The Cave Ch. 03

After, he rolled off me and slipped his hand between my dripping thighs, but my gaze had already settled to Riley's empty chains. I heard him impatiently sigh through his nose. My attention snapped back to him and I offered him a smile, but he wasn't fooled. He propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes full of genuine concern. He knew I was not myself, but it didn't matter, as long as he fell asleep with me at his side instead of in my chains.

Lifting his hand, he pointed a flaky black pincer in the direction of Riley's bed. I saw his eyes lose focus as he thought to himself, trying to find the best way to gesture what he wanted to say. He brought his finger back, making a fist, and then jutted out his thumb, up to the ceiling.

Riley...good.

I forced another smile, wondering how different our perceptions of good were.

He pointed to Riley's empty chains a second time, stabbing the air with some insistence, and then cocked his head sideways to rest it on his shoulder and briefly closed his eyes.

Riley sleeping.

Or...

...dead?

I think something was getting missed in translation. Numbly, I nodded, going along with it, and rested my forehead on his chest. Let him think he'd appeased me. As soon as he was sleeping, I was out.

Pratt buried his nails into my hair and lightly scratched my scalp the way I liked, bringing me to the edge of sleep, but I fought it. Soon, his breathing slowed and deepened and when I knew he was asleep, I inched back. Several times, he woke just enough to pull me back into his arms, when he'd give my hair two or three lethargic licks and fall back to sleep. Normally, I would give up after two near-wakes, deeming the task impossible, but tonight I was relentless.

My heart was banging on my ribs when I had finally eased out of his reach, crab walking to the edge of the bed. I told myself if he woke now, I would grab my crotch and bounce anxiously, as if I needed to pee, but I reminded myself I could only use that excuse once, especially if he took me to the next cavern and my bladder produced nothing.

The fire was low but I had plenty of light to get around in. I scooted to the edge of the platform and placed my feet on the smooth rocks I usually climbed down on. Behind me, Pratt began to shift and I froze, gaping back at him. He felt around the bed a little and when he came up empty, he rolled over. A moment later, I heard his low breathing.

I picked up the pace after that, scrambling down to the fire pit. Once I reached the black mouth of the tunnel, I didn't look back. I didn't want to feel that pang of regret. The key was not to hesitate, I knew that now. Clean break.

*

Left at the fork, straight at the "T." That much I knew. This time, I dragged my hand on the right wall, slowing down to a brisk walk. I couldn't risk injuring myself now.

Sure enough, I felt the wall curving outwards to the right and I could feel the air getting frigid. Last time, I had gone to the left. This time, I would try the right.

My eyes were adjusting. I could see the floor in front of me and walked with confidence. The only sound was the blood pounding in my head. And then I realized why my eyes were adjusting. I stopped in my tracks, transfixed by the light ahead.

It was artificial light. I could tell that now. It was warm in hue and flickered against the wall. The last time I followed this kind of light, it had been a dead end, but I had to at least see. I moved quickly on the pads of my feet and then stopped, just outside of the slant of light, and carefully peered around the corner.

"Riley!" I hissed.

Riley was in chains, sleeping...or dead. The room was small, but brightly lit with three or four shaky candles placed all around on ledges. There was old straw scattered on the floor topped with layers of fur blankets like in the main cavern. I ran across the bed and dropped down to Riley's side. Her legs were draped in furs and two more swathed over her shoulders, the ends tucked under her.

"Riley," I said and picked up her chin.

She jarred awake, but her eyes immediately softened on me. "Layla," she grinned.

I kissed her quickly on the lips. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?"

She opened her mouth to talk, but then averted her eyes coyly, blushing. I examined her chains, jerking on them but they were sturdy. They looked slightly newer than our chains in the other room. Maybe they were just used less.

Her eyes hardened on me. "Where's Pratt?"

"Sleeping."

"You snuck away?"

