Part 45

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Caution: The following episode contains violence of a non-sexual nature.

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Blackness and a foul stench are the first things I notice, along with the difficulty I have in breathing. Something nasty is shoved in my mouth and I can't spit it out. I then realize that I can't move my arms, hands or legs.

I start to try to move my body and cannot help but groan as my head and face throb in pain. Breathing through my nose is difficult as it feels like my right nostril is completely blocked. I can barely breathe and I start to panic.

The more I begin to struggle, the harder it seems to breathe. Then a cloth is pressed to my face and the acrid odor makes me thrash all the more until something presses on top of my head hard, pinning me, and then blackness again.

* * *

When next I'm aware of something, it's of a wet cloth dabbing my face. My mouth is almost painfully dry, but the pain doesn't even come close to the pain ripping through my head. Something is wrapped around my head and eyes, I can't see a thing.

I'm lying down on something lumpy and slightly damp-feeling and I can tell someone is sitting next to me, their hip or leg is partially on top of my hip. The pain in my hip from them sitting on me helps me focus as the pain in my head does not.

I try to ask who's there but my mouth is too dry. The wet cloth dabs at my lips. The bad taste from the cloth is overcome by the welcoming moisture.

I hear a woman’s voice say, "Come away from there now. Looks like she awakin'."

The body next to me shifts then the weight disappears.

"Who?" I manage to croak out.

Hands mess with the cloth wrapped around my head sending fresh jabs of pain shooting through my skull and the lady's voice says, "It's yo mama. Now let's take a look at ya."

The cloth is pulled away and I find myself looking a large woman's face–a face pale with heavy jowls and small eyes and surrounded by unruly, dirty-looking grey hair.

"Wh-where's my Mom?"

"Why, yo lukin' at me girl. Least ways, I'm yo mama now. Jes' as soon as yuh an my Luther is wed."

My head is such, and her language is so poor that what she says doesn't immediately register with me. When it does, I protest, "I-I can't marry, I'm only fifteen. Where am I? Who are you? Where's my mother!?" I finally yell.

A heavy, callused hand strikes me and my head explodes with fresh pain.

"Fifteen be old eno’ ta marry, and I tell ya girl, I'm yo mama!"

I taste blood from the blow and I'm terrified of this mad woman.

Seeing something in my look that satisfies her, the old woman nods her head and stands up. As she moves away, I have my first chance to look around.

It appears that I'm in a basement. The walls are of mortared stone and the floor is dirt. It's very dark with the only illumination coming from a weak light behind a heavy metal screen in the ceiling. There's a set of heavy stairs that lead up and sitting on them is Luther, smiling and nodding his head at me.

"She's so purtty, mama. She really going to marry me?"

"She so 'nuff will, Luther boy, jes' as soon as I done wit 'er. Fes we get to do sumpin' aboot that hair and them clothes. She be purtty eno’ for ya when'st I'm a done wit her."

"We gona get married, Alex!"

I can't talk at first, I'm so horrified.

"No!"

Quick as a snake, the old woman is at my side again, her heavy hand striking my face and head. Before passing out, I see Luther sitting on the stairs crying.

When next I come to, Luther is gone but the old lady is still there.

"Back wit us I see. Yuh listen, gil, yuh make my sweet Luther cry, yuh be getten' mo' of the same. Ya hear?"

I nod in reply.

She starts to come towards me with a heavy pair of scissors. Fearing the worst, I try to move away and that's when I realize that I'm tied down. My hands are tied to something above my head and my feet are tied to a post at the foot of the old mattress that I'm laying on.

Seeing my reaction, the old woman laughs. "No need ta worry yo sef yet. I jes' need ta get yuh shucked a them clothes. Yuh fight me an I'll have ta beat ya again so jes' lay still."

At that, she proceeds to cut my jeans and pull them away, and then moves up to do the same to my top. Soon I'm laying there in just my bra and panties, my shoes and socks having already been removed.

Crying I ask, "Why?"

Misunderstanding me she replies, "'Cus they be lookin for these. Same way we need ta change that hair a yours."

With that, she grabs a handful of my hair and cuts it off.

