Unfamiliar Territory

I was unsure how long I spent recovering from my injuries.

They kept me in a bare room in the abandoned asylum. My new room. It had only a mattress and a cinderblock with which they kept one of my ankles chained to at all times. Even though it felt like my entire body was broken. Like I would never move again, let alone try and get free.

When I regained consciousness, it was only a fragment. A whisper. A glimmer. And I would lose that glimmer frequently.

I felt the sensation of being bathed—carefully, delicately. The pain of the rough sponge on my broken body hurt more than words could say. Like needles shoved into every nerve, or fire dancing around my insides.

One night, I was brought back to the world by soft crying. I still could not see, and the crying echoed off the walls. It sounded like it came from everywhere. In my deluded state, I thought it was some spirit of the old asylum weeping for its own misery, or maybe even for mine. My body still hurt, but inside I felt nothing.

I could feel the warmth of the sun on my body as I was being carried through the woods. I knew it was the woods because I could smell the apples and the dirt. It made me remember the dream I had. Living in the woods, free and peaceful. I wondered if I was to be buried. I wondered if I would return to that dream.

A crackling of fire. Low, harmonious chanting. The putrid smell of rot and death returned to my nose. It was not a smell that I missed. I felt something being smeared across my naked body. The texture was cold and gritty against the arms, legs, and across the face. I tried not to think of it being the source of the smell. Naked tree branches made their music against the wind. I felt a bitter chill at my feet while the rest of my body remained warm by the fire.

My next return from darkness was heralded by singing. It was soft, barely louder than a whisper. I mistook it for the wind, at first.

Then the light hit my eyes. It hurt, but I spent so long in the darkness—I refused to return to it. I kept my eyes open and, gradually, images began to appear.

At first, it was just a lot of grey but, as it got clearer, I could make out walls, a floor, and a ceiling all bathed in an orange glow.

Then there was a lot of white, a lot of white very close to me.

It was me. My body was wrapped up in all sorts of bandages from my waist, maybe even to my face. I felt a stirring warmth beneath the bandages and I realized, all at once, that I was no longer in pain. Inside or outside. It was such a strange sensation that I was afraid to move my body in case some previously undisturbed injuries decided to rear their ugly heads.

The singing went on. It became clearer as my vision cleared. I looked around the small room I was in, but it was dark. A small candle was lit beside the mattress I was laying on, though the singing came from somewhere else in the room—in the shadows. I tried to reach for it and realized I could not move. Not one inch.

Deep beneath the meadow grove

Through the grass, below the snow

The words sounded like a song. The singer had a pleasant voice. It was so quiet that I had to refrain from trying to move, from making any sound at all, so that I could hear it.

Lies a beauty soft and still

Waiting patiently until

I could barely make out someone moving in the shadows of the candle light. Something delicious reached my nose and my stomach started to ache immediatly. It was like I hadn’t eaten in years. But I remained quiet, because the song was not over.

There comes a one strong and sure

With golden light and warmth so pure.

He greets the beauty with a kiss

And wakens the flower we all did miss.

Kat came into the light of the gentle fire. She held a bowl carefully in her hands, steam rising up from what was inside. I could not see what she was wearing in the dim lighting, besides the familiar yellow bandana on her head.

It was the first time I had a good look at her face without those cold green eyes boring into me or my nerves acting up. It was slender. Cheeks, chin, and nose. Her face was almost entirely free of the scratches from her previous encounter with the dogs. A faint scar on a cheek was all that remained. I watched her lips as she sang—they were thin and pale.

In the light of the candle, she knelt down beside me. She dipped a spoon into what looked like some sort of soup, and then looked up at my face.

She cursed as she dropped the spoon, and nearly dropped the entire bowl as well. Her green eyes went wide. I had never before seen her look more vulnerable.

“You really do look like a mother,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure it was me who said it. My voice sounded raspy, weak, and foreign.

It took Kat a moment to regain her cool, but when she did it was as ice cold as I remembered. Maybe even worse. She took off the bandana before picking up the spoon. “Still alive, are you?” she asked, using the bandana to wipe down the utensil.

“Thanks to you, I guess.”

“Thank Mr. Mallard; he’s the one who spent all the resources to keep you alive.”

I felt something stir inside the emptiness. “Oh, sure, yeah. I’d thank him if he wasn’t the same monster that helped almost kill me in the first—!”

