Diana
Three months and two days.
That’s how long I’ve been locked away.
That’s how long my dad has been dead for.
That’s how long I’ve had to endure this torture.
Three months and two days.
It feels like so much longer.
The darkness shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. At this point, I’m used to the pitch black room they keep me in, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared all of the time.
I’m scared.
All of the time.
The room is cold, and I don’t even have a blanket. The cough I developed the second week here has never gone away, but at least they give me water. At least they give me food. At least i know they aren’t going to kill me.
If they killed me, they wouldn’t be able to play with me anymore. Like a cat toys with a mouse, these monsters toy with me, and even if I ever manage to escape, I don’t think I’ll be the same.
I’m not the same.
Not anymore.
When my father and I treasure hunted together, it was a magical experience. It was a journey: an adventure. We spent so much time laughing together, so much time talking together, that no matter where we went, we had fun.
We loved.
I was loved.
My father has been dead for three months and two days, but I think about him constantly. He couldn’t have known the search for the treasure would end this way. He couldn’t have ever imagined this. If he had, we never would have left. We never would have come here.
None of this would have happened if we’d only had an inkling of how great the danger really was.
I’ve learned, over the last three months, that the Lost Treasure of Dreagle was found weeks before our arrival and removed from the caves. The men knew my father and I were coming: two of the greatest treasure hunters the planet had ever seen.
They took our map because it held information on the last several places we’d searched for treasure. I don’t know if they went to those places or not. I just know they’re dicks, and they’re selfish, and they’re only interested in themselves.
They’re only interested in causing pain.
They had no qualms about killing my father, no qualms about taking me, stealing me away. They had no trouble planting clues and paying off people to feed us bad information that would lead to our capture.
They succeeded, and my father and I failed.
The realization that we were stupid stings sharply. The understanding, the knowledge that our fate could have been avoided if we’d just been more careful, just waited a little longer, is terrifying. Treasure hunters aren’t supposed to be murdered, yet my father was.
And me?
I only wish I’d been murdered.
The men have learned to keep my wrists bound in front of me at all times. I can get myself water, but I can’t do anything else. Two failed escape attempts and three failed suicide attempts quickly showed them I can’t be trusted, which is true.
I’ve thought of so many ways to end this, so many ways to kill myself, but none of them are possible when I’m locked in a little room. I’ve even hit my head against the wall so hard I thought my skull would crack, but they caught me. I was sedated for a few days, and then beaten, and I haven’t tried anything since.
And now I’m here, sitting, staring at the wall, wishing for anything but this.
I’m sitting here wishing I was dead because at least when you’re dead, no one is touching you.
***
It’s long past the time I usually receive food.
I don’t know why they haven’t brought it today, but it’s strange, and anything strange is worth noting. People don’t vary from their routines, especially when they have a captive. If someone hasn’t brought me food, it’s because there’s a problem.
It’s because something has gone wrong.
Maybe someone has gotten in an argument with the boss or maybe someone found their location. I gasp as I realize that maybe, just maybe, someone has killed my captors, and the thought is both a relief and a horror.
What if they kill Boss Man, but they don’t find me?
What if I’m left here?
What if I rot away?
The thought is a terrifying one, and I feel myself grow upset and scared. I start to cry, and then I start to cough, and I’m almost out of water. I don’t want to drink it yet. What if there isn’t any more for a long time? How long can I live off half of a water bottle? A day? Two days? Three?
How long will I live here before I starve?
I keep coughing and crying, coughing and crying. If my father was alive, he would tear apart the world to find me. He would go to any planet, cross any river, climb any mountain. He would do anything for me. Anything.
Now he’s dead, and I’m alone.
And I’m crying.
It’s not fair that this would happen to me. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe the meal is just late. I don’t have a clock, but I’ve had nothing to do for three months except learn how to count time without one. As far as I can tell, the men who feed me are on a very strict schedule. They never speak to me, but they always behave in the exact same way.
When they first took me, I tried to speak to the men. I would tell them my name and beg for them to save me. I would ask them to sneak me out. I would promise them money and fame and a million other things, but then I realized it didn’t matter. I would get my hopes up that maybe one of them was a good man, but none of them are good men. They’re all evil. They’re all corrupt.
They’re all damaged and there is no one coming to save me.
I cry harder and harder, completely wrapping myself up in the realization that I’m about to die. I should be relieved that this will all be over soon. I should be happy that I’m finally going to be free from my prison, even if it’s not in the way I want to be free.
And then I hear the noise.
It’s faint at first, and it sounds far away.
I try to stop crying so I can hear it more clearly, but the sobs only turn into whimpers. I can’t stop crying completely. Not after all this time. Not after I’ve been so broken, so damaged.
Something is happening outside my cell. I don’t know what. I don’t know who they are or what they want. Maybe it’s the guys who usually feed me, but maybe it’s someone different.
I don’t know whether that thought scares or excites me. Maybe I should be filled with hope, but maybe I should be terrified. That old Earth saying flashes through my head: better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.
When Boss Man and his crew come for me, I know exactly what’s going to happen to me, and I can mentally check out while they hurt me. I go to my happy place, and I think about a time when the world was better, and I don’t pay attention to what they’re doing.
