Saving Rachel

country. Those containers are also plastic. When you attach a pump to the rubber valve on top, you can vacuum seal the container. That’s the whole idea behind keeping the food fresh for a longer period of time. In the same manner, each of our containers is equipped with a check valve in the floor that allows air to be pumped in one direction only. We’ve already turned on the pumps, and they will make short work of the air quality. We don’t have to remove all the air, just enough for them to suffocate. Which they’re about to do. But don’t take my word for it. Here, I’ll turn on the microphones, and you can hear for yourself. On the bright side, your women will be almost perfectly preserved. You’ll hardly be able to tell they’re dead.”

The mikes go on, and I can hear them suffocating. It’s excruciating. I ask myself if it’s possible they’re in on it, that they’re faking. Rachel, the woman I loved more than any other, is lying on her side, her back to me. If she’s faking, she’s not even trying to let me see the effect the treatment is having on her. Karen is on her back, in a reclining posture, her torso propped up on her elbows. She’s looking at me in horror, as if she’s just met a demon in an alley. She’s probably wondering what sort of monster would allow this to happen to her. She’s no longer saying my name. She’s gasping for breath. It appears to be a major effort for her to get even a half breath. She still looks beautiful, but she’s aged five years in the last two minutes. Karen’s head hits the floor, and I can’t bear it any longer. “Okay, okay,” I say. “I believe you. I’ll enter the codes. Please stop.” The voice says, “Sam, you don’t have time to enter all the codes. Enter one and I’ll stop the process.”

I enter the code of a man who is almost certainly a terrorist and hope they don’t have a way to access his money. Nothing’s worse than an angry terrorist.

“We need the name, Sam.”

How did they know what I typed? They must have a keystroke link set up that bypasses the Internet. Is that possible? Or maybe they’ve written some code to block me from accessing the Internet. “The name, Sam. Your ladies are near death.” I look at the cages. He’s right. There’s not much movement to see and no sounds left to hear. I type in the name of the terrorist and instantly hear the vacuum pump stop.

There’s a slight pause. Maybe they’re checking the name against some sort of list. I don’t give a shit about the codes anymore. I’m staring into the girls’ cages, praying they’re okay.

The voice finally says, “Thank you, Sam. That’s a good start. We’re pleased. In fact, we’re so pleased we’re going to give you another chance to save one of the women.” “What are you talking about? I gave you the code.” “We’re past that, Sam. It’s time to choose.” My heart hammers in my chest. If I hadn’t been sitting, I would have certainly fallen to the floor.

“N … No!” I stammer. “Look, I’ll give you the codes … and the names. I’ll give you the codes and the names. I’ll even help you rob them. I’ll do whatever. But please. You have to let them go. It’s not their fault. They’ve done nothing to you, nothing wrong. Please. I’m into it now. It’s over. I’ll do whatever you say. Let them go.”

“Sam, your eloquence is touching, if tedious. Tell you what, we’ll pump a little air into their containers each time you give us a code.”

I enter the codes and names as quickly as possible and then turn my attention to the girls. They’re still lying on the floors of their containers. I can’t detect any movement or hear any sounds of breathing.

“Are they okay?”

“They’re lucky,” the voice says. “Another minute, they might have suffered brain damage.”

A half minute passes before Karen starts moving. A few seconds later, Rachel screams. Over the next few minutes, both girls vomit. Now they’re crying. Their actions and responses are practically mirror images of each other. Finally, I hear Karen speak.

“Sam … are you okay?”

I want to shrivel up and slink away. This incredible goddess—the one I tricked into sleeping with me, the one I betrayed, the one who nearly died just now because of my greed—is actually worried about me. Rachel, on the other hand, has grown mute. She’s sitting in the corner of her cell, arms hugging her knees. Her face is pale. She appears on the brink of throwing up again.

“Your women appear to be fully recovered,” the voice says. “I’ll give them a few minutes to compose their thoughts.”

“W … What are you talking about?” I say.

“Time to choose, Sam. We’re going to give them a chance to plead for their lives. You get to play God today; you’ll hear what they have to say, and then you’ll decide which one gets to live.”

Both women scream in protest, though each scream is unique. As they continue to beg our prison master to reconsider, I feel the bands around my chest tighten, as if I’m being constricted by a giant python. I look at my two women and can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe it’s come to this. My heart feels too large for my chest. I’ve reached my limit. I can’t allow this to happen. There must be something I can do or say to stop the madness.

“Kill me instead,” I say.

Both girls stop begging. There is complete silence as the voice seems to consider my request. Moments pass, moments that allow me to wonder if this is the end for me. As one of the most selfish people in the world, I’ve just shocked myself by offering to exchange my life for theirs. It’s the right thing to do, but I haven’t exactly made a life out of doing the right thing.

But I’m serious. I would rather die than have to sentence a loved one to death. The voice comes back in all three containers.

“Sorry, Sam. We like it better the other way. Girls, take a few minutes to compose your thoughts. We’ll flip a coin to see who goes first. You’ll each have one minute to convince Sam why he should choose you instead of the other one.”

Chapter 25

The prison master turns off the girls’ microphones. They take a moment to look at each other. While they do that, I try to imagine what must be going through their minds.

Until recently, Rachel thought she was married to a loyal, hardworking, successful man. True, the last six months or so, she’d grown distant, but things never got so bad that we felt the need to talk about it. In other words, we weren’t ready for a marriage counselor. By and large, her life was stable, predictable, and reasonably content. But this last day or so has found Rachel going through a rough patch. In this short time frame, she’s been kidnapped, slapped around, threatened, and forced to strip. She’s learned her husband has been cheating on her and had to meet the “other” woman. She’s been suffocated nearly to death, and now she’s being forced to beg me to spare her life—me, the guy who caused all these terrible things to happen to her.