Legacy

Chapter 25: Seventeen

The same thing keeps running through my head: Courtney Meinzer. Over and over.

Who was she? Did Michael try to breed with her and ultimately decide to put her down? Was she just another victim that he took his sweet time to kill? Or was it just a name carved into a dresser Michael found at some yard sale?

After that nightmare, it's like a switch was flipped inside me. I stop looking for a way out. That window closed when I decided to stay at the house; when I opened that chained door. Another window burst wide open and slammed shut when I ran off and stumbled into that old witch-bitch, Nancy.

There is no getting out of this. Not alive, anyway.

I'm nothing if not compliant for the next few weeks. Michael keeps me chained to the wall for I don't know how many days, but eventually unshackles me for good when it gets to be too much trouble to let me off to pee.

No matter how many times I ask, Michael won't tell me the current date. Won't even tell me what day of the week it is. For all I know, I could be sleeping during the day and wide awake at night.

I do everything Michael tells me to do. I eat when he brings me food (even though for the first few days he has to spoon feed me). I don't flinch away when he changes my bandages and helps me with my clothes. It's a good thing I'm right handed, because my left arm is still out of commission. I bathe regularly, being careful to wash around my cast. I only speak when spoken to.

He doesn't let me out past the cell door, not even to invite me upstairs. The only time I see Michael is when he brings me meals. He'd removed my bandages completely when my burns had healed, but told me that it'll take a few more weeks to remove my cast. I'd half expected him to try to get me to come up and sleep in his bed again, but I can't stop that small relief from settling in my shoulders every night he goes upstairs without so much as a leer in my direction.

Every day, while he's away at work I try to walk despite the pain from my stitches and burns. I take several decent laps around the perimeter of my prison. Sometimes I over exhaust myself and have to stumble to the toilet to hurl my guts out. Usually after that happens I collapse on the bed and stay there until Michael arrives.

Today he comes in with the biggest grin on his face that causes me to sit up on the bed and curl up into a ball.

"Good morning," he chirps coming over and sitting down next to me. I frown at him in confusion, causing his grin to reach Cheshire proportions.

"What," I say, narrowing my eyes.

Michael bites his lip, obviously trying to be cute, and I roll my eyes, getting up from the bed. I freeze in place when his fingers curl around my upper arm. His grip isn't rough, just firm and playful.

"Wanna come upstairs, Morning Bird?"

"I'm not in the mood," I snap, pulling away and standing up.

"Mood for what? I have no idea what you're talking about." I turn to see him raising an eyebrow. When I don't answer, he shrugs. "You know what today is?" His eyes slowly scan me up and down.

I cross my arms. "I don't know. I can't see the sun, you asshole."

Michael plops down into a laying position on the bed and laughs. It's so different from his sinister chuckles that heat rises in my cheeks. When his laughter fades, he wipes a tear from his eye and drags a hand through his hair as he looks up at me with another grin. "Happy Birthday, September."

Two months. I've been stuck here for over two goddamn months!

I look down at the floor tiles to avoid his eyes. He remembered my birthday. I hate being the center of attention. Every year I kept it a secret and tried not to make a big deal about it. To have someone, even if he is a psycho, care enough to even mark their calendar... it's a strange feeling.

"Thank you," I mumble, picking at my nails and shifting my weight between feet.

"So, I'll ask again," Michael says, sitting up and bracing his arms on his knees, "You wanna come upstairs?"

~~~~~

The kitchen upstairs is inviting with natural light coming in from the windows and a floral tablecloth.

I sit down, as Michael instructed before leading me upstairs, and place my folded hands in my lap. When he disappears into the kitchen with a promise-warning- that he'll be right back, I stare out the window.

The leaves have already begun to change color, despite the sunshine through the window feeling warm against my skin. Then again, downstairs can be fucking freezing at times.

My attention snaps back to the kitchen when I hear Michael whistling the birthday song. He comes out with two slices of white cake, one with a single flickering candle stuck in. The birthday song comes to a pitchy end as he sets the plate down in front of me and takes the seat to my right.

I stare at the cake and glance up at him as I blow out the candle without setting my mind on a wish. I mean... it's not like it'll come true.

Michael hands me a fork and grins at me again and seems to be keeping a lot of raw energy in check. Right as I'm about to slide a bite into my mouth, he asks me the one question I'm not ready to answer: "What'd you wish for?"

"Take a wild guess," I say, sliding some cake into my mouth. I'm about to be completely disgusted before I realize that it's not white cake, but actually lemon.

Freedom, Michael. I want my freedom. And you behind bars awaiting the death penalty, but I'll take either one at this point.

"I thought we'd take a walk again today." A pair of handcuffs clatter on the table, causing my back to stiffen. "With a little precaution, of course."

So he can take advantage of me again. If that's the only way he'll let me outside, I'll just stay indoors. The one and only thing worse than being trapped in this house, is being cuffed to him so I lose the option of running altogether.

"No, thank you," I say flatly before taking another bite of cake.

Michael bows his head and removes the cuffs from the table. We say nothing more as we finish our cake. As I push my plate away, I feel Michael's hand land on my knee and I look up at him. He wipes a crumb from the corner of my mouth and cups my cheek.

I pull away just as he leans in for a kiss. He sighs and I can't stop a twinge of guilt from poking me in the gut.

I mean, yeah. He did keep me down in the basement after doing many horrible things to me. But still. He remembered my birthday. He let me come upstairs to celebrate. And... I guess he's at least trying to make today special for me...

He cares. Why?

My eyes drop back down to my lap as I keep the budding apology from escaping my throat. "Why do you care so much?" I feel my stomach twist and take a few deep breaths. "You didn't have to..." I grunt and clutch my stomach.

"You alright?" His hand gently rubs my back and the other feels my forehead.

"Stomach ache," I grunt again, feeling bile rise in my throat.

"You don't have a fever," he confirms, lifting my chin up to look at him and turns me side to side. "You sure don't look sick." He stands up, mumbling a warning to stay sitting where I am while he goes upstairs.

I brace my elbows on the table and bury the heals of my hands into my eyes. My stomach clenches and I bolt into the kitchen to find a trash bin to catch my vomit.

I'm still gagging at the vile taste in my mouth when Michael rushes back downstairs. I hear my name being called a few times before his footsteps stop right beside me and I feel his hand on my hunched back.

My head spins as I turn to look up at him. "I'm sorry," I gag. "I just-" bile rises in my throat and I heave into the bin again.

Michael shushes me, pulling my hair back. "I know, Morning Bird."

We say nothing as I empty my stomach. When I've gagged enough and pull away, he wipes my face clean with a napkin and hugs me to him, rubbing my back some more.

"September," he mumbles against my scalp. I take a moment before slowly pulling away and looking up at him. No smirk, just his eyes staring back into mine. "Go to the bathroom," he says, holding up a pregnancy test.