Don't Talk to Strangers

XXXIX

He began coming in every hour, checking on me, offering food, asking me questions, telling me stories. I started feeling disoriented and brainwashed. I didn't want to listen to the stories—I didn't want to believe them—but I had no choice but to hear them and... when you hear things over and over... you start to wonder, start to believe they could have truth to them.

I could feel myself deteriorating as the hours ticked away. The only indication I had that a day had passed was when he didn't come in for extended periods of time—most likely asleep.

I found myself curled in a corner one afternoon, counting down the minutes until he was supposed to come in. Counting to sixty, three thousand six hundred times until the embodiment of regret, fear, and guilt walks into the room had really taken a toll on me.

I had long since stopped crying. I felt hopeless. I just wanted him to come in and do something, say something different. I needed change. If anything, a rescue squad.

I laughed suddenly, but it was without happiness. "They're not coming to rescue you. What are you talking about? You're here. Accept it. Maybe Daddy will let you visit the rest of the house if you be good. Be a good girl." I felt a broken grin appear on my face and shuddered at my own state.

I screamed and buried my face in my knees, shaking with no tears coming.

I stared at the ground for a while. Then my gaze lifted and I noticed a steady stream of light coming in from one side. It must be just past noon... I thought. I wonder how I'd never noticed the opening before.

After I collected myself, I stood up unstably. I climbed onto the bed and stood up, walking, wobbling, to the slit in the wall. It looked like it had once been a window, but he'd filled it in most of the way. I scraped away the broken glass that was sticking from the sides. I stuck my hand out, feeling the cool grass on my fingers. I sighed and closed my eyes and leaned against the concrete, breathing in slowly and deeply.

I felt a new sense of being. I smiled and pulled my hand back, peering out to see the grass stretching out in front of me. It seemed never-ending, but at least it wasn't a dirty street alley. I reached my other arm out and rested it, then put the other one too. I must've looked ridiculous, but I felt good. I pressed my cheek against the wall and smiled.

Then I heard a gasp. I jerked my hands back and frantically looked around through the slit.

"Hello?" I heard a voice say. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat.

"Yes!" I hissed as loud as I dared, suddenly aware that it had been quite a few minutes since I last checked. "Yes, I'm here! Help, please!"

I heard shuffling and someone knelt down, pressing their head against the ground to look through the slit at me. It was a boy, probably in his late teens, with strawberry-blonde hair and freckled cheeks. He looked at me, baffled, with wide eyes.

"Who are you? What are you doing in there?"

"I'm Cassidy Meredith! Please, you have to help me. I've been kidnapped! You need to go find the police. Please!" I begged, tears threatening to spill once again. I nearly laughed with joy. I was getting out!

"Oh my God," the boy gasped. "I-I... Okay, hold on!"

He started getting up and I reached my hand out to grab his arm. I was crying now. "Thank you!" I breathed, squeezing his arm.

He patted my hand and jumped up, sprinting off. I quickly hopped down from the bed and held myself, smiling and crying, trying to be quiet. "Thank you," I whispered to no one. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Then I heard the door being unlocked.