Chapter Six

Alana

Four Mont hs Later

“Alana! Alana, wake up,” Celia whispered into the darkness. “Alana!”

Caught in the midst of a nightmare, it took me a moment to realize the screaming I heard was coming from me. The nightmares had become more frequent ever since I’d put the pieces together: my period was late, my breasts were tender, and the nausea could no longer be kept at bay. I worried I may be pregnant. I hadn’t shared my suspicions with Celia yet, too afraid to admit the truth aloud. I didn’t want to be the pregnant eighteen-year-old. And I sure as hell did not want to be pregnant with my kidnapper’s baby.

“I’m sorry I woke you, Cel. Another nightmare.”

“I know. I get them too. But you’re having them a lot more lately. What’s up?”

Knowing I needed someone to talk to and confide in, I opened my mouth. The words came tumbling out in a rush, finally free.

“I’m pregnant. I just know it. I haven’t gotten a period and I’m always on time. I can barely touch my breasts because they are so tender, and everything is making me sick. Oh God, what am I supposed to do? I can’t be pregnant. I can’t. I can’t have the monster’s kid. Cel, what if it is like him?”

I couldn’t catch my breath. I sucked harshly, forcing air into my lungs, but it wasn’t enough. Too much weight crushed me, and my vision winked out. Dizzy, I closed my eyes to keep from throwing up.

“Shhh, Alana. Take a deep breath. You’re hyperventilating.”

Doing as she said, I calmed down, sucking in deep breaths and releasing them slowly.

“There you go, hon, there you go. That’s it. Just breathe. Now here’s what we’re going to do. You don’t want this baby, right?”

“I can’t have it. I can’t.”

“Don’t tell him you’re pregnant. When I’m on kitchen duty, I’ll steal the cinnamon when no one is looking. We learned in health class last year that some herbs and spices can cause miscarriage. I’ll try to get my hands on them and then you’ll take them. Hopefully, that will work.”

Celia got to clean the house and work outside of the cage sometimes. She could easily sneak it away in her pockets as long as she was careful enough.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“If it doesn’t work, as painful as it might be, you may have to get him to give you a beating. If you can put yourself in a position where he’s directing his blows to your stomach, you are sure to lose the baby.”

Baby. There was that word. I was pregnant with a baby. A kicking, fussing, crying baby, who would someday grow up to be a man. To be a monster like his father if that man got his hands on him. As painful as it was, as much as it clenched at my heart and radiated pain from every inch of my being, I knew it was best. If I gave birth, that monster would steal him from me like he had stolen everything else. And once the monster had his hands on my precious child, he would mold him into his image, or raise her to be a toy like me.

I couldn’t stomach either possibility. But it was easier, somehow, to imagine my little one as a boy, a child who may have the chance to fight back. But then, I wouldn’t be having him at all. We were discussing how much I’d have to take and how to get it down my throat when the door to the basement opened. We shuffled to our knees, heads down, for Master.

“It’s me.”

I lifted my head and gripped the bars of my cage. Jacob had become our friend. The Master’s son, who was tossed back and forth like us. Even Celia had warmed to him during her time cleaning upstairs. She said she had to clean the kitchen a few times after Jacob had run-ins with his father, and he suffered things we had to. It softened my heart toward him. He was more than a way to get away; he’d morphed into a friend.

And maybe something more, if the time had been different.

He knelt in front of my cage and wrapped his hands around mine, his warmth seeping into my skin. “How are you today?”

I glanced at Celia, and she shook her head, but I took a chance. “I’ve been sick.”

Jacob frowned. “Do you need medicine? I can try to sneak some down here.”

“No. Jacob, I’m pregnant.”

His fingers tightened on mine, and I winced. “He knocked you up.”

I nodded.

Jacob reached through the bars and placed his palm on my belly. It did funny things to me, his hand covering the child I refused to have. What would it have been like if I’d met him in a different place? His fingers were soft against my skin, and he didn’t stray up toward my bare breasts, or down. I’d become accustomed to being naked in front of him, and his gaze always stayed on mine when he looked a time. But now, he looked at my stomach with a clenched jaw and tears in his eyes.

“This should have been mine, and he will …” Jacob let the rest of his words fade away. “You can’t have his kid, Alana.”

“I know. I don’t want my child to grow up—”

“Like me or you,” he finished for me.

“Celia has an idea, but she has to be able to sneak some things down here.”

