Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

I stare at him. He’s telling the truth, I can see it in his face.

He says, “Lie down, Nadine.”

I get on my knees and lie on my back in the long dry grass. My eyes are already filling with tears. I try to think about the grass scratching against my leg, the buzz of dragonflies floating in the air nearby. But I’m scared.

He lies down next to me and presses his mouth against mine. My hands grab helplessly at the poppies. He undoes my jeans shorts, puts his hand down them and touches me between my legs. He yanks them farther down, and rolls on top of me, starts pulling down his shorts, and tries to shove himself inside me.

It hurts, and I cry out. He presses his mouth harder against mine.

I twist my face away. “Stop. I don’t want to.” I push at him and hit him with my fists. I kick out, kneeing him in the groin. He yells, cupping himself. I pull up my shorts and take off running for the barn, looking for my mother, my brother, anyone who can help, forgetting in my panic that they’re all on their walk. His footsteps are loud behind me. I make it partway up one of the haystacks when he grabs my foot, pulling me down, until I’m close enough for him to grip my hair, yanking my head back. I try to scream, but he slaps his hand over my mouth. He lets go of my hair, wraps his arm tight around my chest and shoulders, so my arms are pinned, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. Then he lifts me against the side of his body, like a sack of grain, and carries me to the back of the barn, where they’ve been digging a root cellar under the storage room.

He stops by the hole, turning his body so that I’m over the edge, my feet dangling, and removes his hand from my mouth. I look down. At first I don’t understand why he’s showing the cellar to me. Then I realize the hole is only a few feet deep and wide, and I think he’s going to make me dig, as punishment.

Then he says, “Do you see, Nadine? Do you see where you’re going?”

Now I understand. He’s going to put me in the hole.

I kick and struggle, but he’s holding tight. He steps backward and swings me around, then grabs one of the old metal barrels that are stacked against the wall. With one hand, he pries the lid off. He lifts my body over the barrel.

I catch a flicker out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moving by the door, blocking the crack of light. “Help!” I yell, thinking someone is there, someone will save me. But only a flurry of birds rushes up to the rafters.

I bite at his arm, try to get my legs on the outside of the barrel, but he punches me hard in the temple. Stunned, I’m limp in his arms. He jams my legs into the barrel, uses his knee to press down on my back. I grasp at the metal rim. He raps my knuckles, bends my fingers back until I have to let go. He’s grunting with exertion, scrambling for something, then the lid is coming over my head, and he’s pushing down with all his weight. I’m screaming, loud, but it’s muffled.

He hammers the lid in place with his fists.

There are only a few inches of air between my body and the lid. I’m surrounded by metal, my knees up near my chin, no room to move, to breathe.

The barrel is tipping. I land on my side. I stop screaming, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Now the barrel is rolling, the sensation of falling. I drop with a thud, my body slamming into the metal sides. I gasp for breath.

For a second, everything’s silent. Then I get some air, scream again and again, but no one comes. I’m hot and sweaty. It drips down my face. I’m panting.

I hear a thud, realize it’s dirt hitting the barrel. I yell, “Please, no, please let me out!”

More dirt hits the barrel. I get one hand up by my ear, push at the lid, but it won’t budge. Thick heat presses in on me like a blanket, closing my throat up with each breath. I claw at the smooth walls, try to squirm my body around, and it makes the air thicker, even harder to breathe. I’m crying and gasping. I hear strangling sounds from my throat, more dirt falling, over and over. Then silence. I’m moaning, sobbing in broken whimpers.

A soft thud, like someone jumped into the hole.

“Please, please. Let me out!” I’m frantic, crying.

Aaron’s voice, “Are you ready to surrender to the Light?”

“Yes, yes. I’m ready.”

Silence again. Then, “I don’t believe you.”

Another thump as dirt hits the barrel. Shovelful after shovelful rains down. I scream, a frantic high-pitched screech, until I can’t get my breath and start hyperventilating, tears and snot mixing on my face.

Finally, he stops, and calls down, faint through the dirt and metal, “Do you want to be released from your fear, Nadine?”

“Yes,” I sob. “Yes. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

A pause. He’s going to let me out. My body fills with relief.

Then he starts throwing more dirt down. I can’t tell how much now, whether I’m almost buried, but the sound is getting softer. I’ve peed myself. I think of my mother, of Robbie, and my father. I’m going to die. I close my eyes, chanting in my mind, Please, please, please, please, please, please.

The noise stops. There’s nothing but silence. Has he left? I’m dizzy, shuddering with sobs and panic. Seconds tick by. I’m sure now that he’s gone. I can’t last much longer. I gasp for air, but I can’t get my breath.

Then a sound near me, something scrapes the top of the barrel. I tense. Another scrape, rhythmic, and I realize he’s shoveling away at the dirt. A surge of hope, followed by fear. Is it just another game? I push again at the lid, beg with the last of my strength, “Please. I don’t want to die.”

Then the sound of metal against metal, the lid is being pried off. I blink up at the light, gasping and gagging for air. Half-blind, I can only see Aaron’s shape in the light from the doorway. He reaches down, lifts me out, setting me on my feet, but I’m disoriented and weak, and I fall to the ground.

He crouches in front, clasps the back of my head, and looks into my eyes.

“You can’t run away from me, Nadine. We’re family now.”

I slur my words, my tongue and lips dry, my throat raw from screaming. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me, please.”

His hand on the back of my neck grips harder. He leans close, his body reeking of sweat. He’s about to say something. Then, in the distance, we hear the singing voices of the commune members, coming back from their walk.

I open my mouth to scream.

He slaps me. My head rocks back, hitting the barrel behind it, stunning me again. He puts his hand on my mouth, grinding my lips into my teeth. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll do it again—but I won’t let you out.”

His hand presses harder. I taste blood. He says, “I’ll bury you alive. Do you understand?”

I nod, terrified.

He says, “Wait for a few minutes, then go down to the river and clean up.” He leans close to my ear, his voice muffled and distorted and seeming to come from far away. “Remember, tell anyone, and I’ll leave you to die next time.”

He lifts me out of the hole, dumping me on the floor of the storage room.

Then he is gone.

After a few moments, I pull myself together, stagger away from the barn, through the back field, down to the river, going to a pool farther below the commune where none of the members swim. Crying and shivering as I wash myself in the frigid water. I wash my clothes too, spreading them across a rock in the sun, curl my naked and bruised body up into a ball, hiding behind a big rock, the warm sand wrapping around me. I fall asleep.