Chapter 3

I don’t know how long it took for them to move us, but it felt like an eternity. They walked us a few feet, sat us down on something and then picked us up again a few minutes later and pushed us to shuffle forward. At one point I ran into someone. I think it was Trace ‘cause he made a little moaning noise. God, I hope he’s ok. I still have a headache, and my ankles are really sensitive where the metal rubs against the part that was waxed by duct tape. But Trace, Trace got beat up, not just knocked out. He was beaten until he passed out, at least I think. I’m assuming they made sure he was knocked out before they brought him to the house. But, holy shit, if he wasn’t, maybe he’ll know where we are and how to get us out. No, no, he’s too terrified.

He’s just as clueless as I am. It’d at least be nice to have him to talk to. Even for five minutes. I don’t know what I’d say though.

I really, really hope this fucking tape over my mouth comes off soon.

We are carried down what I assume is a big flight of stairs over someone’s shoulder. I can hear a squeaky door slam behind us and with each trotting step I hear the sound of a light feminine singing, which was oddly childlike and yet still grown. Whoever it is, they are singing along to “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” from The Lion King.

Good fuckin’ God, this is some sick joke, isn’t it?

I’d almost pay for Ashton or someone to pop out and say “You just got punk’d” but I have a good idea this is a little too sick, even for him.

Suddenly the singing and the sound of the movie goes off with the “boing” sound that happens when you turn off a TV. They got a TV down here? I wonder if it’s all over the news that I’m missing. Shit, I’m a cocky ass bastard even when I’m fucking kidnapped. But still, I wonder if they’re looking for us. I hope so.

God, I can’t believe how sharp my hearing is. It’s like once your ability to talk and ability to see are taken from you, everything is heightened. I wonder what it smells like. I’d know if the thick wooly smell of this hood thing wasn’t so powering.

Footsteps on cement are heard as I bounce over this guys shoulder. The blood is rushing to my head and I have to wonder if its snot that’s coming from my nose or blood.

The guy’s footsteps are quieted but we’re still moving. We must be on carpet. God, if I wasn’t in this situation I’d be very proud of myself for being so observant. Suddenly I’m whipped around and I’m sitting on a carpeted floor. Or maybe it’s a rug, I don’t know. I feel someone fiddling behind me and hear a clicking sound. My hands feel around as much as possible and I feel a hook and a key lock holding in the chains of my handcuffs. The hook is bolted into a cemented wall, like the wall of an unfinished basement.

Shit, that’s where we are. They put us in the basement with a Lion King freak.

The hood is suddenly pulled off me and Bernie is squatting there. Another big goon, who looks a little less friendly but just as big as Bernie, is taking off Trace’s hood thing. I can’t see anything beyond their massive forms and I’m not sure if I want to.

“Eh, this is gonna ‘urt,” Bernie says and the next thing I know I feel like my lips are being ripped off my face.

The first thing I do is turn my head and face down to my shoulder to try and wipe some of the blood or whatever from my face. I look at my shoulder and don’t see blood, but disgusting yellow mucus. At least my nose isn’t bleeding. I turn my head and do it to the other side of my face as I hear Trace’s tape be ripped off.

I look over and he takes a deep breath.

“You ok?” I whisper. He looks at me with wide eyes and the next thing I feel is a slap of a backhand across my face. I look at Bernie. Wow, I mean I thought he was a prick, but he seemed a lot nicer than to slap me for asking my best friend if he’s ok.

What the hell am I talking about? This guy’s a kidnapper.

“Be quiet awlright? Listen to me. Yew two behave yaself. No fuckin’ monkey business.” He turns to look over his shoulder and I look with him, trying to get a feel for what’s around us. I can’t see anything but a small bed with a cover that has pictures of Jasmine from Aladdin all over it. There are a couple stuff animals and a small TV on a stand on the opposite wall in front of the bed. VHS are stack up along the wall beside the TV and I wonder, did the asshole put us down with his fucking kid?

“Sarah will be lookin’ after yew. If yew try to mess with ‘er, if yew even THINK about messin’ with ‘er, Boss’ll fuckin’ cut yew into peices and feed yew to the otha one. Understand?”

