Wish You Were Here

5

My hands started to shake and I broke into a full body tremble. My breathing was erratic and I gasped for air. With both hands, I pulled at the chain around my ankle. When it wouldn't budge, I crawled to the wall and tried to pull the chain. It was locked onto a clasp that had been drilled into the wall.

I needed to stand up. Using the wall, I transferred all my body weight to one side and leaned up against it. My legs felt shaky, but I was able to slowly rise up. I felt the wall with both hands, feeling it up and down. I turned to face forward and started taking small steps. I walked until the chain stopped extending out. My left leg begged to keep going. It was like my body was at war with itself. My right leg was being held behind, not allowed to go any further. The rest of my entire body screamed for me to run. I bent down and pulled the chain with both hands. It didn't help at all.

My entire body felt like it was on fire. The only thing keeping me from running out of there was the lock around my ankle. It appeared so minuscule that my brain couldn't process what my eyes were seeing.

How does that one chain have the power to hold back my entire body?

I couldn't make sense of things. I had freedom of my body everywhere except for one ankle. It was terrifying.

I screamed and then collapsed in tears. No one said anything. They let me cry until I caught my breath. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

"How long have you been here?" I asked them.

"I got here two days ago," Cal answered first.

"Same," Grant answered.

I turned to look at Will.

"Yesterday," he answered.

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

The four of us sat in silence for a while. I tried to wrap my head around what was happening.
I had so many more questions for the three of them. But first I had to make sense of what had happened so far. I remembered flying to New Mexico. I clearly remembered landing and getting off the plane.

"There was a man," I said aloud. "He picked me up from the airport. Dean! His name was Dean. He drove a pickup truck."

I remembered details about him and his truck. I could see his face clearly in my mind. Rachel and I had watched a crime show once and I remembered them saying that if you were ever a victim of a crime, you should try to remember any details you could. They had said to notice details of someone's appearance, like hair color and if they were shorter or taller you, their clothes, if they wore jewelry. I closed my eyes and pictured Dean. I could describe him perfectly down to the cigarette smell of his truck.

"His name was Dean," I said again, proud of myself for having paid enough attention to those little details that were supposed to be super helpful.

Cal gave me a sympathetic nod. Confused, I looked away from her to Will and Grant. Grant sat quietly, staring off to the wall.

"Great job," Will said sarcastically.

"It is great," I argued. "It's details about him. That's how the cops will find him."

Will tilted his head. Our eyes met.
"What cops?" he asked.

My face fell.

"Dean picked us all up from the airport. So what? I remembered the first half of his truck's license plate. Who cares? You think that's going to get me out of here?" he spat.

My eyes welled up with tears. Will was right. The crime show that Rachel and I watched never said what to do with all those details you remembered if you were still experiencing the crime. Who would I tell those details to? There were no police, no one who would sketch a picture of Dean to alert society of this "bad guy".