2. Our Little Secret Silene
2
Our Little Secret: Silene
C old, hard floor against warm skin. That’s the first thing I feel as my eyes flutter open. I inhale deeply, and the smell of bleach instantly invades my senses. My body is awkwardly propped against something hard. I blink rapidly through bleary confusion and bolt upright. The swift movement sends a deep, dull ache through my neck. I massage the tender muscles and hope it’ll stop feeling like I slept on it wrong for five years, eight months and twenty days.
No such luck.
Instead, the pain worsens, sharp needles shooting into my skull, quickly followed by a pulsing, throbbing ache. Wincing, I glance around the unfamiliar room, trying to get a feel for where I am and what condition I’m in. My eyes dart to the floor. Dark hardwood. A kitchen? I turn my head to scan behind me, and my aching neck screams in protest. Annoyance flares within me when I realize the pain is probably because my head had been precariously balanced against the oven door instead of on the ground like the rest of my body.
Where am I? How did I get here?
I continue my scan, and my hair follows, cascading down the length of my side to the curve of my waist in a mess of dark ebony curls. My eyes catch sight of bruises that wrap around my wrist like shadowed fingerprints. A few more marks are scattered across both arms in hues of dark purples and blues. They look very fresh.
For now, I brush away the questions around how I may have gotten them. I have more pressing concerns. Bracing my hands on the ground, I slowly try to stand up, fighting down the sudden nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I only make it into a crouch before I’m forced to stop, breathing in deeply over and over again to ease the sudden sickness. Releasing one final deep exhale, I grip my knees tightly and force my legs to straighten.
It’s only then—when I’m standing—that I see I’m not alone.
Not alone at all, actually.
There are two people sprawled out in different positions near me. The first one is laying on the couch. Lucky asshole probably won’t wake up in any pain . The thought gets on my nerves more than it probably should. He seems to be decently tall, skinny and pale with red hair curling on his forehead. His chest rises and falls with the steady breaths of sleep. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt, as if he had been ready to go on a run but decided to take a nap instead.
Next, my eyes find a woman propped on her side against the wall next to the couch, her long legs curled underneath her. She’s tall—definitely taller than me. Her light brown hair lays flat against the wall, framing her tan face and falling well past her shoulders, almost to her waist.
Something tugs at me as I look at her; she almost has this aura of innocence surrounding her like a cloud that conceals her from everything bad and ugly in this world. Her oversized jacket swallows her in a mass of brown, red and green knitted fabric, paired with black leggings and ankle boots. Comfortable and practical for a season of change.
Who are these people?
I’m about to continue my search when the sound of shuffling feet pulls my gaze to the other side of the room. There’s a closed door. Shadows flicker underneath as if someone had walked up to the door to leave, then thought better of it. Maybe that’s the smart thing to do. Maybe I shouldn’t have stood up immediately. Maybe I should have waited for something to happen instead of investigating the unbroken silence. But deep down, I know I was right.
That this, here and now, isn’t right. Something is very wrong here.
I need to get moving.
And so, instead of exploring further, I turn back to the kitchen and start opening drawers and cabinets in a frantic search. There has to be something that might help me understand what’s going on. Something that will trigger the memory of the events that led me here.
Something I can use to protect myself.
The first drawer holds nothing but oven mitts and kitchen rags. Not helpful. But it means there may be knives as well, and I can use them to defend myself if it comes down to it.
I have a feeling it’s going to come down to it.
The next drawer holds measuring cups and spoons but nothing sharp. I keep searching, growing increasingly frantic. The sound of drawers and cabinets slamming shut fills the air, but thankfully the slumbering man and woman don’t stir. I find plates, bowls, a toaster, cutting boards, baking dishes, pots and pans, whisks, just about everything you would need in a kitchen, including cans of food and seasonings. Conveniently missing, however, is anything that could be used as a real weapon, unless you count an old lighter. Fuck .
I am about to give up my search when I notice something peeking out from the plaid mat under the kitchen sink. I quickly glance around the room one more time to ensure that no one had moved and that the stranger in the other room hadn’t quietly entered in search of answers.
No one out of place. I loose a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slowly bend down to see if my mind was playing tricks on me.
Once on my knees in front of the rug, I notice what looks like a carving of an “x” in the hardwood floor beneath me. Moving the rug away, my eyes look over the two short sentences roughly carved into the ground next to it.
“X” Marks the spot.
Let’s keep this our little secret, love. - X
I allow myself one second of hesitation before pushing down on where the ‘X’ is carved and watch as the right side of the board dips down, revealing a small but beautiful dagger with an all black, steel, slightly serrated blade, sitting atop a small sheath. The handle is wrapped tightly in black rope that knots at the bottom.
