Nora
I hug Lotte to my chest and say goodbye. The color in her face has drained and she feels distant. It makes my chest hurt. He has been quiet this morning. Neither of us want to bring up that this is the end of us. That the summer romance is over. I don’t know what to say to him and I imagine he feels the same.
“Everything’s packed up,” I tell Holden.
He nods and wraps his arms around me in a bear hug. He carries me off the porch and I giggle in his ear. “Do you have to go?” he asks, setting me on my feet.
I look up at him and my chest constricts. “I do. School starts soon.”
He takes my hand and tugs. Holden walks me to the small building he built. My heart swells when he kisses me on the forehead. I ache to see where this could go but I am not naive enough to give up college to find out.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
He stops at the door, swings it open and smiles at me. Excitement rushes me. Has he made me a parting gift? I look inside the building but it is empty.
“Your story no longer belongs to you. It’s my story now,” he says. With a quick shove, I stumble into the room he built. I am perplexed at his words.
“What?” I squeak. My voice echoes in the stillness between us. Holden regards me a moment longer, then swings the door closed. “This isn’t funny. Open the door.” I push on it but nothing happens. The only sound I hear are Holden’s boots stomping away from me. My stomach clenches, as a wave of shock rips through me. “Let me out!” I scream. The steps grow quiet. Quieter. Then, there is nothing. I continue pounding on the walls, the door. Anxiety hits me like a wrecking ball, and depression lunges in to feast on what’s left of me. I cry until I can’t anymore.
I feel around in the dim light from floor to ceiling with my hands. Splinters repeatedly rip into my skin. I shout. I scream. I sob. There are no windows. No door handle. There is a bucket in one corner and a white dress hanging from a splintered slat on another. As the sun descends, I can make out less and less. “Let me out!”
“Lotte,” I yell.
“Holden, please. Why?” I sob.
I squint and try to listen. Maybe I can hear something.
Eventually, I fall asleep in a corner.
I huddle in the corner, knees pulled up under my chin, eyes closed. The rough, unsanded wood of the room snags the fabric of my skirt. Last night, I watched the moonlight on the ceiling, while I listened to the wind in the trees outside this wooden cage. I could feel the space breathe. Wind rattled through the slats as easily as the moonlight crept in. I trace my finger along the scratches and gouges in the wooden walls that my nails have carved. I’m cold and hungry. My stomach gurgles and my throat feels like sand. I’m unbearably thirsty. Every muscle in my body is sore and my mind feels on the precipice of unraveling. But I can’t give up. His boots crunch on the gravel. I dart to a standing position. “Let me out, Holden!”
“Lotte! Holden, please,” I sob.
It is late afternoon and a storm is coming. The wind picks up and towering thunderheads are stacked high to the west. Lightning flashes through a black curtain of rain. There is an odd sound of wood on wood that I haven’t heard before. I scramble to a corner of the room and pull my knees against my chest.
Lotte. The wooden brick. It slides out and a sliver of lamp light shines in. Two tomatoes and an apple roll in through the small opening. I crawl hastily across the floor and try to reach through the opening to grab Lotte but as I push my arm through, the wooden brick starts to slide back in.
“Lotte, please. Please,” I whimper. “You knew.” I say, as I realize she absolutely knew what Holden was building. She knew and she cut that wooden brick out.
“It’s happened before,” she whispers. Before I can respond, I hear the soft swish of her skirt and her tiny footfalls moving away.
She knew this was coming.
When I sleep, my brain doesn’t hurt. The world is quiet. The sun is only peeking above the horizon. I watch its meager light through the slats of my cage.
The wooden box is a musty hybrid of human waste and perspiration. I dig my fingers into the wood, ignoring the splinters that stab my skin. Dust rolls through the fractured sunlight. Time passes slowly, or quickly, I don’t know which. I cannot remember my last meal. My heart beats faster and my lungs refuse to take in air. I cannot tell if the stars in my vision are from the darkness or not. I can feel my head getting lighter, and I welcome the sensation. I want to escape, to leave this place. I slap myself. One day. I can do anything for one day. Lotte is with him in that house, fifty yards from me. If she can survive. I can survive. I walked into a nightmare and now I have to try and walk out. “My name is Nora,” I say. Panic blossoms in my chest, my breathing tight and arrhythmic. The edges of my vision blur and as unconsciousness finds me, I vow to protect Lotte with everything I am when I get out of here.
Even after all these years, the hard knot of loneliness still rattles around my chest any time I think of my parents. I miss things. Mundane things. The sound of a ringing cellphone, the ambient noise of cars driving, Aubry’s family talking all at once—over each other, the picture on the television and sound of the radio on. I cannot hear Holden or Lotte. I do not understand what is going on. I yell for help until my voice is hoarse.
I pass the time worrying about Lotte and Aubry and my house. I hope Aubry has begun to wonder why I haven’t shown up yet. Have I been reported missing? Am I on the news? Are there search crews scouring the mountainside. I don’t know. I am in a wooden box—cut off from everything. I’ve lost count of the days. I scream until my voice gives out.
I pray to God, the universe—whoever may listen. I beg the souls of my parents. “Dear God, I don’t believe in . . .” I do not have the energy to finish my thought aloud. I am lonely. I am starving and thirsty. I miss sounds. Aubry’s laugh. Music on the radio. Traffic. The coffee machine brewing. My body is aching. It has been days. Maybe longer. I don’t know anymore. It reeks of urine and feces. The white gown I eventually unhooked and put on, is grimy and clings to my skin.
Brick by brick, my mind builds a safe room around me. Until I allow myself to go down, the Devil will own me. I let myself be pulled under the fog my brain creates. Down and down and down. My tears dry up. My terror subsides. My anxiety wanes. I feel it running through my veins, the dark feeling I have been trying to hold off, descending now, falling around my shoulders like a dank shroud, turning me into someone else. I’m shaking hands with a dark part of myself and I know it’s wrong but I don’t care. I let it creep into my heart, filter through my veins, until I am no longer anything worthwhile. I lay my head down on the floor. The morning creeps in and I feel directionless and vacant.
The light stabs into my pupils when the door is jerked open. I am huddled in the corner. He holds out his hand to me. I do not take it. He crouches before me. “Rule one. You do as instructed.” He holds out his hand again. This time I take it. When I’m on my feet, Holden grabs the chain of my necklace. It tugs against my skin, then the smallest snap sounds and with it the last of my sanity. The charm hits the floor and rolls out of sight while Holden clutches the chain.
Holden grabs my chin, sliding his thumb along my bottom lip before pulling my mouth open. The lip of the glass meets my mouth, tilts up. “Swallow.” He looks me over with a critical eye. He releases me and makes me walk on my own unsteady legs toward the squat brown cabin.
I shake and tremble with each step. I am weak from hunger. One step falters and I stumble toward the ground. Strong large hands catch me. “You can’t walk. I’m going to carry you.”
“Welcome home,” he says.
Reality fragments around me. The mattress sinks as Holden sits on the edge. He puts a hand on my forearm. I do not react. I do not have the energy to shrug him off. I do not have the energy to care. It’s wrong . . . it is all wrong. Dust motes sparkle in the morning sunlight.
“Let’s get you in something clean.” His voice is calm and tender.
I do not speak. I do not help.
Holden dresses me like one would a doll.
I am limp in his arms.
I do not move a muscle.
This is not home.