Of course, sometimes the pain is too much to bear. Sometimes it’s all too much to handle. Sometimes even the sex gets the best of me, and I break down, but I do my best not to let them see me cry.
I never want them to see I’ve broken.
Broken dolls are discarded, and as long as I’m strong, they’ll keep me around to play with. If sex is the only reason they’re keeping me, well, that’s fine. At least I’m not dead.
Not yet.
I’ve had my moments of weakness, but I’m past all of that now. I’ve made it three months.
Three months and two days.
Today is not going to be the day I die.
I sit up a little straighter, and I watch the door to my cell. There’s definitely someone out there. I can hear voices, but they’re muffled. I’m not sure what they’re saying, but I think there are at least two or three people.
They’re trying to get the door open, I realize, but they don’t have the keys.
I sit back and wait. There’s nothing I can do, and I don’t know whether they’re here to save me or hurt me. I take a deep breath, and then I take one more.
In and out.
In and out.
Everything is going to be okay, Diana. You’re going to be just fine.
And then the door swings open.
Three giant men stand in the doorway. One of them is blue: a Sapphiran. The other two have white skin and dark hair. Human? Orchidian? I can’t be sure.
I don’t say anything.
I don’t know if I should be scared or not.
If they’re here, there’s only one explanation: Boss Man is dead. He’s dead and gone and they’ve found his lair.
Immediately, the man in front squats down. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Something about having him down, close to the ground, makes me feel safer. I feel less threatened, like maybe he won’t hurt me.
“Hello,” he says carefully. The other two men looked shocked, and I realize they weren’t expecting me. What were they expecting? A puppy?
I nod at him, but don’t say anything. I try to stay strong, to look brave. I try not to look scared. If I’m scared, they’ll hurt me worse. It’ll be more fun for them.
“I’m Max,” he says carefully. “What’s your name?”
Suddenly, I start coughing. Hard. I reach forward for my water, but before I can grab it, Max has my water in his hand and is holding the bottle up to my lips.
“Open,” he says gently. I don’t even think about it. I just let him give me water. I let him take care of me. I open my mouth and finish off the bottle. “More,” he says, but not to me. One of his men produces another water bottle, and he holds this one up to my mouth, too. Again, I drink.
And drink.
And drink.
The water is cold, and it’s so good, and there’s so much of it. I can’t remember the last time I had so much water. No, that’s not right. I do remember.
Three months and three days ago.
After a minute, I’ve had my fill, and I pull back from the water, shaking my head gently. Max hands the water bottle to his men, but he doesn’t move away. He’s very close to me, but he doesn’t seem threatening. He’s not acting like he’s going to hurt me, but I don’t want to get my hopes up that he’s going to save me, either.
After all, maybe he’s just trying to gain my trust so he can hurt me, too.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” He asks again, more gently, and this time, I find myself whispering.
“Diana.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” he says. Then he turns back to his men. “Blake, get a blanket. Edgar, let Extrinsic know we’re coming back with one more person. They only knew to prep for the ugly dude.”
“Will do. I assume medical should be alerted, as well.”
“Yes.”
The two men disappear, and then it’s just me and Max. I realize, suddenly, that he asked for a blanket because I’m naked. Max doesn’t seem bothered by my nudity. In fact, he barely seems to notice it at all. He’s much too busy staring at my cuffs.
“They won’t come off,” I whisper. My throat is still dry, and it hurts to speak.
“What’s that, now?”
“The cuffs,” I hold them up higher. “They won’t come off.”
“Oh, we’ll just see about that.” He smiles, and there’s something about the way he grins that makes me think this is a guy I can trust. This is a guy I can believe in. This is a guy who isn’t here to hurt me.
And that’s a strange thought.
For months, the only people I’ve been around have intentionally tried to cause me pain. Max isn’t doing that. He’s being gentle instead.
“Can you hold still for me?” He asks, and I nod seriously. He fishes a little device out of his pocket and holds it up. “This is going to cut through the metal, okay? I don’t want the laser to hit your skin, so please don’t run away. There will be plenty of time for that later, but right now, my primary goal is to get you out of these things safely.”
“I’ll be still,” I tell him. Max seems satisfied, and a few seconds later, my cuffs are off, and my hands are free. Immediately, I wiggle all of my fingers and move my wrists around, but I’m surprised when pain shoots up and down my arms.
“Easy,” he says. “You’ve been in these awhile, haven’t you?” I nod. “It’ll take some time for your body to get used to moving around. Would you like me to rub your arms, Diana? I can help take away some of the pain.”
I want to say no to him.
I want to tell Max he’s a man, and all men are assholes, but I don’t think he is. My father wasn’t an asshole, obviously. Maybe Max is a man like my dad. Maybe he’s not bad. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt me.
“Yes,” I whisper. Max doesn’t move, though. He doesn’t grab my wrists, doesn’t move closer to me. He just sits there and I waits, and then I realize he’s waiting for me to make the first move. He’s waiting for me to offer my wrists to him.
It’s about more than my wrists.
It’s about trust.
And right now, I don’t know if I can ever trust anyone again, not even this man.