The strange, unexpected, & supernatural

The Cage (Josephine)

The first thing that brings me back is a sharp sting on the side of my neck from the needle.  I wince and curl my body a little more than it is now.   I tighten my closed eyes and push them open to bright, white light.   I'm lying on my side and if it weren't for my zip hoodie and jeans, I would be making contact with the cold floor as my hands are.  I face the ceiling, or what I think is the ceiling. It's black and cut into a large square by silver edges.  That's where the light's coming from.   My eyes follow the borders past the bookshelves, down, down, down, to a small air mattress with a wool blanket and pillow.  There's a desk light on the floor in the corner that's turned off. It's a struggle to pick myself up but I succeed and regain rigidity when my steps falter. I survey a full 360 degrees.   Two shelves accommodate about 15 books each.  A metal bucket is in the back at the opposite corner of the desk light.  Before me, I see a worktable and make my way over to it.  I'm halfway there when I slam into an invisible wall.  I exclaim and hold my head. Glass.   I reconnoiter again -- I'm in a large glass cage.

"Let me out."   I kick and bang on a side.  "Somebody! Please!"

"It's okay," says a male voice from the direction of the table.  It's pitch black over there.

I cease my tantrum.  "Who are you?"

No response.

"Are you real?"

"Of course."  The voice is calm.

"Why can't I see you?"

"Are you sure you want to?"

"What kind of question is that?  Yes."

There's quiet, then it's replaced by methodic nuances of shoes on concrete and he emerges into the light emitting from the cage.  He stands by the table timidly, biting his lip.

"Please don't hurt me,"

He releases it and narrows his brows.  "I could never hurt you."

"How would I know?"

They narrow a bit deeper and he approaches the cage no longer bashful.  I take a small step back and his body's almost touching the glass, glaring down at me with brown eyes even though he's maybe a few inches taller.  "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

I swallow inconspicuously.  "Am I supposed to?"   I whisper genuinely.  He puts his hands in his jean pockets and scans my body.  I step back again.  "Is that a bad thing?"

"I guess not.   It's a benchmark to work our way up from."  He goes to the table and pulls out the chair, sitting with it between his legs, laying his arms on the top-back.

"Benchmark for what?"

"Getting to know each other."

This gets more perplexing by the second.  "W-why would we need to know each other?"

"Relax.  You're much safer down here than on the streets."

"Why am I here?"

"I can't tell you."

"How come?"

"You need to work it out yourself."

"Why?"

"Accept it or not, figuring it out is a lot easier than telling you."

"Why?"

"Because you'll handle it better."

"Handle what?"

"The truth."

To kill me afterward?

"Trust me, I know what's best for you."

I shoot him a look.  "How is that possible?  You don't know me."

He cockily raises an eyebrow.  "That can be changed."

I realize the trap, no pun intended.

"Tell me your name."

I shift my gaze to the side and scratch on the glass with my stubby finger.

"Come on.  How're we going to trust each other if we don't say our names?"

I look at him.  "You first."

"No, I insist."

I stare at the floor, "Josephine.  People tend to call me Joey," then back at him.

"Brendon."

I wait for him to finish.  "I'm only getting your first name?"

"I didn't say full names."

I "ugh" in aggravation, looking at the bookshelves again.  "Is the answer in one of these books?"

"They're to keep you occupied while I'm gone.   If you can't sleep, that's what the desk lamp is for."

"What if I need the bathroom?"

He points to the bucket behind me.

"Oh, come on -- "

"I won't watch.  I'll gladly go upstairs when you have to do your business."

"This is dehumanizing!"  He doesn't retaliate.  I try to hold a confident persona, but my hangdog appearance is a dead giveaway that I'm terrified of him.  "Look, i-if you want money, I don't have any, I swear.  But I can get you some, name your price."

"You don't have to do that, Joey.   Soon, you'll realize you'll never have to steal again."

I squint.   "What do you mean, 'again'?"

He holds his gaze for some time, then walks toward a staircase on the right of me.   "I'll see you in the morning."

"Brendon?"  I pound on the glass as he ascends the steps.   "What do you mean, 'again'?"  He doesn't stop. I bang louder.  "Brendon.  Brendon!"  The lights go out and a metal door slams shut.