Black Rose

Hold on.

I read The Black Cat first.

The story haunted me. It was a grotesque portrait of a man on a downward spiral into madness and violence. I barely made it to the end.

I didn't have the stomach to read another.

Instead, I forced the book closed. The ghost of a black cat stalked me, preying on my fear. Yet it wasn't the black cat I was afraid of. That wasn't the point of the story.

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates -- the darkest and most evil of thoughts.

The parallels between the narrator and my kidnapper were obvious, but even still that was not what scared me the most.

What scared me was how much I resonated with the narrator. The downward spiral, the intrusive thoughts becoming your only friend. I felt a strange connection with the murderer in the story.

That is what scared me the most. How close could I have been to doing something horrific? How close was I to cracking?

I'd already done insane things on impulse. I put my body through trauma of my own volition, all because of a cruel voice in my head telling me I must.

What was the difference between me and the narrator in the story?

The answer was that while his actions were fictitious, mine were real. Anything I said and did was real.

I cast the book aside and got up. I wanted to scream, and shout, to try to distract myself from the horror. But I couldn't, and I knew I couldn't, because that would be giving into insanity.

So instead, I walked out of the room and went to the bathroom. Somehow, the rational and simple act grounded me a little. I splashed my face with water and took a deep breath.

I was just trying to decide what to do with myself when I heard the sound of feet coming down the stairs. I frowned, wondering what Blake was doing back down here so soon before I heard a soft voice call out.

"Ophelia?"

It was Gwen. I couldn't help but feel relieved. "In here," I called.

A moment later, she pushed the door open and caught my gaze. I hadn't spoken to her since she had helped me what seemed like days before, and I couldn't help but feel thankful that she was down here.

"Ophelia, I brought you some lunch. Blake will be upset if he finds out, but as long as you don't tell him, I won't."

She gave me a small smile and I gave her one in return. It sounded weird to hear my own name.

"Come on. It's out in the kitchen." She said, then turned.

I slowly rose from the bed and followed her out. Sure enough, on the table in the kitchenette was a plate full of little sandwiches. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I stared. I hadn't eaten a sandwich in so long.

I sat down and Gwen smiled and sat down next to me. I frowned at her. "Won't Blake know you're down here?"

She shook her head. "He went into work. He won't be back until late. I doubt I'll see him tonight."

I frowned at her. "He said he was going to come back to have dinner with me."

She looked at me quizzically for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe he'll be home earlier then. Either way, we're safe for now."

Safe.

As if we could ever truly be safe living under this roof. I bit my lip. "What about your son?"

She stiffened. She spoke with apprehension, her voice tense. "He's asleep."

I looked over at her, wondering what she was thinking. After a moment, she let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Ophelia. I didn't want you to know about him. I told Blake that, but he didn't listen."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I waited a moment before asking. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I was embarrassed. Scared. Mostly I was just trying to be protective. I didn't want you to have to worry about him too. God knows I already worry enough."

I frowned at her. "If you are so worried, why haven't you left yet? Surely you don't want your son to have to live through this?"

She nodded. "Of course not. But it isn't that simple. We couldn't just leave. Where would we go? What would we do? Not to mention, how would we get out of here. We're hours away from anywhere we could get help. Jackson is too young. It would be impossible to get away. Even if we could, Blake would just find us again anyway. It is pointless, Ophelia."

She let out a sigh of frustration and pushed the plate of sandwiches toward me. I stayed silent and still for a few moments, then lifted one of the triangles and took a bite. After a painfully long moment, I swallowed and spoke. I couldn't help my voice from shaking.

"I can't live like this anymore. I need to get out of here, one way or another." I whispered. "It isn't just Blake. I feel like I'm going insane."

Her face creased with sadness at this, and she looked away. I looked away too, staring at my fingers. A heaviness has settled across my skin, and I could feel the emptiness evading my chest.

After a very long moment, Gwen let out a breath. "Hang in there, Ophelia. I'll try to come up with a plan. I'll try to get us out of here. But I need you to hold on and stay with me. Okay?"

I slowly nodded and looked up at her. She met my eyes and I could see the fiery determination in them. "Okay," I muttered.

She nodded back, then gestured back down to the sandwiches. "Now eat. You'll need to be strong if we're going to pull this off."

I did as told.