Fortuity

4

I sat in the shower for what felt like hours, until the water began to get cold. It slid down my skin, the paths left behind remaining there. I had no more warmth inside me.

Sluggishly, as if I wasn't in charge of my body, my limbs picked myself off the ground and shut the water off. It wasn't until I stood in the empty bedroom that I realized I had no dry clothes. There wasn't a dresser or closet and he hadn't left me anything.

It was only a minute later that I realized he had left the bedroom door ajar.

My mind was empty as I stared at the doorway, dark and uninviting. My prison was open to exploration.

Numbly, I stripped off everything except my undergarments and dragged the sheet from the bed and wrapped it tightly around myself like a cocoon. I felt safe that way.

My feet made their way to the door, exiting into the hallway, while my mind remained in happier places. The hallway had two doors on the right, one of which a half bath and what looked like a closet. I kept going.

It opened into a spacious room that seemed to be the rest of the small cabin. A kitchen and dining room was shoved together in the far corner, while across from it a TV was mounted on the wall amongst a cozy den. To the left the room branched off into another hallway leading to the front door, to the right was another unknown dark hallway.

This was a setup. A trap. Why did he leave my cage open? Why was he nowhere to be found? It couldn't possibly be that easy, not after the extents he's gone to to keep me here.

I decided I wasn't going to play his game. Instead of attempting a surely futile escape, I drive my steps in the other direction. There is only one door at the end of it; light pushes through the crack beneath it.

The walk feels tortuously long, like I'm walking myself to my eminent doom. But I keep walking, and eventually reach the door. Tentatively, I push it open, bracing myself for the worst.

The first thing I see are butterflies. Covering the whole expense of the far wall is frame upon frame of butterfly corpses, pinned to stark white cushions. Specimens of all shapes and sizes hang on the wall behind a large oak desk.

Stepping further into the room I survey my surroundings. To the left filing cabinets line the wall and to the right upon a table is more frames. But instead of butterflies one holds a folded American flag beside another with a picture of a man in uniform. The plate reads: "In loving memory of Kyle Jones". Stepping closer, a chain with dog tags lies beside the frame. Moving even closer the words on the metal come into focus.

Sergeant Matthew Jones.

The door slams open, causing me to shriek and flinch away from the table. Standing in the doorway is the man himself, looking utterly panicked as he heaved in big lungfuls of air.

His frantic eyes scan the room before they land on me. When they do the storm brewing within immediately calms, and his body slacks.

"I couldn't find you," he says, leaning his shoulder against the door as he tries to catch his breath. "I thought I lost you."

I pull the sheet tighter around myself as my heart beat steadily slows. Droplets from my wet hair slide down the back of my neck, making me fully aware I'm not wearing anything but my underwear beneath the sheet.

My action brings his eyes down from my face and I can tell that he makes the same realization. His eyes darken and he seems to go into some kind of trance as they glaze over. He takes slow steps toward me as his eyes scan the length of the sheet, his lips parted. My eyes widened as he got closer, eyes never leaving the sheet.