Curiosity is a living thing that blooms within me as I hold it, thinking about just how familiar it feels in my grip–significant, even. I shove it into my right side pocket just as I hear murmuring coming from the living room.
Placing the rug back, I ensure the carving is concealed before standing and heading toward the living room. It’s then that I see the man on the couch looking around the room with a dazed look in his eyes. He startles when he sees me, rushing to sit up as far as he can. His eyes quickly become curious and inquisitive, filling me with unease.
Maybe it’s just the situation, though, because I can feel myself giving him the same look.
“Who are you?” he asks me, voice deep and gravelly with disuse.
I soak in his appearance for a while longer before answering. His face is covered in freckles, giving his pale skin more color. Dark brown eyes are framed by blonde—almost white—eyelashes and stay locked on me, but every now and again he lets them flick to other parts of the room before returning to where I hover in the middle of the room.
“Silene,” I answer, before clearing my throat, realizing this is also the first thing I’ve said since I woke. “And you are?” I prompt. I’m starting to feel unsettled with the way he’s sizing me up like I’m some sort of obstacle before he rapidly blinks a few times, and sits upright, feet planted on the hard floor. Taking a moment to scan the room, his gaze catches on the other woman a few feet away and doesn’t stray when he finally answers.
“Nathaniel. But if you can tell me where we’re at and how we got here, then you can call me Nate,” he says before leveling his gaze back to me. “All my friends call me Nate. At least, I think they do. I honestly don’t remember much other than my name.”
That’s when I realize I’ve been so focused on finding a weapon that I haven’t really considered how I got to this strange, unknown house.
What the hell happened?
What day is it?
The fact that I even remember my name is honestly a surprise to me. Maybe I let all of these thoughts show on my face at once, because Nathaniel just pushes out a deep sigh. He tries to stand, but a small grunt escapes his lips as he falls back onto the couch instead.
“If it’s dizziness or nausea, it’ll pass soon. That happened to me too,” I say as I head back into the kitchen. Grabbing two cups from one of the cabinets, I fill them halfway with tap water and bring one back to him, cradling the other in my grasp. “I don’t know how we got here or how many of us there even are. I woke up a few minutes ago. If even that. I think there’s someone in that room. I heard footsteps and saw a shadow under the door before it walked away. I didn’t check it out yet though. Didn’t know what would be waiting for me on the other side.” I gesture to the door that’s no more than ten feet away.
We both look at each other and then toward the door slowly, him seeming just as nervous to find out what’s possibly waiting on the other side as he pops every knuckle on both hands. The sound, loud and sharp, sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine. Yet, the sound is much less unnerving than how familiar the tell of his emotions feel.
I don’t tell him that, while he was asleep, I was loudly searching for a weapon and that whoever was in that room undoubtedly heard me rummaging around.
They must have heard me, yet made no move to come and investigate. Why?
Are they also nervous about a possible ambush? Are they hurt? Do they know why we are all here? Did they bring us here?
There are too many questions stacking up. I don’t remember much about myself, but some part of me feels tremendously uneasy with the number of unanswered ones. Which, in case no one else is keeping track, is all of them. There are zero answers to many questions and I’m not sure that any information I could be given wouldn’t result in the addition of—you guessed it—more questions to our already overflowing plate. So, I take the step toward the door that hasn’t opened yet.
The one where with something waiting on the other side.
I look at Nathaniel as he stands, taking a few steps closer to me and nodding me on. Turning back toward the door, I force myself to move forward, one step after the other. A slight tremble courses through me, only noticeable when I reach my hand toward the doorknob and take a breath, trying to steady my emotions. Admittedly, it doesn’t help the pounding in my chest, but it does ease the shaking in my hands.
The deep inhale quiets every question I’ve been asking myself over and over like a broken record. It almost feels like I was used to this. Silencing my inner turmoil and calming myself in stressful situations. Putting my mind at ease when everything inside me is screaming “DANGER.” This realization has me pausing for just a second before one more question flashes in my mind.
Who am I, really?
Closing my eyes, I take a few more steps, slowly approaching the door. Nathaniel’s presence behind me is like a shadow, something I can’t feel but I know exists, ready to move as soon as I do.That thought gives me little comfort. I wrap my small, calloused hand around the cool metal, but as soon as I begin to turn the knob, I’m yanked forward with the door. I yelp before I hear the crashing sound of glass shattering against the wall behind me, only confusing me further as I stumble into the chest of another man.
One that seems to have quite a bit more muscle on him than the one behind me, but I don’t let my thoughts drift much further than that before quickly regaining my balance and back away from him. Away from him and closer to the lanky ginger who definitely could not take him in a fight, but I at least know his name. I make it back to the other side of the door, and a shattered lamp on the floor catches my eye. Turning, I quirk an eyebrow up at Nathaniel whose face turns just about as red as his hair. I turn back to Muscle Man in front of me.
