Don't Call Me Dead

15. Introduction

The baby is asleep. Propped on my elbow, I watch him with mild curiosity. All my feelings are mild and subdued after the shock of delivery, followed by a few days of barely any sleep. The moments of rest are rare, yet I can't use them properly. I'm too tired to even sleep.

When he's awake, I hate him. He has blue eyes, like the man's. He looks at me in the same blank, mindless way. Yet when the baby's asleep...he's kind of cute. Those chubby arms and legs. Those cheeks. I think he has my nose and my forehead.

"Precious, isn't he?"

I look up at the man standing by the bed. Haven't noticed him come in. He's been moving very quietly lately, not to disturb the baby. Now he's looking at the sleeping child in the same curious way I do. He reaches out and smooths the fair curls on the baby's head.

"Your hair," he says.

"Don't," I say. "Let him sleep."

"Sure. Sorry."

I glance at him. He doesn't seem to get the irony of saying sorry for something so trivial, yet having no regret about holding me a prisoner.

"What should we name him?" he whispers.

I've been putting that off for a few days now. Giving the baby a name feels like a big step, like admitting he's real. As if he's not quite real now, snuffling softly by my side.

"I don't know," I say. Come to think of that, if my captor has ever told me his name, I haven't remembered it yet. "What's your name?"

He looks up. "Marvin," he says, and then, surprisingly, offers his hand. "And yours?"

"Clair," I say without thinking.

So that's my name. Clair. The last piece of a puzzle to complete my fuzzy past. Now all that remains fuzzy is the future.

"Nice to meet you," he says.

In a daze, I accept his hand, and we share a handshake over our sleeping son. Arguably the most bizarre introduction ever.

He smiles. "Now, we're really a family. Will still need to work on communication and trust, but it's a start."

I snort. Having a baby together is definitely a start.

"Speaking of trust." He reaches to my feet, retrieving a knife. I tense, but he only cuts the rope tying my foot to the bed. The cool air feels nice on the chafed skin.

"See," he says. "I trust you will not run away."

The way his eyes skip over the sleeping baby makes his trail of thought clear. He's sure I won't leave now, not when that would mean abandoning the baby to his death. Nor will I take him with me and risk both of us drowning in the swamps.

Could I leave my body again and reach Jack? But I don't know how I did it in the first place. The only theory I had included me wanting desperately to be out of here with nothing holding me back. But now, there's this little creature, completely dependent on me. As for the desperate need to leave this place, I'm too tired and empty to feel anything. Maybe when the baby grows up a little, and I get some sleep, I'll figure it out.

My fingers run mindlessly over the baby's hair, and he smiles in his sleep.

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