“I’ll help her, and there’s also some medicine my father keeps on hand for certain situations. Alana, it’s going to hurt. So bad.”

I swallowed but nodded. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“Do you want me to be there?”

“Yes, if you can find a way.”

He lifted his hand off my stomach and thumbed my cheek. “For you, anything.”

He was my hero when he said things like that. We were doomed, of course, but I could imagine different things. Imagine he was a normal boy, who liked this normal girl, and we could have a date at the theater. But he wasn’t normal, and I was slated to die. We were impossible. Even if he helped me escape, he was too broken to have any sort of relationship.

“Thank you.”

“Celia, I’ll get the medicine to you and help you get it down here after you have kitchen duty tonight. You’ll be stripped when you get here, so you’ll have to put it in a cavity.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll wrap everything for you, don’t worry. We’ll get through this.”

He left, and a few hours later, Celia was taken upstairs to clean and be used. She always came down lackluster and withdrawn, but once Master left, she went to the edge of her cage and pulled something from her body. The tightly wrapped bundle was the solution to my problems, and she unwrapped it carefully before handing me the contents.

“Jacob added a packet of jelly in there. Blueberry, since you like that flavor. He couldn’t get much more in there, but he said it will help get the herbs and pill down since you have nothing to drink.”

I mixed the herbs, pill, and jelly in the palm of my hand before forcing it all down and waiting for things to start. Celia was right. The right combination of herbs and spices, and the pill Jacob added, started me on my way to miscarriage. And with a few well-aimed blows to my own abdomen, the process sped up until I was cringing in agony, tears streaming down my face as blood ran down my thighs. My insides clenching and unclenching was nothing compared to the emotional pain of my first child slipping away and knowing their death was on my hands. I was a murderer. A murderer of an unborn baby who, under any other circumstance, I would’ve loved. I did love. I had to keep reminding myself I did this to protect my child so he would not have to live under the thumb of such an evil monster.

But Jacob was missing. I needed him here, wanted him close to hold my hand like he always did when the pain was too much. I looked at the basement door, willing him to appear, but he never did.

“Jacob,” I moaned.

“He’s probably been held up. You know he’d get here if it could.”

“He promised,” I said.

Jacob telling me he’d do something was a promise. We didn’t need the stupid extra words, and I didn’t realize how I’d come to rely on that from him.

“He’ll get to you,” Celia said.

As the pain became unbearable, I screamed. Hearing my screams and my pitiful wails, Master came running only to find me curled up losing my child, his child. Sweeping me up in his arms, he ran with me until we reached a bedroom on the main floor. Placing me on the bed, he went through the doorway to the side of the room, only to return with towels and hot water. After pulling an oversized t-shirt over my head and forcing my arms into the sleeves, he settled me in. Placing the towels underneath me and a cold compress to my head, the monster showed me the most compassion he ever had. Walking out of the room, I could hear him speaking. He must’ve been calling for help. Maybe, just maybe, something good could come from this nightmare. Maybe he was calling an ambulance. Maybe a paramedic would recognize me and save me from this hell hole. It was too late to save my baby, but maybe it wasn’t too late to save Celia and myself.

With every cramp that ravished my insides, with every wince of pain, more tears streamed down my face. Body trembling, snot poured down my face, and I couldn’t stop screaming. Screaming for the loss of my child, the loss of my innocence, my family, my friends, my life. Lost, lost, lost. Everything was fucking lost. I was lost. My mind raged against the injustice of it all. How could this be? My biggest worries used to be homework and girl drama. Now I was trapped in this prison, within my mind, and now I was losing a piece of me, my own flesh and blood.

An eternity later, the monster led a man with a medical bag inside. He set his bag on the bed and paid little to no attention to who I was. Never shifting his attention to my face, he spread out an array of tools and hooked me to an IV bag. The prick of the catheter sliding into my hand was nothing compared to the streaking pain in my groin. Blood, warm and sticky, pooled between my legs as cramps stole my breath. I was broken. I didn’t want to have Master’s son or daughter, but I was losing my little one too.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

The monster sat in the corner, elbows on his knees and face in his hands. He glared at me, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes and a muscle ticking in his jaw in rapid-fire clenches as all the pieces started to come together. Where was Jacob? Directing a quick glance my way, the doctor began to speak.

“Miss, you’re having a miscarriage. I’ve added something to your IV that will help you begin dilating, and when you’re ready to push, I will deliver the fetus and dispose of it. After that, I’ll clean out your womb.”