I was cut off when Kat shoved a spoonful of warm soup in my mouth. I tasted carrots, onions, and even some beef before I swallowed it without thinking further, hungry for more.

“I’ll feed you if you stop talking for awhile,” Kat said before pulling the spoon out of my mouth. “Deal?”

I nodded, pushing aside the stirring feeling for now. What was the point of fighting if I didn’t have the energy? I needed food. My entire body was screaming it at me now. I nearly bit the spoon out of her hand when she fed me the second time.

As she spooned the soup into my mouth, I held my tongue, but my mind was racing as the need for hunger diminished. How long had I been out? Were my parents calling for a search party by now? Had Mr. Mallard and the rest of them been found out and were now holding me hostage? And Mary. Was she alright? Were they torturing her? Did she somehow escape?

Bite after bite, I ate the soup as more and more questions whirled in my head. Kat kept her eyes on me the entire time, but I did my best to avoid them. I would never look directly into those eyes again, if I could help it.

Eventually, the soup was empty and Kat announced as such as she prepared to leave.

“Wait,” I called after her, my voice still weak and throat still sore.

Kat stopped, the door halfway open. “Do you want to know about Mouse? Your family? Friends? Do you worry about the ones who got left behind?” she asked me, still facing the open doorway.

“Yes, Kat, that would be a damn good start,” I said in a weak breath as I glared into the back of her head. She glanced back at me. I shot my eyes to a darkened corner to avoid her look.

“You did your job, you are one of us. Anything else is no longer your concern.”

“Do you really think that I’m going to—” I stopped when I looked back towards door. She was no longer there. Just an open doorway.

I screamed after her, shouted obscenities at her, and lamented my situation until my lungs felt ready to burst and I had completely lost my voice.

I found that, while I could not move my upper body, my legs still worked. So, even though I was still chained to the cement block, I kicked and kicked the mattress and the wall long after I lost my voice and until I spent most of my energy. I stopped when I kicked the candle, crying out when it burnt my foot. It hit the floor and went out, plunging my room into darkness.

Sometime later, I awoke to warmth hitting my face. I opened my eyes to see that one of the grimy windows still had some spots on it which allowed a small amount of light in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see that my bandages were gone, replaced by some old and brown long-sleeved t-shirt of mine. I made to pull up the sleeves and lift my shirt to inspect my body before realizing that I had the use of my upper body again.

I stopped. I stood up as best I could with the cinder block still chained to my ankle and gave myself a once over.

My first observation was of how much weight I had lost. I was never really that built, but I did have a little weight around my mid section. All of it was gone now. Muscle, fat—it was like I was as close to a skeleton as one could get. The natural paleness of my skin didn’t help make the image go away. I felt the exposed rib bones as a shudder ran through me.

Otherwise, I appeared perfectly fine. There were no more bruises, scrapes, or any other sign that I had been nearly beaten to death. I felt my face, still expecting something—a scar, maybe—but found nothing. In fact, the soft, unblemished nature of the skin was almost unnerving. It felt better than I ever remembered my skin to feel.

Still, I wanted a mirror. The windows covered in years of neglect wouldn’t do, so I attempted to leave the room. I soon discovered that the cinder block would be more than just a hindrance. In my weakened state, it practically kept me unable to move. I had to drag the damn thing with me to make it the few feet it took to get to the door. That short distance nearly sapped what energy I had left.

Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Although, if the door was anything like the rest of the asylum, perhaps the lock stopped working years ago.

I peered down the hall. It was dark and empty. Well, empty besides an old wheelchair situated near my door. If I wasn’t so desperately weak I would have considered it too convenient to be anything but a trap.

It took every ounce of strength I had, even though I remembered to lift with my legs, to get the cinderblock onto the seat of the wheelchair. It was old, but made of metal and still very sturdy. Its wheels were somewhat rusted and a pain to push, but it was leagues better than having to drag the cinder block around everywhere. Plus, after only a few steps down the hall, I really appreciated having something to lean on. I was already getting winded again.

With the wheels making a terrible squeaking noise that echoed throughout the halls, no matter how slow I went, I didn’t worry too much about being quiet. Some part of me knew it was futile to try and escape but another, greater part of me couldn’t stop from trying.

