Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

But she had already done that.

When she’d awakened inside the metal cage.

She opened her eyes quickly, hoping that something-anything-might have changed, but she was still there.

Cramped inside a cage, stuck in the corner of a filthy room that had been decorated for a small child a very long time ago.

There was a part of her that still hoped something was wrong with her, that maybe she’d had some sort of horrible illness, a fever so high that it caused her to hallucinate, or maybe she’d been in a car accident and this was some kind of head trauma. She would even accept being drugged at a party, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been to a party.

All she could remember was that afternoon, heading downtown and filling out job applications.

And the strange man.

Never talk to strangers.

She almost told her mother to shut up, but just the thought of her mother made her begin to cry, and she had been crying so often, for so long, that she barely had any tears left.

Ashley had first noticed the man in the antique store, watching her as she had petted the cat. She remembered how she was annoyed at first and then creeped out. She’d been tempted to tell the guy off, but instead she had moved on to the next on her list of potential employers.

Remy would have been proud of her, being aware of her surroundings and who was in them. He’d always drilled that into her: Pay attention to details, no matter how small. All good advice, like…

Don’t talk to strangers.

As she lay curled up on a dirty blanket draped across the bottom of the cage, Ashley realized that the alarms had stopped. The grating sounds had started suddenly and had seemed to go on and on for a very long time.

But they’d finally been silenced.

She had thought the alarms might have had something to do with her, that maybe somebody- Remy — had come to take her home.

But the alarms had stopped, and she was still here.

Remy hadn’t come.

She hadn’t a clue as to where she was or why she had been taken, so even though she didn’t want to relive it, she allowed the scene to replay in her mind. Maybe she had missed something.

She had finished her job search for the day and wanted something to drink. Knowing that there was nothing good back at the apartment, she had stopped at a convenience store not too far from her new home.

It was funny the details that she remembered leading up to…

Ashley began to tremble, pulling herself tighter into a ball. It was cold in the little kid’s room, and she reached out to pull a corner of the blanket over herself.

The convenience store had been empty. A song had been playing softly over the speakers. She’d recognized the tune but couldn’t remember exactly what it was; it had been mangled so badly in this horrible Muzak version.

She recalled wandering the short aisles, considering all kinds of purchases, even though she’d just gone in for a drink. And finally she’d just headed to the refrigerator cases at the back of the store. It hadn’t taken her long to make her pick: a cherry-flavored iced tea that she seemed able to buy only around there. She’d shared that information with Remy the last time he’d been up, and he had told her that it probably was because Massachusetts had laws preventing drinks that foul from being sold in the Commonwealth.

Ashley smiled briefly at the memory of her friend; then the reality of her situation again weighed down upon her.

Was anybody looking for her? Was Remy looking for her? Did they even know where to start?

Ashley had paid for her drink and then returned to her car, still trying to figure out what song was playing in the store. It was probably that distraction that had made her less than careful.

“Don’t Fear the Reaper”…Blue Oyster Cult.

She had remembered the song just as she’d climbed into her car, and placed her drink in the cup holder. She thought she might have been laughing when she’d inserted the key into the ignition, thinking about how cheery a song about not being afraid of death could sound when run through a Muzak filter.

The first person she’d thought to call about it was Remy. The two had had some interesting discussions about death over the years, and she thought he might get a kick out of hearing how the classic rock tune was being mangled.

Never mind the fact that she missed him…missed Beacon Hill, missed Marlowe, and missed her parents. This going-off-to-college-to-learn-to-be-an-adult thing wasn’t nearly as easy as she had thought it would be.

She’d been reaching for her cell phone when the man had attacked. She knew instantly who it was as his hands came over the front seat from the back to grab her. She saw most of his creepy face reflected in the rearview. She had tried to fight him off, bloodying her nose in the process, but as soon as his hands touched her, her strength had started to fade.

The creepy man just held her tight, an unusually hard hand pressed over her mouth, the other across her neck, waiting until the fight was gone from her.

It hadn’t taken long.

She remembered feeling incredibly tired and wanting so desperately to go to sleep as another part of her brain screamed like crazy for her to wake up and run.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

The creepy man’s touch was like a drug, and before she knew it, she was gone.

Anger quickly replaced the sadness and fear. How pathetic was she to be so easily taken from everyone she loved, to not even put up a fight?

Maybe she deserved this.

A flash of bright light crept into the room from a torn window shade, and for a moment she thought it was lightning.

Ashley waited for the sound of thunder to follow, but it didn’t come.

She angled her body in such a way as to keep her eyes on the shade, not remembering a time when she’d seen any light come from outside.

It always seemed to be dark where she was now.

Even something as simple as that flash of light was enough to bolster her hopes for a moment. Thoughts of a rescue played out in her mind.

Remy coming to save her.

She was about to close her eyes again, to try to escape through sleep, when the door into the room swung open. Thoughts of Remy still at the forefront of her mind, she sat up, holding her breath.

Hoping.

But her hopes were quickly suffocated as the strange little boy ran into the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

She had no idea who he was and didn’t know if he could even speak. He seemed more like an animal, grunting and growling.

He glanced at her briefly as he passed her cage. His eyes were wide, wild, and he appeared to be out of breath. The boy went to a cabinet in the corner of the room, pulling open one of the drawers and reaching inside.

Ashley wished herself smaller, pushing herself deeper into the corner of the cage, one of the bars now digging painfully into her back as she watched him.

Praying he would leave her alone.

But the filthy animal child removed the leather collar and leash from the drawer and slowly approached the cage.

It was time for her walk.

Carroll Funeral Home

September 2008

He’d asked for some time alone with her.

Remy stood perfectly still, staring down at the remains of his wife of fifty years lying in the coffin.

But she wasn’t really there.

Madeline Chandler had been a loving, vivacious woman who had enjoyed every moment of her life, even as her time on this earth was slowly ticking away, eaten up by cancer.

It wasn’t her that he saw lying there. Certainly it looked like her in elder years, but what really made her who she was-his wife, his lover, his friend-had left this shell once it had decided to quit working.

He found this moment alone with her remains similar to looking at a photograph, the image a reminder of what had once been.