Chapter 15

Saturday

I wake but don't move in the sleeping bag. The hum dies, and I hear the door slowly swing open. From out of sight, I hear the sound of someone entering and slowly stepping over to me. 

I close my eyes, and wait.

They stand close, not moving. 

Did she see me? No way she saw.

Another moment goes by. I feel eyes watching me, then I gently feel my cover being peeled back from my face. 

The cool air hits my face, and I gently whimper for affect. Another moment and the sleeping bag is gently laid back across my face.

Her footsteps walk back to the entrance. I hear something hit the ground at the door, sounds open. I hear nothing for a moment, then quiet steps walk until I can't hear. I wait another couple of minutes before slowly looking over my shoulder towards the door. 

A backpack sets next to the open door. I get up unsure, looking out the window. It's early. So early, I see my breath. The sun is covered by a grey sky. No one is around.

I'm freezing, but I take my first steps outside my cell. I slowly take in the view of freedom. It's a trap.

But I'm alone. Completely alone. I walk around my cell. Taking it in, I see how it's camouflaged into the wilderness surroundings. It's shaped, and looks exactly like a large boulder made of clay. An art project? A very large, art project. Three other large boulders surround the vicinity.

"Smart." I say to myself, admiring whoever's work.

I walk back inside and take the backpack, and open it. Inside, an axe, a yellow GAP hoodie. Obviously females, but it's warm and fits, kind of. Two water bottles, some snacks, two MRE's, a pen and paper. Last but not least, a fresh pack of smokes, and a cheap gas station lighter. 

I put on my pants and thermal socks, considering my options. I could take the food, water and run. Try and make it back to civilization on what little I have. My feet reminding me how difficult it will be. Or I can take this opportunity to get fire wood for the cold night.

I chose the ladder. Not wanting to leave my captors. I try not to think they have a hold over me. My choice is free will. Not of lust.

It doesn't take me long to find dead and dying trees. Twenty yards away I begin chopping smaller victims. I break down three trees, dragging them back to my shelter. I cut them down, and sweat under my layers. 

It's chilly outside, and the sweat drops my temp. I cut the trees down to manageable chunks, stacking them inside. The pile looks like it could last me a couple of nights, but I don't know how much I should grab.

I return outside to grab the rocks for a small fire pit, and finish my makeshift heating source. I'm dirty, sweaty. Finally feel like a man. I gather wood. I make fire.

After completing, and being ready for tonight's cold, I head outside and admire the view restricted. I wonder the immediate area, grabbing an armload of small branches. I climb on top of my cell, and set on the fake boulder, enjoying my silent surroundings.

Mountain to my left. Valley that leads to another mountain range to my right. Trees and green grass in between. Almost doesn't feel like I'm in the lower forty-eight. 

I randomly notice a cactus tree, and the black circle in its center. Another camera. 

I fetch the pen and paper, then return to my spot. I write "not running" then a moment later "join me" and motion at the view all around. 

No response or noise, so I write another note, and another.

"Free smokes" and "bring marshmallows", still no response.

So I give up, and stare off, enjoying my new backyard. The pen finds its way to the pad, and before I know it, I'm sketching both sets of their eyes. My art skills have diminished since grade school, but my memory is razor sharp. 

I focus, and work. For the first time since I can remember, I draw like a child. The sun runs over my shoulder, and the breeze dips colder. I make my way back to my cell, working at the fire until my room is lit by fire and fading sun.

The sun drops past the mountain, and the air is immediately ten degrees cooler. Inside my cell, it's warm from the flaming fire. My picture is placed at the window, still attached to the notepad. Their eyes watch me wherever I walk. 

Fitting. 

The night comes, and I eat, smoke, and think. Setting in this purgatory, I have nothing but time to consider my decisions in life. I wonder if I was supposed to run, was this their way from letting me go? Did I just get myself killed? 

No. They wanted me to know, to see, I have options, I can leave. This isn't a real kidnapping. This is a game, they won't execute me.

Right?

Second guessing myself helps time slow down, and the night becomes darker as my mind takes me to places I'm unsure if I can swallow.

They're going to kill me. This is all part of the game. They don't love you. How could they? You're a man, the target. Everything you know, and seen, how can I think about trust? 

Everything is black surrounding me, trees the mountain hidden from sight looms as a large black mass behind me. I walk around, seeing only the valley lit up by moon and stars. My breath visible, I can't go far without returning to fire. 

I spend the night inside, sticking my picture to the wall with pieces from their chewed floor candy. The fire lights the room as my mind blinds me, I begin writing my thoughts, leaving them my heart on paper.

I've always been able to strike with pen better than mouth or fist. 

"You have stolen me from my life, and the heart from my chest. You may label it away, but inside, you know you feel it as well. We can't just go back to our normal lives. Not now. You know that, and you're questioning your next moves. Never give up on what if. We could make it happen. Look at what you've accomplished to this point. No one will ever know about this time. Regardless of if I'm wiped away or not. This is the most special time, in my stupid little life. I wouldn't trade this for anything. You are my angels."

I rewrite it, over and over. Throwing away edits into the fire until the final note looks perfect. I leave it attached to the notepad, setting it next to me so nothing destroys it. 

Before curling into bed, I refill the fire. Enough to relight and go when I wake. I'm unsure if I'll get another opportunity for wood, but something tells me to go with my heart. Trust in them. They could kill me at any time, and somehow I'm kept safe. 

I think about life without them as I curl up in my bag, I don't want to after feeling the depression in my gut. So I think of a better life, the fantasy life. Living somewhere out here, with my dogs. Not working for a corporation, college kids. Working at some mom and pop establishment by day. Going home to them at night. They could retire at this line, do something better. I could retire from my truth seeking, maybe write fiction. Never saying how we came to be, we just did. 

I imagine not having to worry about bills, money. Just being happy. Nights of kinky sex, and romantic dinners for three. Every man's dream. To me, it's not just the sex, it's the ability to tame and ride someone's crazy. To see them at their strongest, and weakest, and be there without batting an eye in fear. 

Somehow I don't see it as me getting more. Somehow I feel I deserve this. The pain and backwardness of it all. The glory and hard work. If, if I can somehow live through this, find a new life, a new love, I've somehow conquered life. The life I've ignored for so long.

My thoughts drift into oblivion as I believe on some level, I've already won. 

They wait for me at night when I close the world away; in my mind I hear their voices.

"About time young man."

"Are you trying to avoid us?" 

They say it like we've lived years together in this fantasy world. I picture them, pulling me to the bed. Wrapping their spider arms around me. Sealing me to the bed in a cocoon of blankets and appendages.

I imagine their warmth keeping me in bed during those cold early mornings. I would burn my sick days as soon as winter hit. I would work out, go all "He-Man". Quit smoking. Run. 

Get as much out of this shell as I can. Thirty years, if I'm lucky. Probably die sooner due to some night of kinky sex. If I'm lucky.

I see them older, both setting together, alone at my funeral. I see them crying, the scene is cast in a white hues, the sky orange.

This was my life. And I'm grateful for every second.