Screaming and crying, I thrash about, trying desperately to escape. The old woman starts to hit me but I continue.

Angrily she stands and goes over to the stairs. I'm still screaming and trying to get free. She's carrying what looks like a nightstick, until I hear a crackling, snapping sound and see blue lightning running up and down its length. It's like some sort of stun gun on steroids.

When she presses it into my belly, the world explodes.

* * *

When next I wake up I'm alone. It's quiet except for the drip, drip, drip coming from an old sink on the other side of the room.

Sitting up on the mattress I'm no longer tied down. My hands are free with ugly red welts around my wrists. Attached to my left ankle is what looks like large handcuffs–One end securing my foot, the other attached to a cable that is wrapped around the post at the foot of the mattress.

Sitting, I realize that the coolness I feel on my head is because my hair has been cut short. A lock of my former hair is still on the mattress. Picking it up, I begin to weep.

Still feeling desperately thirsty, I shakily get to my feet. I've been dressed in a dingy grey smock that looks to me like nothing more than a sack that has had holes cut for my head and arms. My bra has been removed, but thankfully I still have my panties on.

With my head swimming and feeling like I'm going to pass out at any moment, I make my way over to the sink. Turning the left handle doesn't do anything. Turning the right handle produces a small stream of dirty rusty looking water. Letting it run for a minute seems to clear it a bit. I cup my hands and thirstily drink. The taste is terrible but I need the moisture. Eventually my throat and mouth feel reasonably normal again and I go to wash my face.

As soon as I touch my nose, I recoil with a hiss of pain. Gently feeling my nose and face explains why I'm having trouble breathing. I think my nose is broken.

Glancing around, I notice a small square of polished steel screwed to the wall. Looking over to see the condition of my face, I'm shocked by the stranger that looks back at me. The face is different enough from my own with its bruising, cuts and the swelling around my nose and cheek, but the most dramatic change is my hair. It's now cut short and bleached to a horrible shade of yellow.

The shock of seeing myself like this almost brings me to my knees and I have to catch myself against the wall.

My god, what's going to happen to me?

* * *

As I stare numbly at my reflection in the tiny bit of steel, the door at the top of the stairs opens and someone's heavy steps start down.

I immediately retreat back to the mattress and crouch behind the post, an ineffectual barrier but the only one I have.

Down the stairs comes Luther.

"Oh your hair, it's all yellow now. Look, I brung you something to eat."

I take the paper towel wrapped item and he hands me a juice box as well.

"Thank you, Luther." Suddenly I'm starving and unwrap what is obviously a sandwich.

"It's peanut butter and banana. I made it myself."

I hungrily wolf the sandwich down. Some parts are thick with peanut butter, and other parts are without any. The mixture is difficult to swallow and I shakily open the juice box. The thin juice tastes wonderful going down my throat.

"Why, Luther, why are you doing this?"

"You were nice to me. You helped me. You're so purtty and I love you and after we get married, you'll love me too 'cause married folk love each other."

"Luther, I can't marry, I'm too young. I need to get back home. Please let me go, I miss my mom and dad, I miss my family, please let me go."

"No, you don't understand. Mama says we're getting married and that you'll love me and that's that. I don't want to hear you say that. You say that and mama's going to hit you again."

"That right, Luther boy, I will."

Looking up through my tears, that hateful woman is standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Please let me go," I beg, "I promise I won't tell anyone, just let me go."

Luther's mom strides over and delivers a heavy backhand, sending me into the wall and down to the ground.

"Luther done tole yuh. No more a that! Now yuh get ta larn some things, yuh be marrin' my boy, I'm yo mama and yuh new name be, Lily. That what I name yuh and that what yuh be. Now Lily, who be yo mama?"

Crying, I cower against the wall. A hand grabs my hair and pulls me roughly to my feet. Her face mere inches from mine, her spittle hitting me as she asks again, "Lily, who be yo mama?"

Through my fear and anger I yell back, "My name is Alex and you are not my mother you evil old hag!"

