The Great Below

The Escape: Part 4

It was impossible to see him objectively. A reflexive surge of adrenaline turned her vision to TV static and there would only be a few short seconds to decide which course of action, if any, could be taken to escape. It could just be a coincidence, and he a lookalike, but the part of her brain that had learned to anticipate failure longed to recognize his brown hair, pulled back into a low ponytail, and his eyes so dark they were almost black. He was approaching fast, close enough that she could see the shadow of stubble across the hollows of his cheeks. 

Victor had something square and black in his right hand – she thought it was a cell phone – and he sat next to her, shoving her close to the glass of the window and touching the device to her naval in one swift motion. Octavia had opened her mouth to scream when all of her muscles seized in a giant, excruciating cramp. She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe for a second. There was only the low crackle of electricity and a burn spreading over her abdomen like dozens of throbbing wasp stings.

Before she could recover, Victor had hooked his arms under her knees and back. Scooping her and the album into his arms and heading downstairs to the exit before the doors closed. Under his breath he said, "I bought you something new. What do you think?"

Octavia stifled a cry, gulping in air. There were only seconds left to ask for help. She scanned the train, where other passengers slid bags under their seats or talked on cell phones or read. She was afraid to cause a scene. A scene might not have helped her.

"The man who sold it to me," Victor continued, "warned that after too long, it causes permanent nerve damage."

She got one last glimpse of the little girl with pigtails, and her mother. Her stuffed unicorn was flying in controlled bursts from seat-top to seat-top, and the little girl crooned in her chipmunk voice, "We're going on an adventure!"

#

Once Octavia was seated in the passenger seat of Victor's truck, he chucked the album under her feet. There was a long, uncomfortable look at her sandals before he slammed the door and came around to his side to start the engine. They sat in silence as he pulled out of the commuter lot. He was going to drive her back the length of her victory lap, but much faster than she'd originally taken it, and she feared it would crush her for good.

"Where were you going?" He'd asked it like he was catching up with an old friend, though the red cast of taillights ahead made a demonic silhouette.

There were no right answers. This was not a hopeless or sarcastic thought; it was the result of months of study. After much trial and error, Octavia concluded that silence resulted in the same treatment as outright defiance. There was only one thing that brought additional or prolonged punishment, and that was honesty. She turned in the cab to study him, though she already felt what was coming before that. It was a small pull, like static cling. Sometimes she thought it was a sound, or a scent. It was something intangible, only Octavia knew it each time it happened, because after six long months with nothing else to do, she was an expert on Victor's behavior.

She lunged for the door handle and managed to pop it, but Victor's hand was already digging in his coat pocket. He struck her in the ribcage with the stun gun and her body leapt involuntarily. He pressed it to her armpit, then a spot above her hip, and she jolted and bucked against the seatbelt, door swinging away and back while drizzling rain splashed her exposed arms and legs. She still couldn't scream, though she wanted to.

Victor's anger was not yet spent and he seemed so bitterly dissatisfied. She couldn't even struggle against him. He threw the device out the open door past her, cursing. Octavia heard it crack against the street just before the door swung back enough to latch. The dome light went out, plunging them into more darkness.