The Basement
768 Words
“How do you know my name?” Sloan murmured in a small voice.
The man looked green. His eyes scanned over her, he took in her thin clothing, her much too thin body, and the bruises on her skin. “You’ve been all over the news for two months. We’re from the same town.”
“Oh,” she mumbled.
“Okay, Sloan,” the man took a deep breath, sitting back and glancing at the door. “What can you tell me about this guy? Does he have any weapons?”
Sloan stared at him, unsure of how to respond. Was he planning on fighting the monster? That was a bad idea. He would kill him. Blood rushed to her ears.
The man let out a breath. “My name is August, Sloan. August Whitman. We both grew up in Cedar Creek. I’m twenty five. I’m six years older than you. I was in the military and just got discharged last year. I can help you, darlin’, but you have to tell me what you know about this guy. I can get us out of here.”
Help? He could help her? He didn’t know what he was talking about.
“You can’t help me,” she whispered. “He’ll never let me go.”
August’s eyes, while still panicked, softened slightly as he examined her. “Has he hurt you, Sloan? Touched you?”
Sloan’s mouth pinched as she squeezed her eyes shut, pulling her gown tight around her body. “No, he.. he hasn’t touched me. He watches me and touches himself.”
August’s mouth twisted in disgust and anger. “Does he have weapons, Sloan? I need to know before he comes back.”
She sucked in a breath and nodded. “Guns. Lots of them. And a.. and a knife.”
August nodded, wheels spinning as he examined the room around them. She could tell he was in the military. Most people would still be screaming and panicking. He had, but he’d calmed himself almost instantly and turned strategic. August got up, pacing around the room, tapping on the metal walls and listening to the sound it made.
“How often does he come in?”
“It depends. He comes to let me shower once a week. Sometimes that’s all I see him.. sometimes, he’s here every night.”
August froze, his eyes darting across her frame. She saw him noting the hollows of her cheeks and her painfully thin wrists.
“Do you know why he took me, Sloan? Do you have any idea why he would?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “No,” her voice broke. “I’m sorry. I’m really tired.”
It was late, and she didn’t have the energy she used to have. Her body was starving, and her eyes were getting heavy. She didn’t want to tell August there was no way out. She didn’t want to destroy his hope. Not yet.
August stopped what he was doing, his eyes softening as he watched her. Suddenly, he saw the fragility of the girl in front of him. Sloan watched him as he crossed the room and sat down in the corner, a safe distance from her dirty mattress.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised her. “You’re safe around me, I promise.”
“Do you have a blanket?” He asked her suddenly. It was always cold in the basement— but the monster wouldn’t let her have one.
She shook her head, laying her head down on the mattress as fatigue took her. Her eyes were heavy. “He doesn’t like me to be covered up.”
The disgust was back in August’s face, and he shrugged out of the hoodie he was in, tossing it in her direction. “Put that on. It’ll help.”
“You’ll get cold,” she protested.
“I’ve got about a hundred pounds on you, I’ll be fine.”
Sloan wanted to argue, but the warmth the hoodie offered lured her in. She lifted her sore arms gingerly; pulling it over her head. It smelled like pine and sandalwood— a masculine and pleasant smell, and she resisted the urge to lift the sleeve to her nose and breath it in.
She laid her head back down, her heavy eyes glancing up at the small window again.
“Get some sleep, darlin’. I’m getting us out of here as soon as I can.”
Sloan yawned, her eyes drifting closed as her body felt heavy.
She wished she could believe him.
- Writer
