“Not now,” he said standing. He pointed to the mini-fridge. “Drinks and snacks are in there.” He pointed to another door. “Bathroom there. You cannot escape from here, so don’t even try. You’ll waste your energy and probably hurt yourself. There are no windows and only one door out which is metal and barred with a padlock and strong hasp.” He turned and walked for the steps.
“You are my father,” she said.
He looked at her like she was accusing him of something, which in fact she was.
“Only in blood.” He climbed the stairs and she heard him locking the door behind him. She was alone.
She stood weakly and had to hold onto the back of the chair until the room stopped spinning. Maybe she should sit back down. Looking around the unremarkable space, she saw shelves behind her that held only a few old tin cans and a dilapidated cardboard box. Leaning up against the shelf was a mop inside of a bucket. The floor was bare concrete and the only other furnishings were the chair she had been tied to, the chair her father had sat in, the mini-fridge, and a small table.
She walked slowly around the space and stopped at the door for the bathroom. She opened it and groaned. The bathroom was a closet with a toilet seat sitting on top of a five gallon bucket. A roll of toilet paper was sitting on the floor next to it. She didn’t know if she could do this, but she had to go so bad her screaming bladder won.
It hadn’t been too awful. At least she wouldn’t have to pee her pants.
Feeling a little stronger, she walked over to the mini-fridge and opened it up. A few bottles of water and a single diet soda were on the top shelf. On the bottom sat a turkey sandwich from a vending machine, an orange, a package of peanut butter crackers, and a Ding Dong snack cake. She grabbed the sandwich package and opened it. Taking a bite, she gagged and then spit it out. It was bad. Swigging some more water and rinsing her mouth out, she went into the bathroom and spit the water into the bucket. He was trying to poison her.
She decided she wasn’t hungry, so she went over to the shelf and looked in the tin cans and the box. Nothing of any value in the cans, just some rusty bolts and screws, but the box was a surprise. It was filled with old pictures. Snapshots of her mother and him. She took the box and pulled the chair over to the small table and started going through them. He must have put them in some kind of chronological order because they started off with pictures of the two very young. They looked so happy. Wedding pictures followed along with pictures in front of what looked like a new car, then the house she now lived in with her mother. The trees in the yard were so small and new. Her mother and father (she couldn’t get used to calling him that) were standing in front of the house smiling and holding what looked like a keychain up for the camera. The next picture was of them both standing in the kitchen with tags still hanging off of the appliances. She was looking at him, so happy and content. This couldn’t be the same man who had killed all those kids and now held her captive.
There seemed to be a big jump in time, because the next picture was of her brother as an infant. He was chubby and pink, and holding on to a giant finger. Her father was smiling. The next picture showed the two of them together out front with him holding the baby. He was beaming, but she was not smiling. Ellie had no idea who the photographer was.
She flipped through more pictures of the growing family and a trend was beginning to show. Her father looked happy most of the time, though a few shots looked strained, but her mother rarely smiled and in a few, she wore huge, dark sunglasses that covered half of her face. Her brother was growing and there were pics of him crawling, sitting in a high chair, standing and holding onto a table, and playing with some toys. Her mother was not in any of those. There was one picture of a house she did not recognize. Neither her mother nor her father were in it.
The last ten or so were something else entirely and she held on to each one, feeling the anguish her mother must have been feeling. She was pregnant with what must be Ellie and standing alone, or a step or two away from her husband. He was glowering in most of them, and she never smiled. In one, her mother appeared to have a bruise on her cheek. She wasn’t sure though, because all of these last ten or so had giant red ‘X’s’ drawn over her mother’s face. Added to the last picture in big red letters was the word, ‘Bitch!’
Ellie sat there holding the pictures in her hand, trying to put herself in her mother’s shoes. She shivered at the thought. Her mother had suffered for a long time and this man had been the sole cause of it. Ellie wondered when her mother realized she had married a psychopath. Was it the first year? Second? Or had she known all along, living in denial? Ellie hoped to be able to ask her one day. Somehow she felt her father had other plans.
Putting the box back on the shelf she returned to the chair and sat.
And sat.
And sat.
She had no sense of time. No clock, no windows, no outside noises to give her any clue. She slept on the cold floor when she was tired and drank the water when she was thirsty. The crackers and orange hadn’t lasted very long, and now she was down to one Ding Dong and one bottle of water. She had not seen or heard her father since that first visit. She wondered when he would return and yet hoped he wouldn’t. The hours and minutes dragged on and she longed to see daylight, or moonlight, or anything which would give her a sense of perspective.
She thought of Luke a lot, his face smiling at her and his tender hands holding her and stroking her hair. The last time she had seen him, he had been lying on the kitchen floor, either dead or unconscious. She hadn’t had time to check as the madman chased her through the house. She felt sure he was alive, though, because she could sense him.
She thought of her mother too. Even her loser brother at times, but for the most part she thought of her father and what he was going to do with her. Her imagination ran wild with scenes of him torturing her, or beating her, or even killing her. She had no idea what he meant by her having a destiny and he would help her fulfill it. It drove her crazy and at the same time filled her with dread.
Some time had passed when she heard footfalls on the ceiling above her, then the jangle of keys and the door to her prison opened. The footsteps made their way down the stairs and then her father came into view carrying a video camera, tripod, and some white poster board. She was terrified.
He set the things down on the floor and pointed to the chair and said, “Bring that over here and sit down in it.”
She didn’t move.
“Now!” he shouted and it made her jump. She stood and went to the chair, sliding it over to the middle of the room and sitting as she was told. He went behind her and bound her hands together again.
“That’s good,” he said. “If you behave and do what I say, you’ll only be hindered for a short time.”
He bound her tightly, but not too uncomfortably. At least the circulation continued through her wrists.
“What is all that?” she asked.
“You’re going to be a star,” he said and smiled.
He set up the tri-pod directly in front of her and mounted the video camera to it, aligning it to her position. He turned the camera on and pressed a button. A red light appeared for a few seconds as he looked through the view finder and he said, “Say something.”
“What do I say?”
“That’s fine.” He turned the camera off.
He disappeared behind her for a few minutes and then reappeared with the white poster board in his hands. He set that down and disappeared behind her again. She heard a scraping noise and a clunk and then he set something down behind her she could not see. She started to shake.
He spoke directly into her ear from close behind her and it made her jump. “You’re going to read what’s printed on the cards when I hold them up. You’ll read exactly what’s on them and nothing more. You can read correct?”
She nodded.
“Now, this isn’t going to be too pleasant, but it’s necessary for the effect.”
She barely had time to process what he had just said when liquid was poured over her head from behind. The smell immediately assaulted her and she started gagging as soon as she realized what it was.
He had poured the bucket of urine over her and she was drenched in her own piss.
He stepped around her to the camera as she gasped for breath, the reeking ammonia smell making her eyes burn and tear up. He held up the first card and turned the camera on.
“Read,” he said.
She couldn’t see the letters and she couldn’t catch her breath. She was sobbing now and struggling against the restraints as she tried to get away from the awful liquid soaking her clothes and skin.
