Chapter 1 #4
"When they bring food in, they—"
Too late.
There's a grind and squeal of protesting metal, the thunk of a lock unseating, and then the creak of hinges as the door opens.
For a split second, I get a glimpse of the real world beyond the lightless interior of this container—dark sky, heavy gray clouds, rain, a sliver of moon through the scudding clouds.
And then a blinding light spears the darkness.
Used to the unrelenting black, the light is painful, paralyzingly so.
I reach out blindly and grab Story, yank her to me, put myself between her and them, my back to her.
I hear the sound of a tray hitting the floor and then the hinges squeal and the container is locked once more.
"How frequently do they do that?" Story asks.
"I dunno. Best guess? Every twelve hours."
"And they never come in? Just open the door, shine the light, leave the tray?"
“So far, yeah." I wait until the sound of footsteps has receded before crossing the space carefully, using memory to guide me across the container.
I find the trays—a plastic bottle of warm water, a much-too-soft apple, some sort of sliced meat that feels a bit too slippery, and rice.
I hope it's rice. It’s not moving, at least.
"The food…?" Story asks, tentatively. “Is it…?"
"I mean, it's pretty fucking awful, but I haven't gotten sick from it."
"Where are you?"
“Here."
"Where?"
"Here."
I hear her tentative steps, and I put my hand out. She bumps into me and her hand finds mine, clutches, and I guide her around the trays. She sits beside me with her back to the wall near the door. She's close—knee and thigh touching mine. I feel her moving, assessing the food.
“Oh, ew. The meat is slimy." I hear a sniff. "Smells okay, though."
"Not like we have much choice," I say. “As I said, I haven’t gotten sick from it yet, and it’s been a few days at least."
"Try nearly two weeks, Killian."
"What?" I feel faint, and I'm glad I'm sitting down. "Two weeks?"
"Yup."
"Holy shit."
"You've been in here the whole time?"
"Almost, yeah. I was taken from Zermatt the day after Bryn disappeared.
At first we just thought she was fucking with us.
She does that. She'll sneak off to do her own thing.
Especially after Zero died. But she's never gone long, and after that thing with the photo that got posted, she's more careful.
But then she didn't come back and it was more than twelve hours.
So I called Mom and Dad. Cal and I waited around the lodge, but then eventually we figured we had to look for her.
So we had our guards drive around Zermatt.
Like, maybe she got lost or something, y'know?
We checked the hospital, the police, everywhere.
We even went to the nearest club, which is where she'd have gone.
The bouncer I talked to remembered her, because duh, it's Bryn. She went into the club, but he doesn’t remember her leaving.
Roger even got their security guy to show him the footage, and you can see her going in the front door, but she never leaves.
Through that door, at least." I swallow hard.
"Cal and I had split up. He went to check internet cafes while I tried the train and bus stations.
Roger is sort of…intimidating, you know?
So I convinced him to stay in the car while I ran into the bus station and looked around and asked the ticket people if they'd seen her.
When I…when I got back to the car." My voice gives out and I try again.
"When I got back to the car, Roger was dead.
Someone had shot him in the forehead. Blew his brains all over the back seat.
" I push my index finger into the pitifully small pile of rice.
“And then I felt a jab in the side of my neck, and then I woke up hogtied in the backseat of a car in a port somewhere.
I only saw a quick glimpse of the water and container ships and a river cruise ship, and then they put me under again and I woke up here. "
She tells me about going to her car after her shift and being taken, and waking up here.
"And you have no idea where we are?" Story asks, then. "Like, no clue?"
“No. I have no way of knowing how long I was out. Whatever they used to knock us out is powerful shit, if you stayed unconscious all the way from Minnesota. My guess is the Mediterranean or the European coast of the Atlantic somewhere. I also only got a very quick glimpse of the port."
"We have to do something, though, Killy. We can't just let them kidnap us."
"I know, and I agree, and I have every intention of escaping," I tell her.
"But we're on a boat. Where are we going to go?
Off the side? The draft will drag you under and keelhaul you and then mince you up in the prop.
And if you can get away from that, we swim…
where? And they're armed. I think they get bored and shoot stuff because I've heard both fully automatic weapons and pistols.
