Catharsis

EIGHTEEN

My heart is clattering against my ribcage. It's almost deafening in my ears as I perch on the side of the gurney.

"I will look into that sample" Kaman peers at me. His eyes are suspicious and narrow like he's just waiting for me to run. I try not to look at him in case my plan is too obviously written on my face. "I will put you in a different room to transform. We wouldn't want you making a mess in here. You know that there is no chance of escape so you're not going to give me any trouble, are you?"

He holds out an outstretched hand to me. It's a surprisingly friendly gesture for someone who just sedated me, cut my arm and made note of his plan to torture and murder me. He's waiting with anticipation for my response. So, I reach out and grasp his hand and he gently pulls me upright. When my bare feet hit the cold floor, I shiver. It's downright frosty in here.

I wince and hold my sore lower back as my spine straightens. Everything in front of me blurs like I'm being shaken up in a paint can.

"You're not going to give me any trouble," Kaman says with a sly look on his face. He turns his back to me as he walks off to open a door. This is my chance. I make small, woozy steps quietly in his direction. Following him, I keep my eyes trained on the back of his green scrubs.

Suddenly, without much thought, I bolt away. Throwing open the flap of plastic, I stumble up the stairs, skipping every other step. The boards peel white paint and creak under my feet. There's a wooden door at the top. My fingers reach around the smooth handle and I throw it wide. Gasping for air, I hustle into the living room and push against the front door. No movement. I push again and again. It's locked. I check for a way to unlock it, but there's nothing. It's a goddamn front door. How could there be nothing?

Kaman's footsteps slowly tread up the basement stairs. My breath comes out labored and panicked, echoing in my ears as I pound my fist on the door and jerk the handle with all my might.

Footsteps on the wood floor of the living room. I turn around, back against the door. Kaman walks around the couch, looking at me curiously with calm eyes.

"Don't bother, Aaron. Don't waste your energy," he says with his arms raised, palms out to me. He gestures with a downward motion as if I would back down.

Plan B. Before he can close the gap between us, I dart into the adjacent kitchen and pull open every drawer I can find, looking desperately for something to defend myself. Silverware drawer! My shuddering hand juggles a silver chef knife out of the drawer. Kaman calmly sneaks into the kitchen, hands still stretched out to me. I hold the knife up and with a surge of adrenaline, lurch toward him. He strikes his forearm against mine, bending it unnaturally until my grip releases on the weapon.

The knife clatters to the laminate floor and the two of us spar for custody of it. Our arms and legs are in a tangle. I crack an elbow against his ribs and reach for the knife, but his long, gangly arms snatch it up before I can. He lies on top of me and shoves the metal end firmly under my chin. My brain can hardly keep up with my eyes as I glance around, trying to take in all the potential escape routes. There's a glass sliding door that leads out to a deck and, I assume, the woods. But I can see from here that it's locked.

"Now," Kaman says calmly and uses his free hand to smooth his hair back in place. "Come with me downstairs." He gets up off of me and pulls me to my feet. As soon as I straighten up, he positions himself behind me with one arm across my chest, the other holding the knife against the throbbing artery in my neck. One slice and I'll be a goner.

He pushes me forward toward the basement steps. I look toward the glass door. Blinking, I take a snapshot in my mind of the cloudless blue sky, the afternoon sun, and the way it lights up the dull-green pines. I don't know if I'll ever see it again.