I nod but can’t help but think that this is weird. This is really fucking weird. I look over at Trace and see him looking around as well. The big guy that was carrying him has stood up and Trace is staring at the walls.

I see it.

There are paintings everywhere. The walls are covered with taped up paintings and drawings. Some are done in what look like finger paints, other in pencil, but all of them, all of them are fucking fantastic.

Most of them are paintings or drawings of the name “Sarah” over and over again in all different artistic stylings. Others are recreations of scenes from Disney movies and cartoons, mainly Aladdin. It’s incredible.

It’s creepy.

We can’t stay down here with a psycho child who only paints her name If Sarah ends up being like the exorcist chick, I’ll fucking shoot myself in the brain. I lick my dry lips and taste blood but don’t think about that at that moment. I gotta think about getting out of here. “Bernie, right?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me and grits out. “Eh, don’t get smart.”

“I just want to know what you want? How much? You’ll get it, just let us go.” I plead with him. I don’t know what else to do, and I know I’m being naïve and pathetic at the moment, but I can’t just sit here and let them boss us around. I mean, I have to because they have guns. But sitting here and taking it without trying something is going to kill me.

Or get me killed.

“It don’t work like that superstar.” He smiles and stands up. “I just do whut I do. Boss’ll discuss those things with yew later. We’ll be checkin’ in.” I watch as they both walk off to the side and up the steps, looking back over their shoulders to check on us. “Be nice to ‘er,” Bernie says when he gets to the top of the wooden stairs. Yea, we are definitely in a basement. You can see the pipes and shit that run in the house all along the ceiling. There’s a small keypad by the doorway and he pokes in some numbers and then opens the door. It slams shut. I stare at the little keypad. It looks like the same one I have in my house for my alarm system.

I realize right then and there if we get out of this, that’s our ticket. We’ll have to figure that sucker out. Shit…this isn’t good.

“Holy fuck Justin…” I hear Trace say in a trembling voice.

I look over and he’s staring at me. It’s weird. For most of my life I’ve put him through the shit and he’s pulled us both out of it. Now, now he’s looking at me for directions. Fuck, you think I know what the hell to do?! “Let’s just not panic, ok?”

“Not fucking panic!?” He says and I know it was a horrible thing to say, but what do you expect? What am I supposed to say? “What the hell Justin…”

“Just shut up Trace!” I yell. I can’t do this right now. We can’t fucking get in an argument about panicking, cause then we’d panic. I take a few calming breaths and lean my head against the cool cement. It feels nice on my throbbing head and I ask him, “Are…are you ok?”

I look down at him and he nods. “My side is fucking killing me, but I think I’m ok. What about you?”

“They knocked me with a gun, so I just have a headache.” He looks at me and I see finally that his right eye is horrible. It’s puffy and a deep purple color. “Shit man, your eye looks bad.” I sigh and for some reason I feel like this is all my fault. “God, I’m so fucking sorry Trace.”

“It’s not your fault.” He says.

“Yes it is.” I reply, “If I hadn’t of yelled ‘oh shit’.”

He gets angry and narrows his eyes, well, eye at me. “If I hadn’t been chasing a fucking parrot we wouldn’t be here ok? So just shut up.”

“Well, shit man, what do want me to do? What am I supposed to do? I mean fuck were in-” But I stop when I hear a squeak. Trace’s eyes widen and we both slowly turn our heads. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but right there in front of us on the opposite wall is a door. It’s cracked open with dull light pouring from it, but brighter than the light in this room. Fingers grip the opened end and I see a slither of a human form, well I guess it’s human, peeking out at us through the crack.

Fuck.

I take a deep breath and stare at the door, not even realizing that I’m talking when I say to Trace, “Whatever it is man, I’m sorry. I...I love you, you know that right?”

“God…” I hear his voice and he’s panicking. God, I am too but we gotta stay calm. For all we know it’s just a normal child, scared of two people in her room “It’s gonna be some freak, isn’t it? I mean look at this room.” He doesn’t know that. I mean, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna be a demon but, I mean, there’s a chance she’s just a poor girl who’s got a fucked up dad.

Or maybe, maybe he’s not her father. Maybe…

Maybe she’s kidnapped, too. No, no he wouldn’t keep a kidnapped child in a room with a nice bed and toys and things. At least I don’t think so.