I throw my head forward and my forehead smashes into her chin sending her reeling. With her staggering backwards and Luther covering his face with his hands crying, I shove my way past them and run towards the stairs, forgetting the shackle.

The force when I reach the end of the cable brings me heavily to the ground and in an instant a crushing weight lands on my back driving all the air from my lungs. Luther's mom flips me easily over on my back and proceeds to rain blow after heavy blow on my head and face, her mad screams drowning out my cries of pain.

* * *

When next I come to, I'm laying in the dirt near the bottom of the stairs. The acrid taste of bile in my mouth, my leg and face in pain. My eyes are gritty and matted closed. My left one I eventually get open but my right eye is too swollen.

After multiple attempts, I finally get to my hands and knees but it takes me about ten minutes to do it. It feels like my ankle might be broken as even the slightest movement sends shooting pain up my leg.

Eventually, I'm able to crawl back to my thin mattress and collapse, panting with the effort that it takes.

When my breathing calms down a bit, I shakily sit up to asses my latest injuries. Well I don't think the ankle is broken, but my abrupt stop did take a good hunk of skin off and heavily bruised the bone and tendons.

Looking around, I don't see anything that I can use to clean the wound so I rip the bottom couple of inches from the rag I'm wearing.

I'm going to need water and the thought of making my way over to the sink fills me with dread. Steeling myself, I use the post to help me stand. With a hand on the wall for support, I limp over to the sink, hissing and crying in pain the entire way.

Looking in my tiny mirror, I'm shocked again by my appearance. If my nose wasn't broken before, it surely is now. My right eye is heavily bruised and swollen closed; in fact the entire right side of my face is swollen. The left eye was caked closed from the blood that came from a cut along the eyebrow. My lips are split, swollen and a lovely mixed color of purple and black. The rest of my face is cut and heavily bruised from the beatings I've received. I look like a mutant raccoon, the kind you sometimes see splattered at the side of the road.

I'm not sure how much more I can take. If this keeps up, that mad woman will surely kill me. I have got to find a way out of here.

Taking my rag I soak it and use it as a compress against my poor abused face. The wet coolness feels wonderful.

After cleaning my face as best I can, I then turn my attention to my ankle. After cleaning away the blood and washing the gash, I wrap the rag around as a makeshift bandage.

With my wounds taken care of I now need to use the bathroom. The only thing available to do so is a bucket next to the sink. After using that and cleaning myself up afterwards, I hobble back to my mattress and collapse.

As I sit there catching my breath, the door opens and Luther and his mother come down. Luther is looking real worried and I get the feeling that it doesn't bode well for me. I'm sure of that when I see the stun stick in his mother's hand.

Luther stops halfway to me and turns and faces the wall, hiding his face from me. His mother continues over to me and kneels down. I take some satisfaction in that she has a large bruise on her chin.

"Three things: yuh be Lily, I'm yo mama and yuh be marrying Luther." As soon as she finishes saying that, she hits me with the stun stick and my body explodes in pain.

It's a brief hit this time and somehow I'm able to not pass out. As I fight off the effects, I see her walk over and grab the bucket by the sink and go back upstairs leaving Luther down with me.

After she's gone, Luther comes over and hands me another sandwich and juice box.

"Thank you. Luther, I need to get out of here. She's going to kill me if I don't."

"Oh no. You just gotta do what she say is all."

"No, Luther, she wants me dead. I'm going to die here if I stay."

At that I finish up the juice box, lie down and face the wall.

My days–and it must be days although through the increasing fog I'm in it could be weeks, months or even years–are all the same. Luther comes down with his mother, she only says the same thing, that my name is now Lily, and that she's my mom and that I'm going to marry Luther. The only thing that is ever different is what comes after she says that. Sometimes she'll hit or kick me; sometimes she'll use the stun stick. Sometimes she'll do all three until I'm convulsing on the floor. All the while she's beating me, she's talking to herself under her breath.

When she's done, she changes out the bucket and leaves me and Luther alone so he can give me my meal of a peanut butter and banana sandwich and a juice box. Sometimes Luther will just want to talk, other times he'll want to play 'Go Fish' or 'Old Maid'. There are times that I feel almost as sorry for Luther as I do for myself.