Escaping while on this boat is not a tenable plan, Story. "
She sighs, although it's more of a hiss. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just don't like it."
I laugh. "Yeah, I'm not a huge fan of it either. But I'm even less of a fan of being shot or drowned or chopped to pieces by a giant propeller."
I hear her chewing. "Ew. I don't know what this meat is and I don't want to know."
"Right?"
She gags. "If I wasn't already so starved, I probably wouldn’t eat this, but I was at the end of a sixteen-hour shift when I got snatched, and I haven't eaten since before my shift started."
"We'll need our strength for the getaway anyway," I point out. "But yeah, it's pretty nasty."
"Do you think it's rat?" she asks.
I stop chewing. "Wow. I've been trying really fucking hard to not think that. Thanks, Story. Really."
"Sorry. I've got a morbid sense of humor. Comes with the job."
"Got any terrible nursing jokes?"
She sputters. "Oh god, Killy. Do I ever.”
"Hit me with one."
“Okay, but…be warned. Nurse humor is dark.
So the other day I was at the bank cashing a check, right, and the pen they had at the teller's station wasn't working.
I always have my favorite pen in my purse, so I went to grab it.
And guess what? No pen. I always leave the thing in the same place so I can find it when I need it.
But this time, instead of a pen, I found a thermometer. "
I blink into the darkness, not following the joke, yet. “Um."
"So I look at the teller, and I go, 'oh, great. Some asshole has my favorite pen.’"
It takes a second, and then I burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Story."
"Not that dark, but it's a funny one." She pats my thigh.
"And honestly, Killy, a lot of the stuff we nurses joke with each other about would get us a one-way trip to HR if it was overheard.
It's funny to us, but…I wouldn't repeat most of it to anyone but another emergency medicine nurse or doctor.
" Another pause. "I had a patient in cardiac arrest the other day.
We kept losing him and kept having to use the paddles to bring him back.
Well, our resident, Dr. Henson, came by to check on us, and he asked how the patient's pressure was right after we'd just brought him back.
And Jen, who was using the paddles, said, 'Oh, it's shockingly good.
'" She pauses again. "The silence after that joke was… electric."
The last part is what really sends me into hysterics, possibly more so than the joke really deserves, but hey, I've been alone in the dark for two weeks, apparently, so forgive me if I'm a little punch-drunk.
Emboldened, Story tries another. "Oh, I’ve got one. Why should you never mess with a peds nurse?" She says it peeds, meaning pediatric, I assume.
"Why?"
"They have very little patients." I'm still cackling at this one when she continues. "Here's an oldie-but-goodie. What's the difference between an oral and rectal thermometer?” Cue the dramatic pause. "The taste."
“Oh god, ew."
"Now, my roommate in college was epileptic, okay, and she told me this one, so just…just keep in mind the source when you hear it.”
"Oh god. Okay?"
"What do they call an epileptic in a garden? Seizure salad. Here’s another from my roommate: What do you do when an epileptic has a seizure in the bathtub? Throw in your laundry."
"What the fuck, Story?" I say, wheezing. "Holy shit, that's dark."
"I told you! Rena always said she had to find the humor in her condition." She pauses again. "The first time she told me a seizure joke, she laughed so hard she was…shaking."
"Story!"
"You asked." A pause. “Oh, here's a good one I heard just last week. How many masochists does it take to put in a lightbulb?" I groan as I wait for the punchline. "Just one, but it takes a full surgical team to get it out again."
“I’m sorry I asked. Good lord. Ya'll are fucked up." I nudge her with my knee. "For real, though. I don't know how you do what you do."
"Me either, some days. But then, I also can't imagine doing anything else. It's all I've ever wanted to do."
"Why?" I ask, after washing down a bite of truly unappetizing "meat".
"Mom." It's her only answer, and I can tell that's the end of the answer, so I say nothing. A few minutes go by. "I expected you to follow up on that."
"Didn't seem like you wanted to."
“What else are we gonna do in here but talk?" Another long pause. "You know the story of how Mom ended up adopting me?"
"Um, sort of?" I answer. "I know your parents were murdered when you were like five, but that's all I know."
A heavy sigh. "Yeah. Well, there's a bit more to it."