Three Eleven Thirteen

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

It's been hours. I think I fell asleep, but I'm not sure. Everything is blurred to me; everything is like a dream.   

I stare at the wall, I barely think, because thinking hurts, and hurting is all that I am.

The very fact that none of this would be happening, that Ellie and I could still be at home right now if I hadn't left that night with Levi. If I had just said no to him, none of this would have happened. We'd be at home, we'd be safe. 

I want to go back home. I want to treat Ellie better, I want to go back to when I had him caged in the basement lab, and I want to wrap my arms around him and comfort him.

I want to see him again, so, so badly do I want to see him again.

The door unlocks, bringing me out of my daze, and it swings open. Marley comes in, and stares at me, but it isn't a cruel stare, he looks like he didn't just kill my best friend, the only person I cared about.

"It's time for dinner."

"Where's Ellie?" I don't care to be kind, because I have no kindness to give.

He frowns, "Gone, now come eat."

"What did you do with him?" 

"He's dead."

"Where is he?" I'm shouting now, and he grabs my arm, forcing me out of the room.

We have to go through the living room before we reach the dining room, and there are still black stains of blood where Ellie's body had been, and I choke back a sob at the sight.

When we reach the dining room, he forced me down to sit at the table, he points at the gun in the hem of his pants, "Don't try anything." A vicious threat, but it works nonetheless for the moment, as he walks into the kitchen, I'm left sitting alone at the table, staring at the seat that Ellie had sat in not long before.

I try to imagine what Ellie would do, he obviously was more observant than I, and surely, he'd know what I should do right now.

There is a lot of stuff in the room, I keep glancing back at the kitchen door, thinking he'd come out any moment, because he certainly would. If I'm going to do something, I need to do it now.

I see a large rusted mining nail sitting on a bookshelf behind the table. It looks like something you'd see on a railroad track. If I could somehow grab it, perhaps that is what I can use to unlock the bedroom door when he puts me back in.

I stare at the kitchen door again, and think it is now or never. I run to the bookshelf, grab the antique nail, and shove it into my back pocket before running back to my seat, hoping that when I sit down, it wouldn't be too obvious that a large metal nail was poking through the pocket of my jeans.

I try to calm my erratic breathing, hoping that my anxiety wouldn't get me killed.

Marley soon returns with two bowls full of a dark brown liquid. When he placed a bowl in front of me, the smell of it's contents was so strong I stifled a gag.

"I made you meat soup." He said, and absurdly, a proud look was contorted on his face, "It's what the mine-workers used to eat, full of protein."

He sits opposite of me and immediately begins to eat out of his own bowl. I suppose no matter how awful the soup smelled, if he was eating it, then it must not be poisoned.

I grab a spoon and dip it into the bowl. When I pull it out, I'm greeted with a piece of raw meat, and something thick and nearly black.

My stomach churns, and I force myself not to be sick.

"There's more if you want some." He says, eating like it is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. "Gotta make sure you keep your strength up."

"Why?" I ask, surprised by my own boldness. I know he's got plans for me, and I want to know what they are.

He doesn't answer, and instead continues to eat. So, I push further, "Where did you put Ellie?"

He suddenly slams his fist onto the table, and I jump in my seat, "Don't ever bring his fucking name up again, do you understand? I took care of him; he's been disposed of."

I clench my jaw. Did he simply throw him away? Like a piece of trash? I fight back tears that threaten to escape. I can't cry now; I can't let myself feel anything until I'm safe.

I realize he never mentioned Ellie's black blood. There's no way he didn't notice that Ellie was abnormal. Unless he is so lost in his delusion that he didn't find anything wrong with it.

I swallow hard.

After a long pause of agonizing silence, he speaks up, "How much do you weigh?"

I blink at him, "What?"

"How much do you weigh? One-twenty? Maybe One-Fifteen?"

I don't know what to say, I just ogle at him because I am so caught off guard.

"You'll have to gain a bit of weight but that's okay."

"I- I don't understand." He doesn't respond, and instead is studying not me, but my body, I feel his gaze on my chest and I want to disappear.

"We can cut your hair, dye it a beautiful vibrant blonde." He's talking more to himself than he is to me. I feel like I'm observing him have a conversation with someone that is not me. "You can put it in curls, and look like a vintage Hollywood star. So beautiful. You'd be so beautiful."

My hands are shaking now. I don't know what to say, I don't know how to get out of this situation.

Instead, I focus on the soup in front of me and force myself to take a bite. I immediately regret it, as I pray that my body wouldn't reject whatever is in the food, and just let me swallow it.

Eventually I do, and tears appear in my eyes solely on the fact that it was so vile.

He keeps talking to me, telling me the things he's going to do. "The bedroom is yours; I'll fix it up however you like it. I've got some vintage dresses up in the attic, they'll all be yours."

Breathe, Riley. Breathe.

"I'll get you your own vanity so you can comfortably do your makeup. Red lipstick, black mascara, how would you like that?"

I only nod, I don't know what else to do. The rusted nail feels heavy in my back pocket.

When he finishes his meal, he asks me if I want more, even though I've barely touched what was in my bowl. I shake my head, knowing if I tried to eat it again, I would throw it back up. He grabs my arm, and I wince as it's already bruised from when he threw me in the back room last time. He guides me back to the bedroom, not a word spoken between us.

This time, I do not look at the black stain ofblood on the living room floor.