Showing posts with label pretty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pretty. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Blackbird Song (18)

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
--Trent Reznor--



While Jared's sitting at Jenna's bedside, keeping a constant vigil, he waits. While he waits, Jenna dreams.

In her dreams, it's the first time she tried to escape. Always that failed first time, when she screamed until she thought her throat would rip open from the force of her rage.

The first time she escapes, she gets an idea of just how desperate her situation is.

When she makes it outside, it's snowing. She's barefoot, it's cold, it's snowing, but that doesn't stop her.

She plunges into the snow, running, her heart racing, her feet aching from the cold, but she's outside, she's running and she's outside, and she's going to run all the way back to the life he stole from her.

For the first time in days, she lets her mind think of Jared, she lets herself take a deep, sobbing breath, and she feels that hollowed out part of her chest where she hasn't even let herself think of Jared.

As she's running, she imagines that she's running to Jared. She knows how warm his arms will be.

She doesn't even realize it when she starts crying, and the tears make cold tracks down her cheeks.

She runs, but he ends up catching her anyway.

----

When she fights against him, she can hear him laughing softly.

The sound of his laughter, that he is amused makes her rage come boiling over the top. She hits him, struggles with him, fights against him.

She feels him draw back, and when the needle punches into her arm, she leans forward and bites him

She tastes his blood in her mouth, and even as she's relishing this, her muscles start to sag, and her legs spill her to the ground.

----

Whatever he's given her makes her unable to move, but she's awake and aware.
He picks up her body, carries her back, and when they're inside, he starts to take her clothes off.

She's tried to brace herself for the fact that this might happen. She's told herself that just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it won't happen.
She can't feel the tear that slips down her cheek, but she does feel terror.
She's so certain that he's going to rape her, she doesn't know what to do when he doesn't.

Instead, he's dressing her, putting a coat on her, shoes, and then he's carrying her out to his car.

----

He settles her body into the passenger seat, adjusts it so that she's reclining, and he puts a pair of very dark sunglasses on her.

He buckles her in, covers her with a blanket, and then they're driving.
She can hear the radio, low and unobtrusive. She tries to talk, and finds that she can't. She can't say a word, and the sense of claustrophobia grows.
She can't move, she can't feel, she can't speak.
She can only think.

Worse, that first time, that first time she tried escaping, as her captor packed her up (pretty) to take her to another location, even as they're driving, Jared passes them in his search for Jenna. Mercifully, neither of them ever realize this.

----

While she's reliving her escape, Jared watches the calm set of her face, and he waits.
He waits for her to open her eyes, he waits for her to look at him, he waits for her to see that she's safe. He wants her to know it, to know that she's safe. He wants her to know that it's not just a word, but something tangible. He wants to make it real for her.

He waits to tell her that he loves her, that he is going to live up to the promise of that one word. Forever.

He waits.

----

While he's waiting, he wets her lips with the corner of a washcloth. He wipes her face, he makes her as comfortable as possible, while being careful of her ribs, her back, the scratches on her hands.

As Jared's sitting at her bedside, intent on the rise and fall of her chest, he hears a man clear his throat.

Jared looks over, and it's a cop. It's the cop who found Jenna. Jared can never remember his name, so he just thinks of him as 'the cop.'

He's standing in the doorway, twisting his cell phone in his hands. He looks at Jared and asks, "How is she?" Jared looks down at his hands, fidgets, and with a deep sigh, his eyes on the floor, says, "The same."

Deputy Cole Alston is his name, and he's checked in on Jenna every single day. The deputy has even sat with Jenna while Jared has gone to get a sandwich, or coffee.

After standing in the doorway for a few minutes, Cole finally turns and walks away.

The next day, when Cole walks in, he brings coffee for Jared.
They both sit, watching the steady rise and fall of Jenna's chest.

Jared is starving, so he asks Cole to sit with Jenna while he grabs a sandwich from the cafeteria.

While Cole's looking at Jenna, he wonders yet again how this woman managed to escape. How she managed to live through the hurt enough to keep fighting. He marvels at her strength of spirit, her ability to survive.

He's never heard her speak, but he already admires her.

As he's sitting there, lost in his thoughts, a nurse comes in with a washcloth.
Usually, it's Jared who carefully sponges off her face, talking to her the whole time.

