I wake knowing exactly where I am and why I’m here, but not what to do about it. Yet.
My phone isn’t dead, but the battery is way too fucking low for bad attempts. No messages in or out. No emails. Phone signal is dampened until even SOS doesn’t show. I’m in a metal box.
I bet if I rotted here, the smell wouldn’t even impact the rooms around me.
A thought occurs to me. Did Briggs even buy this place?
If not… If not, I was lured into a snare that was brilliantly laid and foolishly fallen for. I’ll kick my own ass if that’s the case.
But the sound and that feeling? I drop my head before I think better of it.
If today were stand-up comedy, life just dropped the punchline. Ba-dum-bum-ching with a snare drum. Under my chin, nestled between my beard and my neck, something purrs. Pulling out my flashlight, I find a jet-black kitten, too young to be weaned already, shivering and mewing.
“Well, cat, I need to figure some things out for us to survive. Otherwise, you and I will meet the same fate.” Though his or hers, I have no clue, will be more peaceful and much sooner.
Why is it when things are this stressful, the brain focuses likea laser more so than any other time? Fourteen percent battery life means efficiency is the name of the game. I disable everything on my phone and close out all the apps. I’m booting down when a thought hits me. I hot spotted off Briggs’ phone once. We were low in the valley around his house by Durango and he had signal where I didn’t.
I won’t have to hack Wi-Fi—something I don’t have the time or the battery for—if my phone will connect.
I search the networks and find his phone. He must be close; I’m guessing somewhere above me. I can’t hear anything in this soundproof room. The signal is weak, and if he sees, I’ll be dead.
But I’m dead otherwise. Or as good as.
Me: SOS. Need extraction. Jackson, WY. Christian, plane. Fitz/Ren, dropping pin. Trapped in safe room in master suite. Windowsill is a latch. Dire. Low battery. Will check when I can.
The bar travels slowly and gets stuck at the three-quarters mark. I can’t be sure I’m not praying as it slowly tries to trek across the screen, stopping like a needle on a record only to have the red circle with the exclamation point emerge.
I try again.
Same thing.
I try each man individually, walking as close to the metal door as I dare, hoping the signal is stronger next to the source.
The result is the same each time.
Fuck.
I turn off the phone after finding my way back to my previous seat and using the flashlight to examine what I can of the room. One air vent at the top for making sure the owners won’t die if they need to say in here for long. One return air intake that’s lost its cover. Is that how this little one got trapped in here?
The wall still holds a little warmth. The room itself is too cold. The kind of cold that’s damp and where your body wants to succumb to the cold, wants to fall asleep. I can’t afford that. I need to stay awake, stay on guard.
“Come here, cat.” I lift the screaming kitten who is too thinfor his own good and tuck him under my beard again. “If you ever tell anyone about this… Well, I’ll be embarrassed but rich because I’ll have a talking cat.”
The little thing shivers but kneads along my skin, purring enough to settle the tension that mounts inside me.
I will not die today.
And I won’t let this creature die either.
Lorien
With all the discipline I have, I left the back porch and made my way inside. I can’t say I didn’t want to watch or listen. I’m nosy on things like this, but I didn’t want to see the train wreck that was inevitable, so I’m holed up in my room and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Not true. I don’t know whether to cry sad tears or angry tears.
Sam marches to the beat of her own drum. Sometimes the drummer is off rhythm and has no business playing. Like today. Today is about Strider. Today is the day we all fought for, dreamed of, dreaded in a loop until those emotions swirled into their own unnamable thing. It’s what happens when fear and hope melt into each other.
And, instead of one day to be his, one day to be about hope winning out, Sam has made it about herself. Whether my parents go or abstain. Whether we celebrate Strider with Segways or steaks, today will always have the cloud of Sam’s selfishness hanging overhead.
She didn’t invite me. She didn’t invite my brother. She asked Dad and said he and Mom were welcome. All righty then…
