feeling of foreboding increased as the house grew eerily silent. Outside, there was a variety of sounds that I couldn’t really identify, including Polo laughing and doors slamming, but even after a few minutes, they, too, faded away. I didn’t know if I was terrified or if I wanted to cry. Eventually it was both. I threw my hands against the radiator again, somehow forgetting how they impacted the nerves in my hands, flinching at the pain.
The water swelled in my eyes but I gulped it back as best as I could. I had to think rationally again. Right now my fear was not logical. It was merely a symptom of claustrophobia, stress, and fatigue. In my head I recited the alphabet backwards. And then I drew the periodic table of elements in my mind’s eye just as I had memorized. It did help a little bit. But I confess it might have been more beneficial if most of my attention hadn’t been spent listening for Charlie.
I don’t know how long I had been there alone. It might have been hours—it could have only been a few minutes. But when I saw the shadow of a person cross to the kitchenette entrance, I knew I was in the serious trouble I had been afraid of all along. Before I had time to react, Wallace was there. I had been listening so keenly; why hadn’t I heard him coming?
Instinctively, I opened my mouth to scream, but his large hands were around my throat, prohibiting any sound and air flow. I gasped and clawed at the air, the space between us. Given our differences in size and strength, it wouldn’t have mattered even if I hadn’t been bound to the radiator. I understand now that it was only seconds, but during that time, when the lack of air was so painful the tears fell from my eyes, I saw my lifetime—I saw Mom, Dad, Robbie, and oddly enough, Charlie.
Once the darkness closed in, all I could smell was clove cigarettes and the feel of callused fingers over my own.
Chapter 4
W ith The Nothingness came an overwhelming feeling of obligation. I felt as though I had forgotten something terrifically important but couldn’t remember what it was. And although I couldn’t see or speak, there was a voice asking me for some impossible movement. Other voices yelled, calling each other names. What exactly they were, I couldn’t say. I wanted to settle back into The Nothingness; the dark murkiness.
Without warning, The Nothingness faded and pain settled in its place. Every attempt to breathe was hot lava in my chest with fire bubbling in my throat. Dreadful sounds rang in my ears and made the pulse in my head vibrate. Where was that awful noise coming from? My mouth was full of soot. I turned to the side, but my limbs cried out in dull ache and begged for relief. I opened my eyes and saw shadows dancing behind a dim light. I shut them again and tried to get back to the dark.
Dad had burned the coffee.
He hadn’t done that for quite a while, but clearly he’d outdone himself this time. The smell was really disgusting. It was so powerful it had actually managed to float all the way from downstairs to my bedroom and make me gag. He might want to commit me when I told him about my kidnapping dream and how vivid it had been. I circulated my ankles until they made a pleasant popping noise. All around me the air was filled with unpleasant sounds of banging, hammering, and yelling. My lungs and limbs hurt but I didn’t know why.
Because it hadn’t been a dream.
I sat up in a dead rush, instantly regretting it as I felt all of my blood flood to my brain in a single instant and I had to put my hands up to keep from my head from caving in. Glancing around, I knew immediately I wasn’t in a hospital like I’d thought (or hoped, rather). Instead I was on a small bed in a room that could be compared to a jail cell. On the floor next to me lay large stacks of books and papers. Next to those stood a lonesome desk lamp without a table to stand on. I immediately noticed there were no windows. Before I could panic, a figure
The water swelled in my eyes but I gulped it back as best as I could. I had to think rationally again. Right now my fear was not logical. It was merely a symptom of claustrophobia, stress, and fatigue. In my head I recited the alphabet backwards. And then I drew the periodic table of elements in my mind’s eye just as I had memorized. It did help a little bit. But I confess it might have been more beneficial if most of my attention hadn’t been spent listening for Charlie.
I don’t know how long I had been there alone. It might have been hours—it could have only been a few minutes. But when I saw the shadow of a person cross to the kitchenette entrance, I knew I was in the serious trouble I had been afraid of all along. Before I had time to react, Wallace was there. I had been listening so keenly; why hadn’t I heard him coming?
Instinctively, I opened my mouth to scream, but his large hands were around my throat, prohibiting any sound and air flow. I gasped and clawed at the air, the space between us. Given our differences in size and strength, it wouldn’t have mattered even if I hadn’t been bound to the radiator. I understand now that it was only seconds, but during that time, when the lack of air was so painful the tears fell from my eyes, I saw my lifetime—I saw Mom, Dad, Robbie, and oddly enough, Charlie.
Once the darkness closed in, all I could smell was clove cigarettes and the feel of callused fingers over my own.
Chapter 4
W ith The Nothingness came an overwhelming feeling of obligation. I felt as though I had forgotten something terrifically important but couldn’t remember what it was. And although I couldn’t see or speak, there was a voice asking me for some impossible movement. Other voices yelled, calling each other names. What exactly they were, I couldn’t say. I wanted to settle back into The Nothingness; the dark murkiness.
Without warning, The Nothingness faded and pain settled in its place. Every attempt to breathe was hot lava in my chest with fire bubbling in my throat. Dreadful sounds rang in my ears and made the pulse in my head vibrate. Where was that awful noise coming from? My mouth was full of soot. I turned to the side, but my limbs cried out in dull ache and begged for relief. I opened my eyes and saw shadows dancing behind a dim light. I shut them again and tried to get back to the dark.
Dad had burned the coffee.
He hadn’t done that for quite a while, but clearly he’d outdone himself this time. The smell was really disgusting. It was so powerful it had actually managed to float all the way from downstairs to my bedroom and make me gag. He might want to commit me when I told him about my kidnapping dream and how vivid it had been. I circulated my ankles until they made a pleasant popping noise. All around me the air was filled with unpleasant sounds of banging, hammering, and yelling. My lungs and limbs hurt but I didn’t know why.
Because it hadn’t been a dream.
I sat up in a dead rush, instantly regretting it as I felt all of my blood flood to my brain in a single instant and I had to put my hands up to keep from my head from caving in. Glancing around, I knew immediately I wasn’t in a hospital like I’d thought (or hoped, rather). Instead I was on a small bed in a room that could be compared to a jail cell. On the floor next to me lay large stacks of books and papers. Next to those stood a lonesome desk lamp without a table to stand on. I immediately noticed there were no windows. Before I could panic, a figure
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