Trace is rambling in a whispered tone and I tell him to “Shh…” He just looks at me and suddenly the door swings open.

I think I gasp, but I’m not sure. I stare hard and try to fully understand the sight before me. I glance at Trace and then back, back at the girl in front of me.

But, she’s not a girl.

She looks like she might be around eighteen, maybe a little older, maybe not. Her hair is a little messy and she’s wearing a plain white shirt, which I hate to say is a little see-through. I’m not trying to stare at her nipples but the shirt is not very thick. She’s got on jean shorts and she’s thin, but not unhealthy looking.

And her skin….her skin is so odd. She has dark features, dark eyes, dark hair but…but her skin is like porcelain. It’s white and gleaming.

Like she hasn’t seen the sun in years.

She’s still standing in the doorway, with a scared little look on her face. She seems curious as well and isn’t making a move to step out of the room, which I see is a bathroom. She keeps her hand on the opened door and another on the doorway.

I glance at Trace again. God, I think he’s shaking. She doesn’t, she doesn’t seem too bad.

I clear my throat and say softly, “Hey…”

She darts her eyes from where she’s been staring at Trace to me. She bites her lip.

I try again, “Hey, Sarah?” She stands up straight and looks at me weird, like she’s wondering who I am or how I know her name. Oh my God, does she know who I am? I take a deep breath and ask, “That’s your name, right?”

She doesn’t say anything but suddenly and quickly moves forward, running over to the other side of her bed. I watch her and she peaks over and then goes back doing whatever it is on the other side.

“D-don't talk to her.” Trace grits out angrily.

“Why not?” I ask him.

“She’s probably getting a gun ready over there or something.” He says a little louder this time.

“Please…” I roll my eyes and look around at the room, staring at the artwork and the bed. I notice now there seems to be a refrigerator on the other side of the bed from where we are. God, I could kill for a drink of something right now. “Look at this room, look at how she’s acting. I don’t think she that’s harmful.”

“She’s crazy.” Trace says as she walks over and throws down a Tupperware box a couple feet in front of us. She runs back to the other side of the bed and Trace whispers, “You can see it in her eyes.”

“No she’s not.” I say, feeling like I need to defend her. She looks pretty normal, besides the no bra thing, but she probably doesn’t realize that because I don’t see any mirrors anywhere. She runs back with a big pad of paper. It’s that tan paper that kids use to color and draw on. She rips off the top of the Tupperware container and sits in front of us about three feet. She’s Indian style and now that’s she closer I can see how light her skin is.

God, maybe she is kidnapped. She reaches in the box and pulls out a handful of colored pencils, laying them beside her and then putting the pad in her lap. She stares at us hard for a moment and then grabs a pencil and starts making on the paper.

She’s drawing something.

A few minutes go by where she concentrates on drawing, occasionally looking up at us and then back down. She’s gnawing on her lips like crazy and I find it exceptionally odd that she must have the same oral fixation that I do.

Trace is leaned up against the wall with his eyes closed. He really needs to calm down. I mean, I know that we’re in deep fucking shit right now, but doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he realize? We’re not alone anymore. We’re not by ourselves. And most importantly, our new company is not chained to the wall.

Forget the alarm pad by the doorway, Sarah’s our ticket out of here.

I just wonder what it is about her that makes the “boss” fucker think we’re secure with her running around free as a bird. “Hey Sarah?” I ask trying to become friends with her, “What cha doin’?”

“Maybe she doesn’t know English.” Trace whispers.

I look back at her and she’s still drawing, not answering us, and not giving any notion that she’s understanding us. I think Trace is right.

I shift my shoulders forward a bit so I can scoot my back fully against the wall instead of just my head. I’ve been slouching the whole time and it’s starting to make my shoulders ache.

When I do she shakes her head and finally, shit, finally she says something. “Don’t move!" She says and keeps drawing. I freeze. Ok, maybe she is a little psychotic. She looks back up at us and squints. Her face gets an eerie look on it like she’s trying to see through us or figure us out.

I can’t breathe and I gulp when Trace stutters, “D-don’t hit us okay?”