"Does he keep a key in here?" I asked, ignoring her question, and for some reason I remembered the unused key on a low shelf in his alcove of lost and found. The one that didn't fit the cuffs. By the looks of her chains, it wouldn't fit these ones either.

"N—no, I don't think so. He used the one he keeps in his loincloth."

I nodded, checking her for injuries. "Riley, what happened?"

"Oh, Layla." She rolled her eyes. "I got...I got my..." She lowered her voice. "Period."

At first I didn't even comprehend the word. For some reason, I thought she was voicing the punctuation in her sentence. But then I burst into tears.

"I thought—I thought..." I couldn't even finish, I just covered my face and sobbed my relief.

"Oh! Oh, no. No, don't cry." Her chains rattled. "Oh, Layla, it was nothing like that. Oh god, is that what you thought?"

I wiped my face with both hands and looked at her. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about Amy. "There was blood on his hand."

Her eyes widened as she blanched. "Yes, I see now why you thought the worst. Haven't you been in here? After 30 days, surely you would've..."

Wondering now what his fingers had been doing inside her, I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. "If I take my shot on time, I don't get periods anymore."

She nodded, knowingly. "Amenorrhea is common with DMPA."

"Kay." I understood three out of five of those words. Instead, I sniffed, situating the furs around her. "Are you cold? It feels cold here."

"I'm warm enough. I'm actually quite comfortable," she admitted. "He gave me something sweet to drink that helped with my cramps and something else that made me sleepy."

I was curious to see what was under the blankets, how the mess was being contained.

"It's moss," she said, answering my unspoken question. She blushed again. "He changed it once already, but I'm sitting on moss. It's actually quite absorbent."

"Oh," I said, because I wasn't sure what else to say. Pratt seemed quite accommodating to her. I wondered if they had bonded over this. I put my face in my hands again. I felt terrible. Why do I always think the worst of him?

"Layla," she said, hushed. "Why are you here?"

"I was going to run away," I muttered, brushing her hair back from her face. "But now that I know you're okay..."

She shook her head, grey blue eyes huge and intense. "No, Layla. You have to escape."

I blinked at her. "But—"

"But, nothing. You're so close. You're free and he hasn't woken up yet. Run."

I considered her for a long moment and then something clicked inside me. She was right. When would I get another chance? I nodded with new determination. "I'll go back and get the key," I said.

She darkened. "No, you mustn't go back! He might wake."

"I'm not going to leave you here."

"You won't," she said, shaking her head. "Save yourself first and send help. It will do neither of us any good if he catches you."

My head was spinning, but I knew she was right. "You're so smart," I said. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her. Once. Twice. Three times. I looked her straight in the eye. "I'll come back for you." And I kissed her again, firm, sealing a promise.

She smiled. "Take a blanket."

I slid one of the blankets out of the layers and wrapped myself like a burrito.

"And a candle."

So smart.

Pausing by the door, I reached up to one of the niches for a candle, made from off-white animal fat and a wooden wick in an old glass jar. Glancing down at the front label, I nearly dropped the candle in shock. With my thumb, I traced the vintage brand name, embossed on the front in molded glass, written diagonally in cursive script. Pratt's Jelly.

So that's where the other women got his name. They'd seen it in the—what was this?—the menstruation room?

I looked up at Riley, to see if she had noticed the jar, but she was nodding insistently at me, urging me.

And then I ran.

*

The only place I had left to go was straight. Everything else up until then I knew now were dead ends. It was the same path I had taken before, when Riley had ripped down one of her chains, but I didn't get far and I remember the floor seemed quite treacherous if I couldn't see where I was going.

I managed all right with the candle, until a draft blew it out. Disposing of the jar, I set it next to the wall and pressed on.

