It's a good thing when you give a person hope, isn't it? At least that's what Megan told herself as she broke up with her boyfriend.
But why do you really do it? Is it for them or for you?
Megan Powell likes to play games. Hot pink Uzi hooked o...
With great care, Megan slid the glass away from the door. Daring it all, she crept into the living room, only to hit the floor hard as Erik's headlights illuminated the cabin. Pulling herself to her feet, she heard Erik and Sean drive off. Immediately, she ran to the window. The storm outside was merciless, lashing the trees till they moaned. She cringed as the lights flashed off and on. She couldn't go out in that, could she? What choice did she have? If only she could find a phone! She could call the police and get out of there safely. Brrr, it was cold. A coat, she could really use a coat! Erik would be wearing his, but what about hers? She'd worn a coat the night he'd taken her, but hadn't seen it since. Was it still upstairs? Maybe it had been hanging above her shoes, and she'd missed it? Then she'd get her phone too! No time, she decided. What I need to do is move, now!
She ran to the door, flinging it open, and was immediately blown back by the wind. The temperature outside felt more like December than November. The rain cut through her clothes, slashing at them with wet drops. It took effort to get the door to shut again. She bit down on her lip. I could go out like this and freeze, but maybe find shelter. I could wait till it settles a little, but I don't know when Erik will be back. I still don't have any idea where I am. Megan snapped her hands against her sides, making up her mind. I need some protection. If I go out in that storm, dressed like this, I won't make it anyway.Her eyes spied the black flashlight on the floor where she'd dropped it. She stuffed it inside the pocket of her jeans. What else? My coat, just a quick look for my coat.Her feet flew up the steps. Tearing open the door to Erik's room, she switched on the overhead light. The sudden brightness hurt her eyes, but she blinked, ignoring the flash. One hard yank on the dresser made clothes spill everywhere. Quickly she pulled on two more sweatshirts. Lumpy, but warmer, she found socks in the bottom drawer. Off went her shoes, on went the socks, and then back on with the shoes, but something was wrong. This was it, her last chance. She still wanted to know why. Why her? She found herself drawn back to the top drawer of the bureau. Maybe the pictures held the answer. Furious, but unable to help herself, she opened it.
There had to be at least thirty shots of her. Megan picked up one of her coming out of the library. It was hand dated last April. She hadn't even been seeing Erik yet, didn't know he existed, but he was taking pictures of her? She shivered, dropping the photo. Next, she found a small pile of half photos shoved up against the corner. There she was, but the other person was missing. The pictures were ragged, torn apart. She caught a glimpse of red hair: Paul. They were pictures of her and Paul. In one of them, Paul had been ripped in half. She didn't want to keep looking, but couldn't stop. She went deeper into the drawer.
A faded green car lay towards the back. She picked up the toy. I gave him this. I remember giving him this because he was sad, she thought to herself. Her ribs ached in memory from the hug he'd given her in thanks. A hug that she couldn't break free from. Should have given me a clue, she thought bitterly. But still her face softened for a moment. Erik had been just like a little boy that night. His eyes had turned so bright. They'd positively shined like Christmas when she'd given him the present. Her hands were gentle as she replaced the car. Megan started to shut the drawer, but then a flash of yellow struck her eye. A notebook. The spirals were stuck in the particle board, so it took a moment to pull the book free, but she got it out. Rapidly, she flipped to the first page. Written across the top was Monday:
M: 9:20 ( English). Politics and Social Structure of Shakespeare's Era, room 514. M: 10:30 (Calculus I), room 306 M: Lunch 12:00-1:15, approximate. M: 1:15 to 2:30 (Free time.) Good time to call M: 2:30 (History). Louis the XVI: Death of a Monarchy, room 209 M: 4:00 (Free time) (Usually at library) M: 6:00 (Dinner) M: 7:00 -12:00 (Free time) (if not at home, often at bar, The Slate: 562-7781)
Turning the page, she saw her Tuesday schedule from the moment she got up to the time she went to bed. The first seven pages detailed her life Spring semester. Notes were scrawled across the next few, including; do not forget jack and yellow, not pink roses. Reading further, she found her schedule for this year. How had he gotten that? Had he hacked into the school's computer? She didn't remember telling him her password? Did he really know her well enough to guess it? Megan didn't want to think about the answer to that question. She found a page written about Jean. Then came the rules of the Game:
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Written evidence, she'd see Erik in jail, yet! Still no coat though. She started to close the notebook when a small slip of white paper fluttered out. Picking the scrap of paper off the floor, she glanced at it: Unhappiness leads to the point of a sword, but pain unending is the price of one word. Hope. Huh? He'd taken a sliver from some poem and written the word Hope after it.Why had he done that? Megan started to put the scrap down, but the words ate her. Why did this line from a poem she'd never read sound so familiar to her? She looked closer at the paper. No, not the whole line, just the last phrase: Price of one word. What did it mean?
A breeze of air tickled her ear like a whisper. Whisper. That was it! She hadn't read the words before; she'd heard them. "You want to know why I am doing this?" Erik had taunted her the night he'd kidnapped her. "Price of one word, sweetheart," he'd said, "And it's time for you to pay." Was he talking about hope? Pain unending is due to hope? Had he kidnapped her because of hope? That didn't make sense. In order to have hope, someone has to give it to you. I broke up with him that night, Megan told herself. I ran away! He knew we were finished. He knew. I made it clear. I am not responsible for any of his sick, twisted fantasies! But her own words came back to haunt her. "But you don't love me?" he'd asked. He'd looked so sad. She couldn't hurt him further. "I don't know," she'd whispered back.
"You mean there's a chance?"
She balled the paper up in her fist, clutching it hard. No! I never loved him! I never asked to be kidnapped, to miss school! I never did a blessed thing but be nice to him! This I know; this is not my fault!
She took a deep breath, trying to force herself to calm down as she looked around the room for the final time. No coat. No umbrella. Nothing that could help her. Giving up, she almost missed what wasn't there. The black plastic case blended against the wall, its light empty and dull. Megan stared at the empty cell phone charger, her last chance for a quick escape slipping away.