He spoke so clinically, so detached. I didn’t matter, not the pain. It was just a system of motions. I couldn’t even gather enough strength to scream. There was nothing as my body contracted and deep pressure swelled through me. The pain was indescribable. My hips burned, and my insides clenched so hard I bit the back of my tongue to keep from screaming. My hopes that this could lead to freedom were squashed. And never once did he wonder who I could be, or what relationship I had with my captor. The doctor knew the monster. He helped him. How many girls before me had been treated for miscarriages or beatings?

I was on fire, being ripped in two. I’d heard stories of childbirth, but the contractions, the spasms rippling through my body, were absolute torture. And for nothing. There was no happy ending for me. I would push out a corpse instead of an infant. I wouldn’t know the joy of holding my child at the end of a grueling labor. I would never hear him cry. I would never smell his sweet skin or kiss his rosy cheek. I would forever be a murderer. My victim, innocent blood on my hands.

And then the vacuuming started. The horrible, gurgling sucking as he scraped something against my insides. The spectrum holding me open pinched, and I was more exposed than I ever had been. Rubbed raw, every trace of what Master had put inside me was gone. But it was better this way. If I’d had the baby, Master would have taken it, and then I’d have to watch my child become a monster like him.

Leaving me to my misery, Master and the doctor left the room to speak in harsh whispers in the hallway. Curling myself into a ball, I kept crying harder and harder until I was gasping for breath. Master threw a glare my way before leading the doctor far away from my room.

The pain, the loss, shot through me like I was taking a bullet to the heart. How could I have done this? How could I put my precious little one through something this awful? I was as bad as Master. I was a monster like him. Crying harder at my thoughts, my eyes caught on the doorway in time to see someone peeking in. My body relaxed in one great whoosh. Jacob was here. He slipped into the room and crept into the bed with me. Ignoring the blood and filth on the towels, for the first time, Jacob took me into his arms. I curled into his chest, inhaling his clean, crisp scent through the tears.

“I’m sorry, Alana. I couldn’t get here sooner, and I can’t stay here long. He’ll come back soon.”

It didn’t matter. He was here now, and I clung to him, curling my fingers into his shirt and holding on desperately. In his arms, the pain dulled, and I could handle it. I could cry into his chest and be held. I could be fragile, and he’d catch the broken pieces. His lips trailed up the side of my neck, soft kisses that pushed away the agony and warmed me.

“You can do it. You’re strong enough. Hold on a little longer,” he whispered into my skin. I believed it because he did too.

So I lifted my face so his lips could touch mine.

Soft and warm, his mouth was different. He slipped over the scars of my abuse and filled in the cervices left behind. Maybe it was the medicine making me fanciful, but I thought I could ask for this. That maybe I would ask him to take me. That I’d like to have him. But then, he was pulling away.

“I have to go. I’ll be with you later. Look for me.”

And as fast as he’d come, he was gone, but the pain was behind a wall, one he’d built high. He gave me strength, and I would use it to survive. I’d done the right thing, as horrible as it was, and I knew he didn’t judge me for it. We’d done this together, and it made the load easier to bear. Master stomped his way back into the room, face scarlet and chest heaving like a locomotive. I wanted to cringe at his bald fists, but I couldn’t move. I was too tired, or too resigned maybe, to care.

“You killed it, didn’t you?”

“No, Master.” I couldn’t tell him the truth, I knew it. That would have only caused issues for Celia and Jacob.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, bitch.”

This time, I did flinch. I was always his little girl or sweetheart, but when he was angry, I was a whore, cunt, or bitch. He was on the edge, and a bit more would push him to finally killing me. Did I want to survive? Or would I choose to die?

“I didn’t kill him, Master. I couldn’t hold it.”

“You’re lying, and I’m going to find out how. And I will make you pay. I promise you that.”

I trembled because I knew he told the truth.

A month passed, and I finally emerged from the darkness surrounding me after losing my child. Five months. 152 days. 3,650 hours. That was how long I had been kept captive by the monster who’d destroyed me. I counted the days by my meals. Twice a day he would bring us sustenance. 304 meals consisting of breakfast and dinner. Nothing fancy. Usually oatmeal, fruit, or pasta—everyday staples. My will to survive had all but diminished, my happiness lost. What little fight I had was mercilessly beaten out of me day after day.