The fresh air was starting to penetrate my good senses, at least, and I realize now going back for the key was a terrible idea. I think part of me wanted to stay. A big part of me. I loved Pratt. And life was simpler in the cave. No emails to check, no deadlines, no bills to pay. But as much as I thought I belonged here, I didn't. There was a life out there in the real world that was mine. It was a mediocre life, full of ups and downs—lately mostly downs—and it was sometimes lonely, but it was all mine. If I had gone back for the key, I would have likely talked myself out of leaving. Possibly even sabotage my own escape attempt by tripping over something and alerting Pratt.

This was the best way. Clean break.

I kept a hand on the wall at all times, feeling my way out, stumbling over the rutted floor. The darkness threatened to paralyze me, but I pressed on, despite my fright, despite I couldn't help feeling I'd be safer in my chains. I wondered how many other rooms Pratt had like the one Riley was in, how many I was passing now in the darkness. I wondered if Amy was in one of them—dead.

"Stop it," I admonished myself. That wasn't Pratt. That wasn't who he was.

Then something dreadful came to my mind. What if Amy was alive? Here? Maybe all the women he's ever taken are actually still here, in the caves. He just moves them around from room to room and when he's gone, pattering around the caves, he's really visiting them. Taking pleasure in them.

But it was all quiet. And the air was getting colder. Autumn had overtaken the northland. Despite my blanket of rabbit furs, goose pimples filled my body, my nipples hard as seeds, and a breeze was freezing the moisture between my thighs. My toes were completely numb, the floor burned like a cold fire on the bottoms of my feet. And then, as if I wasn't cold enough, I heard a distant primal scream of anguish that chilled my blood.

Pratt was awake.

I lurched forward, growing panicked because I wanted to move faster but I couldn't. His cry sounded like his heart breaking, but I couldn't turn back, not now. I was so close. If I went back now I feared I would never leave. It had to be a clean break. Had to be. No goodbye, nothing. It was the only way I could leave him.

I felt a twist in the path and jogged ahead a few steps, feeling my way along the rough wall, holding the blanket closed with my other hand. The floor was sloping upwards. I could hear crickets. And the collective rustle of trees blowing. And—oh my Christ, yes—the dead crackle of fallen leaves. My heart was thrumming and every nerve ending sizzled from the adrenaline. My eyes were starting to adjust again. I could see a gradual curve ahead in the tunnel, the warty texture in the wall and everything had a silvery hue.

The moon!

I ran forward, around the corner, my feet feeling cold dirt, and what I saw made me drop the blanket.

*

Outside, between the wooden slats, I could see the moon, full and round through waving nude branches. The ground shifted with blowing dead leaves. I took a step forward, hot tears standing in my eyes.

I put my hands up on the door and wrapped my fists around the narrow boards. I gave them a hard shake, but the door was solid. I noticed a lock securing the door to a wooden frame and I lifted it for a better look. The second key, I realized. I should've gone back for it after all.

Glancing around, I could see I was standing in a man-made structure of old brick, mortar and concrete that had been built around the mouth of the cave, embedded into a hill, and the sides of it hugged around the outside of the door like a crescent roll. It had probably been erected to keep people out and then forgotten about. All Pratt had to do was switch the lock to the inside and move in.

I could hear his ragged breathing behind me. I wondered why he wasn't already dragging me back to my chains. I didn't look back at him. I only stared through the spaces in the door. It was freezing but I just stood there and a moment later, I felt the fur blanket fall over my shoulders. I tugged it over me.

Pratt stood next to me, but he didn't look at me. He stared outside too, silver stripes of moonlight falling on his wooly chest. I felt his arm brush against me as he reached for something over his head, to the wooden slab lintel over the door. Whatever it was, he looked at it in his hand first before lowering it down to show it to me.

The key.

Of course, the key back inside was only the spare.

He was letting me go. He was letting me have a choice.

I glanced outside again, then down at the key, then back up at him. His eyes were like stone in the moonlight.

He didn't look away. I could only see half his face in the silver light, but he stared into my eyes with an apathetic expression, the muscles clenching in his jaw, and I think it was so that he didn't sway me either way. He wanted it to be my choice.

So, I chose.