Cannon

4

RYVER

Someone shook Ryver awake the next morning. She was baffled to find she had slept through the entire night and wasn’t able to plan her escape. Ryver shook her head and found a woman waking her, one without a mask. She grabbed at her shoulders and sat her up from her slumped position.

“Here, these are for you.”

The woman was carrying a bucket and toilet paper. With a look of sadness on her face, she placed it next to Ryver. She seemed to be doing as she was told but with little approval. She also had a water bottle in her hand and signaled to Ryver to raise her chin. Ryver did so and welcomed the delicious taste of water after a long night of horror. She chugged at it while the older lady guided the bottle into her mouth like a little lamb.

Ryver nodded for her to stop. She swallowed the liquid then inquired to the woman. “What’s going on? Can you help me?”

The woman grimaced, then went toward a tray she had placed at the front of the shack. It had a bowl of oatmeal on it and some nuts. She placed it in front of her, then stood for a few solemn moments. She had her hands clasped together with concern. Ryver watched her, counting on her doubt. She pulled at the chains and whispered. “Please.”

The woman’s face completely lost color. Her eyes widened, possibly suddenly struck with the terror of what would happen to her if she didn’t follow orders. She fled the room before Ryver could say anything more.

“Fuck.” Ryver glared at the oatmeal. It didn’t look the most appetizing and probably wasn’t cooked with the utmost care. But her stomach was pressing against her ribs – she was starving. She decided to follow her logic of gaining strength, then leaned forward and scarfed down the meal. It wasn’t as terrible as she anticipated, but perhaps that was because it was essential to her survival.

She was licking up the last of her meal when two men in masks entered the shack. They aggressively ripped the door open, and blasts of uncomfortable light stung her eyes. She squinted, still focusing on the last of her meal. She didn’t know when she was going to get another.

“Stand up.” One of the men ordered while the other pulled her to her feet. She felt weak and quivered as she stood. The other man came at her with a knife, so she screamed as loud as she could.

The man behind her shook her by the T-shirt. “Quiet. No one is hurting you.”

It took Ryver a second to realize what was going on. The man who was holding the knife grabbed a fist full of her long ponytail, then began slicing it off of her head. Ryver’s hair was naturally curly, so it was easy to remove a large chunk. Her heart began racing as she watched an important part of her being angrily taken from her. She tried to hold back tears as he finished, holding the blond hair between his fingers.

The man holding the hair snickered underneath his mask. His eyes were a deep stream of hazel filled with violence and frustration. The man behind her threw her down by her shirt. The man holding her hair continued to stare at her. As he did, he brought the hair to his nostrils and breathed in deeply. Ryver felt her stomach stir with fear and disgust.

“You probably taste just as good.”

The other man grabbed his comrade by the neck. As they turned to leave, the man with the hair gave it another sniff and pleasurably watched her grimace. The door closed behind them with a slam, and Ryver released a cry that came from deep in the wells of her heart.

“Jesus f*****g Christ!” She shook herself, and the chains rattled against the wall. She was sure that some of her fingers had gone numb from sitting elevated in the same position for eight hours. She had eaten but perhaps had eaten too rapidly. The food was swishing inside her like a storm about to erupt.

She didn’t want to vomit, and she needed that sustenance. Instead, she sucked back tears and bit down on her lip hard but it did nothing to stop the sob that ripped from her throat. She inhaled deeply and plopped herself down on the ground. Desperation grew in her chest. She stunk. She’d urinated while she they’d grabbed her by the shirt and desperately needed to bathe.

Ryver assumed the hair was going to be delivered to the U.S. government as a threat. But Ryver didn’t want to wait for whatever else was to come. She didn’t want these men to find any weak points in her. It took everything she had not to react to the creep smelling her hair. Who knew what else he had in mind?

Ryver wasn’t going to find out. She needed to leave tonight.

Once she had gathered herself, she made a plan. She would slowly loosen the chains on the wall throughout the day. She wouldn’t completely remove them because she wasn’t sure when or if the men would enter and find her trying to get out. If she was lucky, she could get out in the middle of the night when no one seemed to disturb her.

If worse came to worst, she could always throw the bucket of feces at them if one walked in on her loosening the chains.

So that was what she did. She pulled at the chains lightly throughout the day, noticing them inching closer and closer to coming out of the wall. She didn’t pull too hard, as she didn’t want to yank it out completely until nightfall. The men only entered the room to throw her more slop and a water bottle one more time. The water bottle was open and spilled mostly onto the floor. But she managed to grasp at it with her feet, taking small sips to savor it.