragging my legs behind my torso, I pull myself forward and can barely contain my gasp; is that a hole through to outside? I reach out my fingers without thinking, aiming to see if I can widen the gap to call for help―

BAM!

•••••••••

"Sianna? Helloooo, Earth to Sianna Judith Byrne!" Annie snaps her fingers obnoxiously in my direction, her voice ringing loudly among the building walls as it is well before opening time for the public. The statues stand proud and the displays are as I left them when I last closed up, nothing appearing out of the ordinary.

"I was sleeping?" I ask her, quickly realizing that I am positioned awkwardly on one of the engraved museum benches. My head is laid sideways on the arm of the bench, my favorite blue cardigan bunched-up as a cushion and the words "In remembrance of Henrietta Leigh; may your light shine throughout these halls 'till the end of time" etched in behind me.

Annie rolls her eyes, sitting beside me and throwing her arm around my shoulders. "That's it, I have got to stop peer-pressuring you to drink copious amounts boxed wine with me; at least on weekdays, anyway. Can't quit red wine cold turkey, it would be bad for the soul."

I try very hard to concentrate on what she's saying but my confusion must be written all over my face, causing Annie's look of playful teasing to become one of concern. She opens her mouth to say something else but before she does, I cut her off and bluntly ask, "Annie, is this real? I mean, am I really here right now?"

She looks stunned, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. "If by 'here' you mean the quaint yet exceedingly educational Museum of Chicago Past, where visitors can learn not only the most unconventional facts about our beloved city but also the expansive history of how Chicago connects to places all around the world...then yes, you are really here. Aren't you proud of me for finally memorizing our slogan instead of just making something up that sounds good?" She tries to make the tone light, getting me to finally crack a smile.

"Annie, I love you. I had the worst nightmare, it went on for so long and it felt so real. I don't even remember us drinking together last night, honestly. In fact, I don't remember getting to work at all this morning either. Everything feels so fuzzy, but not typical hungover-fuzzy. It's like I'm here but I'm not." I hug her to me and she hugs me back fiercely, eventually pulling herself away gently to scan her eyes over my face. She looks me up and down, frowning at whatever it is she determines and repositioning herself to hold my hands tightly in hers.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so scatterbrained before, SiSi. Is everything okay with you?" Annie asks and I have to consider her question very seriously, especially since my answer has changed drastically within the past few minutes. 

Is everything okay with me? 

Moments ago I thought life as I knew it had ended, crawling on my knees to plan an escape route, but now...I hug her a second time, breathing in the fruity scent of her hair so that I never take it for granted again.

"Yes, I'm okay now, Annie. I'm wonderful." We hold each other, sitting on Henrietta's bench and remaining silent except for our quiet breathing. I fear ruining this warm and happy moment, our reunion more monumental than my friend will ever know.

But...James. I need to talk to James.

"Annie, have you spoken to James recently? Things between us have been weird, which is mostly my fault. I need to make it right." Annie releases herself from my arms, grinning at me like I just spoke to her in another language.

"James?" She asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Suddenly Annie's face has lost her usual kind expression, a darkness to her blue eyes that doesn't belong there making my stomach feel sick instantly. "You'll never see James again, Sianna. You belong to us now."

•••••••

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