Every day I tell Luther the same thing, that she's trying to kill me, and every day Luther says she isn't.

Today I ignore the food that Luther hands me and stay curled up on the mattress. Today his mother was particularly vicious and I'm having difficult time breathing.

Through chapped and swollen lips, I say, "I'm dying Luther. I'm not going to last much longer, she's going to kill me next time. She's already broken something inside me." I spit out some blood. "Don't do this again Luther. When I die, don't ever do this again."

Feeling real tired I close my eyes and ignore Luther as he says "You need to live, you an' me goin' to be married." But he no longer sounds as sure as he once did and getting no response from me, he finally leaves.

* * *

I'm awakened by the stairway door slamming open and Luther's mother yelling "Jus' yuh load that truck. We need to get and soon. Never yuh mind about Lily, I take care of her, now hurry boy."

Looking up as she comes down the stairs, I see that this time she isn't carrying the stun stick, she has a large kitchen knife in her hand.

Coming up to me she says "What yo name?"

Looking at the knife I stammer, "La-Lily."

"Who yo mama?"

"Y-you are mama."

"Who yuh be marryin'?"

"L-Luther."

She just stands there looking at me, judging my answers. I stare at the knife in her hand, my fingers absently rubbing the scars on my ankle.

"Liar." And she raises the knife above her head. I have no where to go and no way to stop her. I send a silent prayer to Mom and Dad, Ellen, Mark and Bill and finally to Robbyn as the knife comes down.

* * *

As the knife comes down I scream. Miraculously I see Luther's large hand grip her arm from behind stopping it from plunging the knife into me.

Luther's mother is shocked and screams, "No Luther, we gotta kill her, let me go!"

She tries to pull her arm away and Luther tries to pull her back from me. The blade of the knife is waving inches in front of my face.

"Yuh don' understand boy, this one is evil. Mama will find yuh a good gil ta marry but we gotta kill this one and leave."

Grimly Luther hangs on, slowly pulling the knife back away from me. His mother is twisting and turning, franticly trying to get free so she can kill me when the tip of that long bladed knife passes through the side of her neck.

She stops struggling as the spray of blood covers us. Slowly she crumples as Luther pulls the knife from her dying fingers.

"Mama!" Luther screams and keeps on screaming.

Suddenly there are explosions and bright flashes of light. I'm screaming and so is Luther. He's staggering around waving the knife and crying for his mother.

Through the smoke and the noise, black clad figures are rushing down the stairs. They're yelling but I can't make out what they are saying.

Luther sees them and turns towards me. He reaches out to me, then his body starts to jerk in time to a steady pop, pop, pop sound.

The knife drops from his fingers as he collapses against me, my head slamming into the wall as we fall together.

* * *

My world has gone mad. The crushing weight is pulled from on top of me. The room is spinning and shadows move into and out of focus.

Jumbled words without meaning break through, words like 'bolt cutters' and 'no pulse', 'clear' and 'found her'. One of the shadows leans over me and removes its face to reveal another beneath it. The blue eyes from this new face are asking me something over and over. The eyes move away and I'm being tossed around like a leaf on the wind, then I settle on my back again. The eyes come back and start talking to me again. This time they're upside down and I can't make out what they want. I know I should be able to but I just can't.

I must be on a ship as I'm rocking back and forth and then sail up the stairs. Before leaving I look down and see Luther drifting away with clouds of shadows surrounding him then I rise into the heart of a sun.

I close my eyes from the intense brightness and try to cover them with my hands but I can't seem to move. The ship stops moving and the light lessens. The chaos of sound eases and I begin to make out more words.

I open my eyes again, the blue eyes are still there, still asking me something.

"…Alex?"

"…you Alex?"

I just stare into the eyes, my brow furrowing as I try to understand.

"…your name?"

"Lily."

"Lily? Did you say your name is Lily?"

The confused look the blue eyes give me makes me remember, "No, it's Alex, my name is Alex."

The eyes smile and tell me that I'm safe now, that I'm going home. I believe them and let go of the nightmare and close my eyes.