Since Jared isn't there, the nurse gently wipes Jenna's face, her cheeks, her neck. She talks to her as she's caressing that luminous skin. "You're such a pretty girl, Jenna," the nurse says softly, "Will you open your eyes for me?"
"Come on pretty girl, open your eyes," the nurse says.

Deep in her head, Jenna hears that word. The dangerous word, the one she tried so hard to escape. She remembers running barefoot in the snow to escape that word. She remembers locking that word in her cage, along with her captor. She was so sure she escaped that word, that to hear it now is too much.

As the nurse is talking, cajoling, asking Jenna to open her eyes, a single tear tracks down her cheek. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Jenna rises to consciousness, rises to the pain in her body and she can hear someone screaming. She's too disoriented to realize that she's the one who's screaming.

The nurse yells for the doctor, as Jenna is tearing the i.v. out of her arm, as she's flailing and screaming and trying to get away.

As her bare feet touch the cold floor, her legs buckle. Cole manages to catch her, and he can feel her heartbeat jackhammering in her chest. Even as the nurse is sedating her, Cole holds Jenna, and for the second time, she faints into his arms.

Jared enters the room, sandwich in one hand, and his mouth is a shocked o of surprise. He drops his sandwich, and runs over to help Cole hold Jenna up.

Even as she's sagging into their arms, tears streaming down her face, the shot slowly taking effect, she meets Jared's eyes.

She says to him, "I was in the dark --I couldn't find you. I was lost--I followed your voice. I--" and with that, she sobs weakly, her chin resting on her chest.

She takes one deep, hitching breath, and her breathing evens out. She's mercifully unconscious, even as a few tears slide down her cheeks.

Jared picks her up, puts her back in bed. The nurse hooks her back up to the i.v., and they try to put her room back to rights.

----

The next day, in a room full of women dressed in scrubs, Jenna wakes. She looks at a woman in Strawberry Shortcake scrubs and closes her eyes again. The scrubs prove it's a dream.

She doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see. If this is a dream, she'd rather be sleeping.

But she can hear them talking. About her.

She tries opening her eyes again. She feels dizzy, the room is so bright it hurts. Jenna moans and tries to lift her arms.

There's an ache in her side, in her arm and she's breathing hard with the effort. She feels tears wetting her cheeks, and she sighs softly, so that ache in her ribs won't bite her again.

Even as she's drifting off, she hears Jared. With a supreme amount of will, Jenna opens her eyes, finds Jared, and even as she's drifting, her eyes feel like they have weights attached to them, she manages to smile at him.

She hears Jared tell her that he loves her, that she's safe. He tells her that he's here. With remarkable effort, from the world of the unconscious, she tells him that she loves him too. As sleep claims her, there's a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

She dreams again of that room. The one with holes in the ceiling, the holes that let the sunshine pour through.

She dreams of the man who brought her here, and instead of trying to get him to talk to her, Jenna simply sits in the sunshine and enjoys the way it skates down her forehead, kisses the tip of her nose with warmth, and blooms a smile on her mouth.

Even as she's enjoying this little vacation in her dreams, black clouds roll across the sun, taking away the sunshine and her joy.

She looks up, looks into the blackness, which could be compared to the face of her captor. Entirely without sunshine, entirely without light, oh God, he's in that room, he's in that room where she left him -- it's been days, and he's in that room--

Jenna wakes with a gasp, and she starts yelling, yelling at Jared, running her words together. Even as she's gesturing, yelling, setting off the machines that are attached to her body, the nurse on call rushes in, and puts something in her i.v. that makes her unable to talk, unable to move, and she falls back against her bed.

Even as she's drifting off, she tries to hold onto that one thought, her captor in that room, for days with no food, no water. The room he left her in, the room where he whipped her back bloody, where he did unspeakable things to her. Even knowing all that, she tries fighting one last time, tries making herself heard.

No matter what he's done to her, he doesn't deserve to die in that room. In that room, there are no chances, there are no ways out. In that room, he's left with his insanity.

In that room, he's the pretty.



----


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Thursday, February 11, 2010

Blackbird Song (12)

[Narrator]


Everything in both of their lives comes back to this. Hell.

In hell, time all but ceases to exit.

With no light to determine the time, with no clock to break the time into neat, structured blocks, Jenna finds herself slipping.