"Aallmmoosstt..." She drags out and looks back at her pad, shading something with a blue pencil. She chews on her lips some more and finally looks up at us with a smile. It’s the first kind smile I’ve seen in an hour. I feel at ease, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Oh...” She giggles in a girly tone and cocks her head to the side, picking up another pencil and doing some more shading. “I don't like to hit people. Big Bird says that’s not how you make a friend,” She says in a serious tone.

"Who’s Big Bird?" Trace asks, still in that terrified voice. I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not horrified, but I’m starting to try and wrap my head around this. If we can get Sarah on our side then she can get us out of here, and if not, maybe we can use her to at least give us something in that fridge over there.

Dammit, I’m not about to give up.

I attempt a chuckle and Trace glares at me, "Probably that fucking bird you were chasing...stupid ass. Look what happened."

“You’re making a fucking joke?”

I scoff a little and roll my eyes. I know this sucks. I know we are in trouble. I know there’s, there’s a damn good possibility that we might not make it out of this basement…ever. But, dammit, I can’t just give up.

I just can’t.

I can’t.

“I’m not just gonna give myself over to gloom.” I say to him.

His voice rises to a strange pitch, “Do you fucking see where we are?”

“I know where we are Trace, but God Dammit I know!” I yell. “I can’t-“

He cuts me off with a harsh yell, “Just shut the fuck up! I can’t have you trying to be all fucking positive-“

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” I yell back at him and I see he’s just about to yell back at me, and if we weren’t chained up we probably would have been pushing each other by this point.

But if we weren’t chained up we wouldn’t be fighting. We wouldn’t even be here.

“FUCK OFF JUSTIN!” He screams at me and just as I’m about to say something back a noise, a noise that I can’t handle and that rings in my ears, echoes in the basement.

"STOP IT!"

We both shut up and stare at her. She looks like she’s about to start bawling, but she never does. She pushes the pad off her legs and bends them up to her chest, hugging them and rocking herself back and forth. She sniffs and then leans her head down to herself mumbling something to herself about how screaming is bad.

I hear Trace let out a big breath and say, “Great...we're stuck in a room with a whacko."

"What the fuck are you doing man?!" He asks me but I ignore him.

“Animaniacs…those are the facts!” She falls down on her bed and giggles while she wiggles her legs. I know this is weird, but I take a close look at them. It looks like she knows how to shave. I mean, it’s just strange. Here’s this girl, no this woman, but she has the mind of a child. But she looks and is developed into a young woman.

Something…something’s just not right. Like, it’s not just that she might be retarded or slow or that maybe she’s schizophrenic or something. Something…something else is just…

This situation is just freaky. And I’m still trying to figure out why they chained us up down here…with her.

“What the fuck was that?" He growls out and I watch as she dances over to the fridge and opens it up. God I need a drink.

“Look, I'd rather get along with her than have her pissed at us!"

"She's a fuckin’ loony!" He says.

"We're fucking kidnapped in Africa!" I reply and realize it’s the millionth time I’ve said or thought that in the past few hours. Not only are we kidnaps and chained to a basement, we’re in Africa. I mean, will the South African government care when they file a missing persons report? I wonder if they’ll have to send the FBI or something because were Americans.

Shit, momma’s gonna have to deal with the press. Usually Trace helps out with that kind of thing, but…but Trace isn’t available right now.

“Just fuck off...okay Jay?" Trace says and he pulls up his legs and leans his head down on his knees, looking away from me. Shit, I feel bad. I’m being the most dick headed friend right now but I don’t, I just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say or act.

God, for the first time in my life I’m utterly clueless.

I stare at the back of his head for a while until I see movement in front of me and see her sitting down Indian style again. This time she has a Capri Sun with her, but it’s not Capri Sun brand, it’s some other brand I’ve never hear of. Probably African. She’s got a big can of those cheez puff balls. She sucks on the Capri Sun and squeezing the pouch and making that loud, crackling sucking noise. "What’s wrong?" she asks

I look at Trace and see that his shoulders are moving. Shit, he’s crying. Man, don’t cry. We’ll get out of this. We…will.

I hope.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. Don’t you fucking cry, too. Don’t fucking do it.