I thought of trying to find Mary first, but knew if I had to go up any stairs that it would be a hopeless endeavor. Our best shot was for me to escape alone and find help.

But first, I needed a mirror.

I passed by a set of large doors as I turned a corner. The smell hit me first. Rotten and horrid. It was the smell of death.

The doors were kept open by more cinderblocks and appeared to have once been the doors to this asylum’s cafeteria. It was pretty small, by cafeteria standards, though with this place’s remote location I doubted they ever had much business.

It housed three circular tables. One was broken nearly in half as if something had smashed into it, the second was piled with corpses of animals—some rotten, some fresh—and the third had a person chained on top of it.

“Mutt?” I croaked, my voice sounding worse than ever.

Mutt didn’t answer or move. I pushed the wheelchair inside.

He was asleep. He had no shirt on, so I could easily see the amount of cuts and bruises that dotted not only his face but his entire body as well. I didn’t realize how dark his skin was, or how peaceful he could look without that dopey grin.

I wheeled the chair over; surprised the amount of squeaking didn’t wake him, and inspected the chains.

There were four points of origin welded to the concrete floor. They were far enough away from the table to keep each arm and leg extended at full length with no room to move. It looked uncomfortable—if not incredibly painful.

I glanced back to his face and had the shock of my life when I saw two brown eyes staring back at me. “Hey,” he said in a strained voice, smiling ever so slightly. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling despite myself. “You too. What happened?”

“I hurt you, Foxy.” Mutt frowned as he stared at me. “Did I make you forget, too?”

I looked away from him, unable to take those sad eyes. “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant about you being chained up on a table.”

“Oh.” He looked around the room, at the chains. At first he seemed surprised, but then he closed his eyes like he would fall back asleep. “It’s obedience training.”

“Uh, what?”

“Obedience training, Foxy,” Mutt repeated, eyes still closed. “Even if I get really, really, really hungry, Mr. Mallard said that I can’t break these chains and eat. You have to do what Mr. Mallard says.”

“Why?”

Mutt opened his eyes to look at me. “Are you one of us now?”

“That’s what Kat said.”

I didn’t want to admit it myself, but I could at least use it to get some answers.

“He’s our Master right now and we have to learn to always obey the Master.”

I just needed a second to register what he said. More questions buzzed around inside my head. I was both furious and not at all surprised. A strangely calming mixture.

“Okay, so, we’re his slaves, then? Is he planning on selling us to some foreign country or something once we are good and obedient?”

Mutt laughed or, at least, tried to. It was weak, almost forced. “No, Foxy, that’s silly,” he said, still chocking out laughter. “So silly.”

“That’s not the word I would use,” I muttered. I was prepared to say more, but a weakness hit me suddenly. If it wasn’t for my grip on the wheelchair, I would have fallen.

“Are you alright, Foxy?” Mutt asked, straining his head to get a better look at me. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. I’m—Okay, I’m not fine. I feel like I’m about to kill over at any moment.”

“Go sit down,” Mutt urged, motioning with his head towards a plastic chair that looked one good sit away from collapsing. “Please, Foxy, go sit down.”

I couldn’t argue with him. If I didn’t sit down I was falling down. The chair barely even registered that someone was there when I sat. Perks of being a skeleton, I suppose.

I got a good look at the leg that was still chained to the cinderblock, the wheelchair keeping it elevated. It looked like I could wrap a hand around it several times over. It didn’t look real. I was beginning to get light headed again so I shut my eyes.

“Foxy?” Mutt asked in the darkness. “Is that better?”

“Better than standing.”

“That’s good.”

It was quiet between us for a little while. Ifigured Mutt had fallen back asleep. I kept my eyes closed and felt like I would fall asleep too.

Or, maybe, I wasn’t falling asleep. Maybe I was dying.

My eyes flew open as my stomach interrupted the silence with a loud grumble.

“Whoa, are you practicing your growl?” Mutt asked, trying to lift his head up again to see me. “That was a good one!”

“Shut-up, Mutt,” I groaned. I closed my eyes as the light headedness returned. I was going to faint for sure that time, and never wake up.

“I’m going to die,” I said it out loud, made it real. “I am going to die.”

A snapping of something loud and metallic forced my eyes open. I saw Mutt standing there. Right in front of me. His bruised face, those focused brown eyes, the frown. He looked like a different person.

