“Now you can start your new life,” he’d said. “You won’t see me again. You won’t see any of us ever again. You’re free.”
And true to his word, I am.
But turns out, Ihatebeing free.
I wonder what it says about me, that the happiest moments of my life are the ones I’ve spent in captivity. Now I have to make my own decisions. Use my job at the gas station to buy the food I’ll have for dinner, decide which necessities I can afford this month.
Every day is a long list of decisions, and I’m far too tired to make them. My heart aches for the one who once made them for me, who took care of me, who made me feel like the center of his world.
Even though I know now it was all a farce.
Since Noel’s revelation, I’ve plunged into complete silence. I’d always been pretty quiet, but now, I can’t seem to access my voice at all. It’s lost deep inside me, and I know nothing short of a miracle could help me find it.
My boss at the gas station was initially exasperated at my muteness. But he’s never heard me talk. He probably thinks this is just the way I am, and now, he’s used to it. Apart from him, I don’t see many people. The place I live in isn’t even a town. It’s a tiny little hamlet populated by a diner, a general store, and the gas station. Beyond it are a few tiny houses, including mine. Most places are further out, but I don’t have a car, and Noel found me a house just minutes away from the three businessesthat make up the town.
I’m glad to live in this isolated area, after all. New York—the city—would probably have been a far greater torture. Every person I’d cross would remind me of Damien. It would have been a lot harder to wall myself in silence, surrounded by the noise and crowds that I suppose exist there.
Here, I see the same few people every day. I’m just the newest crazy addition to the dozen or so people who spend their days at the diner, drinking beer and watching, with sad, glazed-over eyes, as their lives continue on without them, speeding toward some cold, depressing end. A life lived numbly, without meaning.
I know that feeling well.
Unless I’m working, I don’t even have to see people at all. It’s easier, and cheaper, in this food desert, to head over to the diner for my meals during the week, but on weekends, I load up on bags of chips and old apples, and stay home. Many days, I don’t even feel hunger. I’m aware I’ve lost about twenty pounds since arriving in this place. Ten of those pounds I’d gained during the months of bliss. The other ten, I didn’t have on me to lose. I’m a walking skeleton.
I stand up at last, turning off the shower. I towel quickly, dress, and hurry out of my small house, carrying the bag that holds everything of value I own. A wallet with a wad of cash, the money that remains from my last paycheck, and the passport card with a name inscribed on it:Sarah Conley.
“Otherwise, he’ll track you in a second and kill you,” Noel had explained, handing it to me.
“I wouldn’t mind if he tracked me,” I had muttered.
“Well, he wouldn’t track you directly, of course. He’d just send a killer or two out here. You’re not going to see him anymore, sweetheart, so just accept it. You’ll live your life without setting eyes on him again. Now it’s up to you whether you live a long lifeor a short one.”
He was wrong. It wasn’t up to me; it was up to my survival instinct. I would have happily gone to meet my death right then and there, but something innate, deep within me, wouldn’t let me.
Which is why I’m still here, kicking, eight months later.
I sigh, entering the small gas station where I work behind the cash register five days a week. Bill Henson grunts a curt welcome, and I nod back. By now, he’s used to my silence, and he merely gestures to the inventory he wants me to put away on the shelves.
He turns away, his bald pate shining in the fluorescent lights, and heads to his small office, where he spends his day poring over inventory and doing whatever else he does with his days, glued behind his laptop. He’s a small, thickset man with a triple chin pricked all over with two-day stubble, and his beady eyes make me uncomfortable. I’m always glad to have a thick glass door separating us.
I turn back to my own tasks, which involve putting away the new items we’ve just received. The door jingles, and a neighbor walks through the aisles, looking for something she doesn’t find. She sees me but doesn’t try to speak, merely greeting me with a gesture that’s something between a nod and shrug.
Being known as the mute girl around town has many benefits. Beyond the obvious one, which is that no one expects me to talk, is the fact that people don’t talk to me either.
It’s one of those weird, unconscious things, like whispering back when someone whispers to you, or speaking loudly to someone who doesn’t understand English.
I don’t talk, so people don’t talk to me.
There’s something very peaceful about the silence. I sink into it, drawing it around me like a cloak, as I begin to put away the new items.
They paint a good picture of the sort of thing people eat around here. Bags of chips, off-brand and synthetic, packs of beer and of soda. There’s a crate of dirty, sad-looking fruit, which I’m the only one to ever buy. The rest of the several aisles are dedicated to necessities such as toothbrushes, soap, tampons and the like. There’s an aisle with cheap toys, but I’ve never seen anyone buy those.
There’s also an enormous pink and glittery teddy bear in one corner of the room. It surprised me at first, but now it’s just one more slightly weird detail in my new, slightly weird life.
There’s no clothing, but luckily Noel left me a pile of cheap garments, and I’ve been careful to take care of them well. I have no phone, no computer, no car: no way to order anything online or go to the nearest big city to shop.
Noel probably planned it that way to avoid Damien finding my trace, but I’m happy for more reasons than one. I don’t want to deal with deliverymen and I certainly don’t want to go into a big city.
Noel hasn’t come back since the day he left me here, setting me up for my new life, and I’m thankful for it. Even though I believe that he doesn’t want to hurt me, he’s inextricably tied to the horror I’ve survived at the hands of Angel. The first kidnapping, and Lazarus’ near rape; the second kidnapping that led to my being buried alive for five hours.