When she's finally able to sleep, she finds the lack of knowing just what time it is disorienting. It makes her dizzy, and nauseous. She can sometimes feel it slipping away from her, and it makes her want to scream in frustration. The times she sleeps, she simply loses track.

Minutes, hours, days. There's no way to tell.

In hell, the hour is always none.

In hell, there are no names. The closest she gets is hearing him call her 'pretty'. The sound of that word makes her flinch, grit her teeth.

That word has a reddish feel to it. Tacky, maroon, and it smells like copper. That word tastes like death and ashes in her mouth. It twists her stomach into rolling knots.

Pretty.

Like she's a vase or a rug or a string of pearls. Like she's a goddamn possession.

He says it so often that she hates the sound of it almost as much as she's begun to hate him.

She sharpens her hate against that word.
She loses track of days.
She loses track of time, but it's her hate that keeps her from giving in.

The one constant is that in hell, it can always get worse.

----


It's maddening at first,then infuriating, and finally, a little scary when Jared can't stop hearing In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida playing on a loop in his head.

Hearing that brings his worst fears, and darkest thoughts about what's happening to Jenna to the surface of his mind.

He lies awake hearing the beginning of that song, and imagines Jenna screaming for him. He pictures her dying thousands of horrible deaths.

He sees her face frozen in agony, he hears her begging for her life, he imagines torture so vivid and gut-wrenching that it makes him physically sick.

Hell isn't something that Jenna is going through alone. Jared is right there with her. Not in the same level, but definitely in the same facility.

His torture is being without her. His pain is brought on by the thought of her being afraid, hurt. His agony is thinking that she might give up.

He prays to a God he isn't sure he believes in. He prays for her. He has no idea if God hears him, but he prays anyway.

When he lies there, watching the minutes on the clock glowing in the dark, when he watches three a.m. become four, and four become five, he finally gets up, rubbing his eyes, which feel like they have sand in them.

Jared decides to take a shower, because, yeah, it's been about three or four days, and it's just kind of slipped his mind.

When he gets out of the shower, he doesn't feel better, but he feels clean. When he passes the mirror over the sink, his heart just about jumps out of his chest.

From the steam, he can read one of the messages that Jenna had written on the mirror. When he sees that, it somehow makes it real.

Jenna isn't here to write messages for him to find after he gets out of the shower.

She isn't here to steal his t-shirts or share a coke with him.

She isn't sleeping in or making breakfast or doing any of the thousands of things that made up their relationship.

She's gone.

She's probably hurt, and afraid, and maybe she's counting on Jared to find her.

If their places were reversed, she'd be out there searching for him. She wouldn't give up. She wouldn't sleep. She wouldn't stop until she found him. Impossible just isn't in Jenna's vocabulary.

While Jared's dressing, yanking a shirt over his head, throwing on a few more layers, and stepping into his jeans, for the first time in days, he's stopped hearing that song. For the first time in days, he's got a sense of purpose.

Before he leaves the house, he goes back into the bathroom, and runs the shower until steam floods the room.

He needs to see that message one more time. He needs it, because he isn't going to give up. He's going to find her. He's going to bring her home.

But first, he needs to see that message again. He needs that little bit of her to carry with him.

He stares at it like a man dying of thirst in the desert. He drinks it in. He can almost see her grinning while leaving this message for him.

He takes a deep breath, and walks out.

----

The steam is almost completely gone, and on the mirror, that last note from Jenna.

There's her hand print, and one word.

Forever.




Everything in both of their lives comes back to this.


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Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Blackbird Song (11)

[Narrator]

When Jared gets home, he doesn't see Jenna's car.

He waits inside for her, convinced that she'll come home.

Any minute, she'll come into the house, bringing a draft of cold air, and an explanation. She'll tell him she was 'just' doing this or that.

Twenty odd minutes later, he's not convinced. She's hardly ever late, and she's never late without calling.

He calls her phone repeatedly, only to have it go to voicemail. Straight to voicemail. Like it's turned off, or dead.

No, not dead, he amends. It's just not charged. He hates himself in that instant for thinking the word 'dead', even if it was only meant towards the battery of a cell phone.

----

That bad, sick feeling returns with a vengeance when he sees a police car pull up to their driveway, as he's pacing in the living room. He sees two troopers get out of their car, and his dread grows when he sees one of them take his hat off, run his fingers distractedly through his hair.

