Jan Burke - Sweet Dreams, Irene

My mind began to fill with questions, most of which I didn’t like the answers to: Where was I? I didn’t know. I would make a project of trying to find out, but right now, I didn’t know. What day was it? Wednesday? How long had I been out? I didn’t know. What did they want with me? I didn’t know. Something to do with Sammy? But I barely knew her. Why not take Jacob?

Why had they let me see their faces, hear their names?

That question made my stomach tighten into a hard knot. The answer to that one came a little too easily: because they didn’t plan for me to live long enough to tell anyone else. I kept from panicking only because I couldn’t afford it. Still, I had to tell myself to get a grip about a dozen times before I could breathe normally.

So why was I still alive? They wanted something from me. Maybe. Thought I knew something. Maybe. Were they going to bargain with me? For what? Doubtful that I could gain them anything. But maybe.

Why had they cut my hair? To humiliate me, I decided. As with the shoes, the bare mattress, the stark room: to make me feel demeaned and helpless. To let me know who was in control. When I thought about this, the actual effect was to make me angry. I resolved to keep that anger burning, to not give them the pleasure of seeing me cringe before them.

The “how” questions were not so hard. I had been set up, pure and simple. I berated myself for falling for their trick.

At least Jacob was safe. I wondered how long it had taken him to summon help.

My mind turned to Frank, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion. He would be worried. If I were hurt or killed, he would once again feel that he had failed to protect someone. And it wasn’t his fault at all. It was mine. Straight home. As soon as possible. God forgive me.

The sound of voices and approaching footsteps made me push these thoughts away. Survive. Survive. Survive. I repeated the word silently, again and again, and closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure it would be wise to let them know I was conscious yet. I willed my fear away as the door creaked open.

“NAW, STILL OUT COLD. You hit her too hard, Raney.”

“You’re the one who screwed up by letting her kick the shit out of you.”

“She didn’t kick the shit out of me.”

“Shut up, both of you.” This third voice came from near the mattress. There was something familiar about it. I heard cloth rustling next to me. I tried to keep my breathing even and slow, to retreat into myself as I heard him kneel down next to me. He reached over and pulled my left eye open. Jesus God, I thought, how does an unconscious person’s eye look? I stared straight ahead. Suddenly my field of vision was filled with an elaborate, garish goat’s mask. I prayed my face did not reflect the rising panic I felt.

But apparently this goat-masked man either saw what he expected or didn’t know any better than I did what to look for. He let loose of my eyelid.

“I want to work on her myself. You understand? She’s mine. You can come in here and play the dice three times a day. Ask her who has the witch’s journal. I’ve got to know how much she knows and who she’s told. But you just do the preliminaries. I want to do the work – understand?”

“She can’t see you, man. Why don’t you take that weird fucking mask off?” Devon’s voice.

“She could regain consciousness at any time.”

“So what? She’s dead meat anyway. All that Satan stuff was good for scaring the crap out of a bunch of kids, but I don’t think it will work with her.”

I heard the man stand up and move away from the mattress. “Okay, okay,” I heard Devon whimper.

There was the sound of a blow, followed by a small cry.

“Don’t try to think things out, Devon. You’re no good at it.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’ll do as I please. You both need me. Don’t forget that. Raney, I expect you to keep him in line.” He paused, and I heard his footsteps along the opposite wall. “You did a good job on the windows, Raney,” he said. “Call me just like we planned. This will all be wrapped up soon. I’ll be back on Friday. You’ll be out of here before the weekend.”

His footsteps moved across the room, pausing near the door. “Keep in mind that I reserve certain privileges. You can play the dice. But she’s mine. Remember that, Devon – she’s mine.”

He left the room and the other two slowly followed. They talked in the room beyond the door, about food and supplies. I heard them go outside of the building, their voices coming through the outside wall and windows now, rather than from within the room beyond the door. From their conversation, I gathered I was locked in a storage room of some sort.

I opened my eyes and tried to force myself to a sitting position. I was too queasy, too sore. I fell back on the mattress, staring at its stripes, feeling my head pound. I heard a car start and drive off.

I mentally played back the conversation I had just heard. They were worried about what might be in the journal. How long before they learned the police had it? My head was throbbing, and I could hardly keep one thought connected to the next. The identity of the Goat. Satanism. Phony Satanism. Something Frank had said about that – but I would have to set that aside. Back to the Goat. Sammy mentioned seeing something on his arm.

I fell asleep, dreaming of goats and fields of rain.

THE ROOM WAS a little warmer when I woke up. Not warm, but not the bone chilling cold of before. My head still beat like a bass drum, but I could move it without such a strong feeling of nausea. I tried stretching out of the stiffness I felt.

I rolled off the mattress again. Any movement or pressure on my right ankle produced searing bolts of pain. I took deep breaths and crawled over to the bucket. I managed to turn it over and pull myself up on to it, leaning against the wall. I was breathing hard. I had broken out in a sweat and felt shaky, but I smiled. It seemed a wonderful accomplishment to be able to sit up on an upside-down bucket.

I could hear water. Moving water. A river? No, a creek or a stream. The thought of water made me realize how thirsty I was. I would have to live with it. I kept listening while I caught my breath.

In the next room, Devon and Raney were arguing loudly about which radio station was the best. Both were grousing about not having brought tapes up here, where they couldn’t pick up any stations worth listening to.

Up here. Out of radio range. A place with a creek or a stream. The mountains. But which ones? If I hadn’t been unconscious for more than a few hours, then this was Wednesday. Less than a day’s journey from Las Piernas. But being a few hours from Las Piernas could put me in mountains anywhere from Santa Barbara to San Diego.

Using my arms and left leg, I slid my back up the wall. It was a slow process, but I was finally able to stand up. I was dizzy, but it passed. Standing up. Another small goal. But my objective was a look out the windows, and I was still three inches below the lower sill of the closest one. Looking up, I could glimpse pine trees and a roofline. I curled my fingers on the sill and pulled myself up until my left foot was on top of the bucket. I straightened up and took my first look outside.

I was in a small, woodframe cabin. The Blazer and a black four-wheel drive pickup truck were parked on a drive not far from the building. The cabin was surrounded by tall trees. There was snow on the ground, melting away. I couldn’t see the sun, but the way shadows fell led me to believe it was early afternoon.

The windows of the room were nailed shut. On the outer side of each were heavy-gauge, wire mesh screens of the type used to discourage rock-tossing vandals. The windows themselves were only about seven by twelve inches each. Unless I could use one of Sammy’s spells to turn myself into a hamster, I wasn’t going to escape through the windows.