“I won’t let you die, Foxy,” he said, holding out what looked like a pile of raw, red meat in his hands.

I didn’t care what it was. I tried to reach out, but found I no longer had the energy to move my arms. Mutt brought the meat closer to my face, so close I could smell the blood. I lurched forward with my head and sunk my teeth into it.

It was tough, and all I could taste was the red juices, but I chewed and I swallowed and then chewed some more. In a matter of seconds, Mutt’s hand was bare and stained with red. I thought I saw a few bite marks in his skin, but I could have been mistaken.

“Want more?” he asked me, rubbing his hands. I looked up at him, begging for more.

Mutt went over to the table with the dead animals. He tore open one of them with his bare hands—a rabbit, I think—and brought back more. There was more than meat that time, and organs, maybe, but I didn’t care. It was eat or die.

This time I had the strength to take the meat from his hands and I did so before he even made his way back to me. I fell out of my chair in an attempt to grab something, but I came back with a perfect red morsel. Mutt tried to hand me the rest, but I smacked his hand, causing them to fall on the floor. I crawled over them; I devoured them until I felt sick. But I held in the bile. I refused to let it go.

I held my stomach as it ached with fullness. It hurt, but not worse than hunger.

There was a sound of footsteps then; heavy, purposeful. My head shot up towards the doorway right before Stallion appeared behind it.

At first, I wasn’t sure it was him. His hair had grown longer and I could see stubble on his face. As he entered, he called out:“Mutt! Hey, man, have you seen Foxy? I—”

Then he saw me and his eyes widened. “Oh, god, Foxy?!” he bemoaned as he ran over, but stopped when I growled at him.

I growled at him. I wasn’t trying to, but it rumbled out of my throat and hung menacingly in the air. I could only lie there, looking at him with the same level of surprise that I saw in his face. Stallion stared down at me, then to Mutt who was getting back up on his table.

“Oh, man, Mutt, you didn’t feed him, did you?”

“Foxy was going to die if I didn’t!” Mutt insisted, lying back down on the table. There were still bindings on his wrists and ankles, but the chains had been snapped in half.

“But meat? You know he isn’t ready for that yet. You could have set things back by, like, a lot!”

“Foxy was going to die if I didn’t,” Mutt repeated.

Stallion shot Mutt a foul look before sighing. He turned his attention back to me, smiling as he took slow steps towards me. “Come with me, Foxy,” he said, pulling a small key out of a jean pocket. “I got a key, see? I can get you out of that chain.”

I felt the desire to growl at him again, but I held it back. Instead, I said: “Not still afraid to get too close to me?”

Stallion stopped less than a few feet away. He still had his ball cap, and it was angled to the front so when he lowered his head it was impossible to see his face.

“I know, man. I know I have—we have a lot to answer for, and I know it might be hard, but you need to trust that we are trying to help you. We will answer for what we have done to you...and to Mouse. But until then you gotta trust us.”

Another low rumbling arose in my throat. I glared at him until Stallion looked up. His face was still pretty beat up with crisscrossing his cheeks, nose, and forehead. They did not look like they would heal any time soon. I lowered my eyes and stared at the cracked concrete floor.

Who did I really have to trust anymore? Even with my full stomach, there was no more strength in my body to stand. I thought about what Mr. Mallard had done to me. Making me weak with a word, like he had done with Mutt. Maybe Stallion and Kat were under the same influence; maybe they did these things to me not because they wanted to, but because they were forced to?

But, how?

I thought about the tea that could give and take away strength from just a drink. About Fawn, who could summon flowers and trees to do her bidding. It didn’t matter how. It just was.

Maybe. Hopefully.

I looked back up at Stallion. He still stood there, waiting for me to give him an answer. I peered into the scarred face and imagined I was still seeing the one who fought so hard to protect his friends—to keep them for worrying. Was that the real Stallion?

“Okay,” I said.

He stepped forward, kneeled down, and unlocked the chain from my ankle. I felt lighter—lighter than air. Stallion carefully lifted me with no effort at all. He could crush my entire body with just his hand. I imagined it was like trying to handle rice paper; one wrong move could spell disaster.

I glanced towards the tables as we left. Mutt had his head raised, watching us as Stallion carried me out.

“Bye, Foxy,” he called.

He did not lower his head again until I waved a bony hand. It fell back against the table as we exited the room.