I give him a good once over, the same as I’ve done for the others, and the slightest of nods as I finish and straighten myself up.
He’s taller than me, but not by much. My guess is he stands at about five foot ten, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in size. The man looks like he’s never missed gym day in his life with biceps and thighs bigger than my head. I hope I never have to fight him, because that might just be a losing battle.
Though, the jeans he’s wearing wouldn’t be great for mobility. That might give me a leg up considering I’m in a pair of well-fitting black cargo pants that seem tailored for maximum efficiency and comfort.
His hazelnut and honey hair is cropped close to his head. His olive complexion is similar to mine, and his hazel eyes haven’t strayed from me for more than a second, presumably also sizing me up. His perusal ends with a small, confident lift of his lips, giving away his lack of concern.
The look of an arrogant man.I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes at his automatic assumption that I could pose no threat to him.
Reaching out his hand, he looks at me expectantly.
“The name is William. I prefer Will,” is all he says as he waits for me to shake his hand. I almost don’t. I can’t say if it’s because of pride or something else, but some part of me doesn’t want to be pleasant with him. Maybe spite? I do know, though, that I can’t afford to make any enemies in such an uncertain time, so I meet him halfway.
“Silene,” I say when our hands meet. I nod my head to the left, “This is Nathaniel. He has a nickname too, but unless you’re friends, you can’t use it.” I crack a small, amused smile.
“And you two are friends, I take it? Just checking, you know…since he threw the lamp at your head about two minutes ago,” he says. I whip my head back and pin Nathaniel with a glare, pain jolting through my neck at the action. Nathaniel opens and closes his mouth several times, gesturing between Will and I.
“I know we just met, but damn,” I start, forcing my features into a picture of mock concern. “I thought we were past the wary stage. You think you know a guy,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes widen more than I thought humanly possible, and my lips twitch slightly—just once—and I hope it didn’t give myself away.
“I thought it was a trap, but as I was throwing, I realized the lamp would probably hit you so I angled it to the side,” he trails off in defeat before adding, “I didn’t realize G.I. Joe was on the other side of the door.” Before he can continue defending himself, there’s a small cough from behind us.
William stills while Nathaniel whips his body around and takes a small step forward before stopping himself.
Odd.
Slowly, I turn my body, taking cautious steps toward the tall and petite, formerly asleep, woman, who is now aggressively rubbing her eyes with one hand and using the other to balance herself as she tries to stand. Before she can rise, I’m in front of her, kneeling and placing my hand on one of her shoulders to help.
She startles at the contact, rearing her body back and dropping her hand from her face. When she opens her gold-speckled brown eyes, she stares at my hand on her shoulder before looking around. Her gaze darts between the frozen men across the room, the broken lamp at Will’s feet, then finally settles back on me. She furrows her brows. Questions upon questions are written all over her face. Even if she could better mask her emotions, we all had them. I wouldn’t expect her to be any different.
“Do you know your name?” I ask gently. Quietly. Almost as if she were a lost child searching for her family. She opens her mouth as if to answer but instead coughs into her elbow several more times, much louder than when she’d first woken up, and I back up a little to give her some space.
“My name is Carmen, where…where are we? Who are you? Why are we here? H-how did we get here? H—” she fires off, but I just slowly shake my head. I relax my face, hoping to convey that none of us have the answers either. She seems to understand because her eyes well with tears. Large tears, drenched with fear, stream down her face, and when she begins taking large gasping breaths like she’s struggling for air, I release a deep sigh and grab her hand hoping she’ll focus on me again.
“Alright, Carmen, take a deep breath for me and hold it for a few seconds, okay? Breathe in…and out. Okay, one more time, hold it… slowly exhale. Good. My name is Silene, behind me are William and Nathaniel, okay? None of us remember much except our names. We haven’t seen or heard anyone else yet, and I think it’s about time we all start investigating, yeah? You can stick with me if you’d like. Does that sound good?”
She only nods her head, so I rise and help her stand on shaky legs and turn to the boys.
“Are you guys ready to try and find some answers? She and I take the upstairs, you two can take downstairs? Any objections?” I ask while walking backwards toward the staircase, guiding the timid woman along with me. I keep one eyebrow raised in question at the two vastly different men. Both stand still in front of the bedroom door, as if frozen in time. It isn’t until I clear my throat expectantly that they both jump, nod their heads yes, and take off in different directions.
With that, I glance at Carmen again making sure she’s still focused before we head up the dark hardwood stairs. My knuckles are white as I grip the black iron rails leading to the second landing of this beautiful house.
One so beautiful, yet so full of mystery to all of us, I can’t help but wonder: What will we find?