Before me lies a broad pool of turquoise water surrounded by weather-sculpted rock. Brilliant sun beams down to glitter off the ripples. I would drift in that pool, embraced by gentle warmth, gazing up at the clear blue sky…
Cutter lets out a raspy sound of amusement. “Can we have her arm already?”
Ice leans his weight onto his left elbow in a way that nearly dislocates my shoulder. The spike of pain shatters the illusion I’ve formed in my head. As he yanks my other arm toward the open door, I grit my teeth, but a little cry seeps out anyway. He snickers again. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears leaking out despite my best efforts.
Cutter doesn’t revel in the process, but he doesn’t appear to have any objection to his companion’s antics. Without another word, he slices the knife into my wrist.
It’s a shallow stinging, mostly drowned out by the cacophony of hurts already coursing through my body. From the glimpses I’ve gotten of the vial, they only take a few teaspoons. He pinches the flesh and then ties a thin bandage over the wound with a perfunctory tug to fix it in place.
Cutter straightens up. Ice pushes off me, knocking my head against the metal floor once more for good measure. When he’s clambered out, Yellow shuts the cage door and voices his magic to lock it.
Normally, this is when they’d leave. Instead, Ice peers down at me, folding his arms over his chest. The light glittering off the pale, spiky tufts on his head turns them even chillier-looking.
“She barely responds anymore,” he says. “It makes this rather tiresome.”
Cutter shakes his head. “Only you would wish for a fight.”
“I’m only saying that while we have her, we might as well make use of her for some entertainment in between more vital matters.”
“What did you have in mind?” Yellow asks as if he doesn’t really care about the answer. He’s eyeing the vial rather than me, with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
Ice rubs his jaw, showing the tattoo that spears across his knuckles. “We could give her the run of the castle. Make it more of a chase.”
Hope flickers to life in my chest despite the throbbing of my ribs. I might not even need to make the magic work to get my chance. If I could get that much closer to—
His sneering voice cuts through my thoughts. “Of course, I’d break her other ankle to ensure she can’t get far without our say so. She can crawl around the place like the vermin she is.”
My blood freezes, a wave of hopelessness dousing the flare of hope in an instant. No. Fleeing this place with one unsteady leg would be hard enough. Escaping without the use of either… They might as well cage me within my body and swallow the key.
“Let me think on it,” Yellow says in the same distracted tone. “It is something of a waste putting her to use so infrequently. Perhaps she could polish the floors while she’s down there.”
He’s really considering it. I bite back the scream that’s trying to bubble up my throat.
“Sleep well, dung-body!” Ice calls over his shoulder to me, and they all laugh as they head out.
A shiver runs through my limbs. Within moments, I’m shaking so hard I can’t get a hold of myself. I roll onto my side and pull my knees up to my chest, gulping air and groping for control.
I can’t let it happen. I can’t. I can’t. I’d rather be dead.
But they won’t let me take that escape either.
Listen. I have to listen to that magic word again. Listen and then try, oh please, oh please…
I close my eyes and reach back to the turquoise pool I pasted into my scrapbook of wonderful places years ago, when I was still a kid. I can’t quite conjure up the warble of the breeze over the water or its warm caress against my face, but gradually, my shudders peter out.
Over time, I’ve built an extensive imaginary world inside my head. Along with the exotic locations from my scrapbook, I summon up scenes from favorite movies: mine, sweeping fantasy epics of heroic adventures, and the ones Mom always loved, comedies where everyone speaks in arch remarks and often with British accents. In the long stretches of when I’m left alone, I fantasize about stepping into those stories, joining conversations with comments that sound just as valiant or smart. It stops my brain from turning into mush with boredom.
If it weren’t for that pretend world, this existence would probably have reduced me to a mess of vague thoughts, shudders, and pain by now. I run my fingers down my side to my right hipbone, to the tiny mottling of scars there. One for each year I’ve been able to mark, digging my ragged fingernail into my skin until it bled. Eight altogether.
How many more years lie ahead if they shackle me to a ruined body and set me to work? Will I even be able to drift away inside my head in between the worst parts, or will I lose even that make-believe escape?
Another shiver ripples through me. I force myself to breathe slow and steady. The chance isn’t gone yet. I have to focus on that and not on the terrors that might lie ahead.
As I uncurl myself, I reach toward the ceiling of my cage. I might not be able to walk in here, but I’ve kept myself strong however I can. Gripping the bars, I heft myself up and down, over and over, until a different sort of ache burns through my muscles.
It isn’t comfortable, but there’s something satisfying about knowing I still have some small say over what my body is put through. It helps that the exertion makes it hard to think about my future, now even more precarious than before.
I’m bicycling my legs in an attempt to work those muscles too when the sound I’ve been waiting for reaches my ears. The muffled but audible thud of what I assume is the building’s front door carries all the way to this room.
I flip into a crouched position, keeping most of my weight on my good foot. My captors never say much around me, but from the snippets I’ve gathered over the years, I’ve gotten the impression they have to leave this place to complete their plans. I don’t know who else might live in the building other than the three of them, but to the best of my knowledge, no one else here has ever seen me. Even if I run into another inhabitant, they might not realize I’m meant to be a prisoner.
If I want to regain my freedom, this is my best opportunity. Possibly the last opportunity I’m ever going to get.
I just have to say that strange word right.
I tip so close to the cage door that my forehead brushes the bars. Fixing my eyes on the latch, I dredge up my memory of my captor’s lilting pronunciation. My voice comes out in a whisper. “Fee-doom-ace-own.”
When I reach through the bars to rattle the latch, it doesn’t budge. I’m sure I said it exactly the same way Yellow did. But then, I’ve felt that way dozens of times before.
“Fee-doom-ace-own,” I say at the latch, letting my voice rise, shifting my inflection. “Fee-doom-ace-own. Fee-doom-ace-own. Fee-doom-ace-own! Come on!”
My heart is pounding. I grasp the bars and gather my composure. It’s not just being trapped in here that I’m scared of. I’m also scared of what will happen if I do get out. What I might face beyond this room. What my captors will do to me if they catch me. Every time I’ve tried this, that terror lurks right behind my resolve.
I can’t let the fear stop me. I can’t. Nothing could be worse than what I’ll face if the sharp-edged man gets his way.