And then there was 152 again—the times I’d seen Jacob. How he gave me a reason to move on. Promised that we were both getting stronger, and soon he’d have a way to get us all out of here. We had to hold on a little longer. As I thought about the past, the girl I used to be, I shuddered at the pure joy she exuded. Now, I was a slave to a Master who mocked me with his words, taunted me with his fists, and brutally raped me. My spirit had been broken, and I was all but ready to give up, but Jacob would never allow that to happen. So I allowed the Master to taunt me. Let him tell me that when I died, it would be at his hands, by his design. When he took me five months ago, he made sure I was nothing. I no longer belonged to myself, but to him. Only when he deemed it time for me to perish, would it be so. A monster in my eyes and in Celia’s. He played our strings as if we were his puppets, as if he was our god. We were toys to him. Expected to play our roles silently without a fight.

I tried not to think of my parents too often. The pain was too much to bear. Were my parents still searching for me? Was Aaron missing his older sister? In the beginning, I waited, hoping for my Prince Charming to come riding in on his white horse and sweep me away from this nightmare. But life was no fairy tale. It was cruel, painful, and merciless. Once a firm believer in happily ever after, I no longer believed in those fairy tales. I no longer believed in tomorrow. Instead, darkness cast its veil over me.

Each day I was kept captive, my heart shattered a bit more as the darkness seeped in. I was no longer the golden girl. I was tarnished. I had an angel on one shoulder trying, and failing, to bring me back into the light. On the other shoulder, a devil whispered it was either time to let go or find the strength to fight. In the end, I didn’t know which would be my voice of reason. It was a waiting game to see if the darkness would drive me to the brink of insanity, or if the hope would come once more.

Jacob was the only light, but even he couldn’t save me from my eventual slide. My body understood the darkness, not the light. It didn’t trust the sweet, and I needed the dark. I came with Master inside of me. I liked the rush of being held down. It was sick, and I kept it inside, but I think Jacob knew. Something in his eyes heated when he looked at me, and my body answered. I couldn’t hide the response. Maybe I was no better than a fuck toy and men would always look for a chance to have me. But I kept it all at bay as best I could, and Jacob never touched me when I didn’t ask to be touched.

Celia got progressively worse as time went by. Where once there was a bit of spark left in her, it was all but gone. Nothing but skin, bones, and a white pallor, she was like a ghost. Nothing was left to her. No fight, no words. Spending most of her days curled up on her mattress staring out into the nothingness, Celia was lost. The monster had finally broken her once and for all.

She became my confidant in this hell. The only one I could speak to, confess my fears to. In turn, she taught me how to survive in this prison under the unrelenting bastard who’d stolen us away. As she began opening up to me about herself, about her family life, our captor tore her to shreds. Where he’d lied about killing her mother before, this time it was true.

And it was all my fault.

She’d helped me to end my pregnancy, and she received punishment.

Now, a month later, I suffered daily with the blood of my child on my hands. Sweet, sweet Noel, an innocent child who’d died at my hands so I would not have to hand him over to a monster and see him corrupted. Even knowing this, the pain was great. Each day, it took a bit more of my soul. Hatred for this place, that monster, and for myself gnawed at me until I wanted to rip my hair out, scream, rage. But I remained docile. The perfect toy, the porcelain doll.

While I was wracked with pain on soiled sheets, screaming at the world and losing my child, the monster had gone into Purgatory. Searching, pulling my cage apart, he found what he was looking for. The stolen goods from the kitchen could only be from one person: Celia. And Celia paid for her betrayal. So did her mother.

Like a bat out of hell, the monster went on a rampage destroying everything he came across. When it still wasn’t enough, he tormented Celia with the most damaging thing. He made good on his word. A hit and run, the news claimed, but Celia and I both knew better. The monster killed her mother, running her over as she walked across the street. She never had time to get away. The day after, as I laid on my mattress—overcome with guilt, pain, and tears—Master came down and threw a newspaper at Celia. As soon as she saw the front page, her world crumbled out from underneath her, and she was left with no hope.

MOTHER OF MISSING DAUGHTER KILLED IN HIT AND RUN

Right there, in black and white, was Master’s crime laid out for us to see and fear. Celia broke; I became docile. If he could do this to Celia’s mother, what could he do to my family? I’d lost enough. I couldn’t bear the agony it would bring me if something happened to my family, especially if I were the cause.