"Did I make you sad?” She asks and I look at her and she pops a cheese ball in her mouth and crunches down on the air filled carbs. I’m not hungry, not at all and just the thought of eating those is making me want to throw up. “I drew you a picture..." She says, and leans over to grab at her drawing pad, she rips off the page, tosses the pad on the floor and pushes the Tupperware box out of the way as she crawls over to us. She holds it up in front of our faces and I’m fucking blown away.

“Damn.” It’s like am mirror image of me and Trace propped up against this wall. Trace’s black eye and his slouch, me looking at him and him looking at the floor to the side. Trace is wearing shorts and she drew the hairs on his legs perfectly, and the lack of them around his ankles. It’s all real. The shading is perfect, the shadows, the look on Trace’s face, me looking annoyed with the situation and slouching. She’s a fucking genius.

“Trace look at this." I say to him. But he doesn’t move. He just slouches even more. “Trace…”

“I don’t wanna talk to you right now.” He mumbles and I ignore him. I need to get into this girl’s head and try to work her out a little bit. I’m good at that, ya know? I can make people think what I want them to. They’ll come to the table with an idea I hate and by the end of the meeting I’ll have them agreeing with me but also thinking that they’re the genius behind it all. I guess I’ve always been good like that to an extent. And ever since I’ve gone solo my confidence has increased and I know if I want something done I’ll get it done. It’s a long shot…but maybe, just maybe I can get something out of her.

What’s the worse that could happen? I’ve already got my death scheduled.

I look at her, and she’s got that look that Steven gives me when he draws pictures of me and him playing ball. It’s this eager, wide eyed look, searching for approval. “That’s really good, you know?” She erupts into a smile and I pry a little further, trying to get a feel for how old she is, and how far her mental abilities go. “You could...do something with that."

"Do what?" She asks and takes the picture back, looking over it and then setting it to the side.

“You know...like, go to school or do it to make money.” She gives me a confused look and I continue on. “Something other than working for that guy that has us kidnapped?” Her eyes widen and she gasps. God, ya know if she wasn’t crazy she’d be rather pretty. She needs a tan, too. “Ya know, that's not nice...kidnapping." She starts to frown and I realize I’m going to have to talk to her like a child. “He’s not a nice man.”

“Uncle is nice!” She says getting really defensive and I nod slowly. So, she’s his niece. I glance at Trace and he’s now looking at her, staring, interested in who she is and what she has to say. She really is a curious thing. "You’re not kidnapped." She giggles a little and then stops and looks at us hopefully. "You're my new friends."

“She's psycho." Trace says.

"What’s psycho?" She chews on her lip.

Trace leans over and whispers, “She’s probably got a knife over in her bed.”

I roll my eyes and then look back at her. She does have something there. It’s not a look of craziness, but it’s not normal and its fucking eating me up that I don’t know what it is. It’s kind of like when someone tells you they have a surprise for you and hangs it over you for a week. It’s almost annoying in a sense.

I don’t know why its bothering me so much but I guess it’s because I have a feeling that she can help us out. If we work together, Trace and I can get her to help us out of here. At least I hope so. She’s not a child, she’s not unable. She’s a woman who’s fucked up. But I’m good with women and I’m good with kids, and maybe, just maybe with the weird combination that she is, I can get us out of here.

I just have no earthly clue why that asshole put us down here with her. Doesn’t he know that’s dangerous? I mean, I guess he assumes since she’s family he trusts her. Or maybe, or maybe something else is going on.

"Wanna watch Looney Tunes?" I look up and she crawls over on her hands and feet and finally gets up and goes towards the TV. She doesn’t wait for an answer and is suddenly pressing power and inserting a tape into the VCR slot that’s built into the TV. God, I haven’t seen a VCR in ages.

“Trace…”

“What?” He groans.

“Don’t…” I look at him and sigh. He’s looking at me but, it’s like he’s not even there. He looks exhausted and upset and worse than I’ve ever seen him and I’ve seen him through some shit. “Don’t give up ok?”

“Shut up Justin.” He glares at me and then looks away when she comes back.

“This one has all of Roadrunner stuff on it.” She plops down with a blanket and a pillow and a handful of other stuff. “He’s so fast!”

