Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 6 - Torture

I'm sitting in a cave. With no light. Miles underground. In a world full of molepeople. As the prisoner of a prince. Who wants to marry me. Apparently.

I replayed these facts in my mind again and again, trying to make sense of them. Though I drew no conclusions, one sentiment rose above all else:

Curse you, Bobbert.

Staring at my phone, I found the consolation I needed in Matthew 5:

11. Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.

12. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.

I was being persecuted for serving the elderly. God would protect me. In his own time. First I just had to learn a valuable lesson. Or something like that.

With only one bar of battery life left, I put the phone away, just in case. But it was so depressing to return to the pitch blackness of my tiny cell. Already it felt as if I’d been there for an eternity.

I let several solid seconds pass before pulling out the phone again. Using the screen as a lantern, I repeated my surveying ritual, scanning every last crevasse for a loose rock, a rusty spoon, or a magical lamp. But I'd already examined every inch.

Was this real life or a fairy tale? Fairy tales ensured happy endings. But if this were real life …

I wasn’t worrying. I wasn’t afraid. Though I'd acted like a complete ninny in the presence of Duthbert, next time would be better. The worst he could do was kill me. Of course, there were various ways he could kill me. It could be quick and painless or slow and … painful. But I could take it. He probably wouldn’t do anything too sadistic … unless he would.

I refused to cry, no matter how the floods began to rise. Again I pulled out my phone, tapped it a few times, and opened a picture of Lenny and I at the Hogle Zoo. Looking at his caressing hand on my shoulder, I imagined it replaced by a furry hand with claws. A drop of water hit the screen.

No.

But the dam had given way. I cried for myself. I cried for Lenny and my poor parents. I cried for the fantasy world that was murdered by smoke stacks and greedy creatures who stole cable TV.

My body heaving, my breaths uncontrollable, I must have cried for an hour before my system ran dry. Then I checked the time. 11:04 PM. I’d been thrown in the cell around 9:00 PM.

“It’s only been two hours?”

I lay down on the cold stone, staring at nothing. Is there really a wide, open world up there?

My insanity began with “I wonder if …”

And digressed to “If only …”

And as darkness seeped into my heart, it ended with “I’ll never.”

When the battery icon began to flash, I turned off the phone for good, leaving only my inner clock to comfort me through the endless night. At least twenty-four hours had passed. There was no sleep, no sobriety, just a constant state of insanity. I was having fantasies of orange soda and macaroni and cheese when the tiny cave reverberated with clanking metal. A beam of light filled the room, and I sat up, covering my offended eyes.

Duthbert was staring back at me through a shutter at the bottom of the door. He must have been lying on the floor on the other side. “What do you want to eat?” he asked.