News bad enough for the trooper to leave his hat in the car, that symbol of unwavering authority, that's bad.

The way he runs his fingers through his hair, worse. Like he's steeling himself to deliver a blow. When he looks over at his partner, nods, and they both take deep breaths, Jared is convinced that it's as bad as it can get.

Jared knows from experience, that no matter how much you brace yourself for bad news, it's never quite enough. You can tell your mind to expect the worst, but there's always a part of you that says "It can't really be that bad. Please, don't let it be that bad."

Instead of waiting for them to walk up the stairs and onto the porch, he's taking the stairs two at a time, and running towards them.

[Jared]

"Is she okay?" Somehow I managed to ask. My voice didn't sound like me, it sounded far away, tinny. Canned. The voice of an actor speaking the dialogue of my life. From the next universe, maybe.

When I asked, I saw them exchange a look. That look was enough to make my stomach plummet to my feet.

That look said everything. It said 'It's not okay. In fact, it's pretty fucking bad, but we don't want you to go batshit crazy."

"Mr. Boone," the older of the two said, "I'm Trooper Jakes, and this is Trooper Northcutt. We're here because your girlfriend's car has been in an accident."

----


It felt like being shocked. Like grabbing a frayed electrical wire with wet hands. It was a jolt that went straight to my heart. It was emotional overload, a sick flailing for words that wouldn't come. It was the words can't, doesn't, shouldn't, wasn't, isn't, no, no, no, no, playing over in my mind.

They asked me questions. They had to repeat themselves, but the kindness of these two men, their careful courtesy kept bringing me out of the shock I wanted to drown in.

From what I pieced together, Jenna wasn't dead. They hadn't found her. Not her body, anyway.

There was an accident, there was blood, lots of blood, but no Jenna.

I remember arguing with them, shouting at one point, "You haven't found her body, you just need to look harder!" I kept on in that vein, finally yelling at them that if they weren't going to look, that I was.

I even got so far as to put on my jacket, and grab my keys, when Trooper Jakes put one of his hands on my shoulder.

"Mr. Boone, I need you to listen to me. We found her car. We haven't found her, but," he glanced over to Northcutt, sighed, and continued, "We think she was abducted."


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Monday, February 8, 2010

Blackbird Song (10)

One month later.

[Narrator]

We never know the moments that are going to change our lives. When we wake up in the morning, expecting one thing, maybe just expecting our lives to roll on like they always have, those are the days it happens.

We never know.


[Jenna]

"I think he's going to ask me," I confided. I held the phone away from my ear while Liz got her squeeing out of the way. "Listen, my phone's fixing to die, but I'll call you back as soon as I get home. Yeah, yeah, you're a dirty whore. Love ya too. Bye"

I turned up the radio, which happened to be playing Styx. Renegade. I started belting it out, drumming on the steering wheel, singing with all my might, and just feeling wonderful.

I adjusted the rear view mirror, and instead of seeing my reflection, I saw his eyes. Madman's eyes.

An instant later, I felt coldness against my throat.

"Pull over, pretty," he said, his eyes empty, blank.

"No."

He sliced the blade into my collarbone, the flesh widening into a grin, and I felt the front of my shirt hot and sticky against my skin. But I couldn't make myself pull over.

"Pull over, now," he said, no inflection in his words.

Meeting his eyes in the mirror, I stomped the gas, causing him to slide back into the leather of the seat.

The next instant, his hands were in my hair, yanking my head back, the knife pressing against my throat.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I thought, as I felt the knife cutting into me again.

I mat the accelerator to the floor, and swerved into the tree looming ahead. I know that it probably won't end well for me. I know that, but I know whatever he's got planned for me will be so much worse. You see, I know him. I know that whatever lead him to make this plan, it's going to be so much worse than a few broken bones and bruises.

In this moment, I've made my peace. I may die, but I'm not going to die at the hands of a madman. I'm thinking these thoughts when we hit the tree.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

[Narrator]

As the strains of the song fill the air, dust caught in the headlights, blood dripping down Jenna's face, there's the smallest of sounds.

The rear driver's door opens.

Then, the driver's door.

Jenna doesn't feel her body being moved out of the wreckage that was her beloved Blackbird. She is mercifully unconscious as he grunts with her weight, and starts dragging her away.

She doesn't wake until days later, and when she does, she's in hell.



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