She lies on her stomach in front of us and swings her little bare feet in the air. Her body is wrapped in a blanket, a stuffed animal of Abu from Aladdin is set beside her, and she’s eating those cheese ball things out of the big blue can in large handfuls, stuffing them into her mouth. She offers us some but Trace says no, mumbling something about being laced with crack. He could be right, but I decline the offer because I’m not hungry. I’ve been thirsty though, and I almost want to ask her if she has anything to drink, maybe another Capri Sun, but even if she does I don’t know how I’d drink it with my arms bound. She licks her lips and her fingers with a loud smacking sound and smiles a cheesy, literally cheesy smile at us as she giggles in fits at the coyote falling down a canyon and smashing through the river at the bottom.

Kind of looks like the little canyon Trace and I found, but without the trees and the wildlife and the shootings.

I shake my head. I don’t wanna think about that right now. I’m gonna wait as long as I can to let it finally sink in that I saw two people get murdered. I know when that happens, well…I just know I need to wait.

After a few episodes of the Roadrunner, I get wrapped up in it. It’s mindless and I’m taken away to rainy Saturday mornings at Grandma’s, waiting for the cobbler to be finished and occasionally having to get up and turn the rabbit ear antennae a little to get the reception to come clear. I know I should be thinking about a way out of here but, but it’s just so easy to get wrapped up in it and forget where I am and forget that my arms are asleep and that my back hurts and my ass is numb. I’m so wrapped in it I don’t notice she falls asleep until I hear her sigh and turn her head. She clutches the pillow and has orange crumbs all over her mouth. She licks her lips.

“Trace…” I whisper and he says, “Huh?” in return.

“What the hell do you think is wrong with her?” I ask him.

He rolls his eyes. “She’s a crazy.”

“No, like really.” I glance at her and she’s sound asleep, her face pressed against the pillow, smushing it a bit. “You think she’s retarded or something?”

“I don’t know…” He sighs. “But she freaks me out.”

“She’s harmless, look at her.”

I look at him and he stares at her. I’m happy he’s actually having a conversation now, instead of just telling me to shut up. Maybe he’s getting over the shock.

I wonder why the shock hasn’t hit me yet.

“It’s not like her that I’m freaked out about. It’s the way she acts and this room and this whole thing.”

“Why do you think he’d put us with his niece?”

He laughs. “Cause he’s just as fucking crazy.”

I shake my head and try to get around it. It makes no sense to me. It seems like it’s going to be too easy to get her to do what I want. But then again, I haven’t really tried yet. “There’s gotta be a reason. I mean you heard that guy, they have a cage or something they put people in usually.”

“I’m not really worried about that right now.” Trace stares at me and narrows his eyes. I know he’s wondering why I’m so concerned with Sarah but, I just...I just am. There’s something about her.

“But we should be Trace, we need to think how to get out of here.”

“When you come up with something, wake me.” He slouches a bit, leans his head on the wall and closes his eyes.

“Shit Trace!” I yell at him, fed up with his defeatist attitude. We can’t be like that.

He keeps his eyes closed and says, “We’re kidnapped Justin. We’re chained to the wall. We haven’t had anything to eat or drink. I know I’m about to piss my fucking pants,” He opens his eyes and stares at me. “And if I do and you laugh at me I can’t even threaten to beat your ass up about it later, because I’m not gonna be able to. God, Justin! Ya know, you’re all he wants. He’s gonna milk you out for money, but in the meantime, who the fuck cares if I die!”

“Don’t think like that.”

He closes his eyes again. “They’re not gonna wanna put up with two people, especially when one of them is the only one that matters.”

“Trace…”

“God Justin…” He looks at me again and shakes his head, saying in a bitter tone, “You know why he fucking put us down here with the psycho?”

I just blink at him. Should I know?

“To show us what we’re gonna be! Maybe she’s always been like this. But she’s a grown ass woman Justin! He put us down here to fucking make us just as crazy as little Miss Jasmine!”

I look at her, curled up to her Abu stuffed animal and realize he’s right. We’re here to be intimated into fear. He’s showing us what we will become and I know damn well that she hasn’t always been like this. Or maybe she has, but she wasn’t supposed to be.

She sighs a little in her sleep and curls up against the pillow and snuggles into the blanket more. She sleeps peacefully, like a child, like only a child can.

For the first time I realize what might happen to me, what I might become. If I wasn’t shocked before I sure am now.