Stroking the wicked-looking zigzag wound that ran down the length of my ribs—my punishment for killing Master’s child—I tried to recall some of my happiest times. But lately, the happiness was too much to bear. I was lost. Completely lost and utterly mad. The happiness drove me toward insanity, but I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to forget being Daddy’s “Lani Girl” or the apple pies and kisses on the cheek from Mom. I didn’t want to forget being Aaron’s sister despite how crazy he sometimes drove me. It hurt to remember, but I couldn’t forget. Even though I’d lost my fight, my family left a small spark of hope.

“Alana … Alana,” Celia’s weak voice called out.

It had been weeks since I’d last heard her speak. No matter how many times I tried to draw her out, it hadn’t worked. Celia lost her hope, her strength. Hearing her now, her vulnerability and pain stirred something inside me.

“Celia. Oh, Celia.”

“Alana, listen to me. Please.”

“I’m listening. Tell me.”

“If I don’t make it … please, Alana, please tell my dad I loved him so much. That I thought of him and Mom every day. Please, Alana. I need you to promise me. He needs to know.”

“Don’t talk that way!”

“It’s true, Alana. Master cut off my food and water days ago. I was slipping. There’s nothing left for me, but your family is still out there. You have a chance to survive. If you make it out of here, when you make it out, please find my dad and tell him. Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I knew what I was doing. We did what was right. I don’t regret it.”

“Thank you, Celia. Thank you for being my friend. For saving me in your own way.”

“You’re welcome, Alana.”

A few moments later, she fell back into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning, the nightmares were affecting her more lately. Hearing her cry out once again, I wished I could go to her. Hold her. Be the friend she truly needed.

Hours later, the man’s heavy boots stomped down the stairs and headed in the direction of Celia’s cage. He stood looking down at her. I wondered if he saw what I did: the paleness, the prominent skin and bones from her starvation, the brokenness.

He stood, silent, and I thought he would never speak. His booming voice took over the room, putting a chill in the air and making the hair on my neck stand on end.

“She deserves to suffer. She dared take my son from me? She dared to take my flesh and blood and think I would never find out. This is what she deserves.”

Turning his head to stare me down, his evil eyes caught mine.

“This is what you deserve. You deserve this, too, you bitch. To die at my hands. But don’t worry, you’ll get what you deserve in due time. But tonight, I want to you to watch and know this is all your fault. You did this to her.”

Opening the cage, Master dragged Celia out by her hair. Barely conscious because she was so dehydrated, she only whimpered weakly. She had no fight left in her, no fire.

Once he had her out in the open for me to see, he pushed her down to her knees. Eyelashes fluttering, her eyes finally popped open and stared into mine as her mouth moved to form words.

This is not your fault.

But it was. I was the one who couldn’t carry a monster’s baby. Who needed it gone because I wouldn’t have been able to protect it. This was my fault. I was to blame. And now Celia was facing the consequences for my decision.

Stepping behind her, he drew her head up by her hair once more only to put a knife, one I was intimately familiar with, to her throat.

“Don’t … please. No. Don’t kill her. Please. Please, Master.” My tears flowed, and my words were barely coherent as they came rushing out in a torrent of screams. My words rained down on him, pleas for Celia’s life, promises to be good, to bear him a child. It all escaped my mouth in a rush. “Please, Master. It’s not her fault! It’s mine. Please don’t do this.”

But with one look into his eyes, I knew my words weren’t good enough. They weren’t enough and never would be.

“I’m sorry, Celia. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I promise, Celia. I promise to tell your dad.

With a nod to me, Celia closed her eyes and became limp as she gave up. With one quick, deep cut from left to right, Celia’s throat was sliced open. The blood poured, streaming down her neck and onto her naked body. As if she were a puppet held up on strings, her body folded into itself, and I was marking an eternity of time as her blood seeped onto the floor into a puddle. The life sucked out of her, Celia Jane Whittaker took her final breath succumbing to the fucking monster’s hands. I hated him. With a fiery passion, I hated him. Every single thing about him.

Walking over to my cage, Master put his face right in mine.

“Remember this. This was all your fault. Every time you close your eyes, remember her death is on you. Remember her red blood pooling around her. You’re next, little girl. You’re next.”

Leaving her body there to taunt me, Master stalked out of the room. All I could do was collapse onto the cold floor and cry. Cry for everything that was lost and cry for poor, sweet Celia. As the sobs wracked me and guilt filled me, I passed out on the hard floor. I woke the next morning to find Celia’s body gone.

But the bloodstain was left behind to remind me.