Cody McFadyen - Abandoned

I feel cornered, panicked. I’m having trouble getting a full breath.

Five minutes? An hour later?

Worst of all: the procedure. Dark and clinical, an unconcerned word meant to stand for the loss of awareness of self. A scalpel word, bright and gleaming, metal fashioned from a nightmare.

“Why are you giving us the time together?”

This is the one weapon left to me, whether I get to put it to use later or not: my ability to understand him. Why is Dali Dali? Is there something giggling and drooly hidden under a mask of money and practicality? Or is it a simpler mantra: I kill, therefore I am?

“Because I’m not a cruel man, number 35.”

It’s always the cruel who feel the need to prove otherwise. I file the answer away. Depersonalization is essential for him. That’s useful. Or maybe it’s just a thought that will die in the darkness with you.

“Enough questions. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. I’ll bring him in shortly. He’ll remain facedown on the table. I’ll remove his blindfold so he can see you. I’ll move you over to stand next to his table. Your feet will be shackled, and your wrists will be cuffed to his table. Do you understand?”

Time, time, I need more time. I have none.

“Yes, I understand.”

He acknowledges me by leaving without another word. Gone to blind and stun and drug Leo. What am I going to do?

Panic has turned into something more distant. There’s a wall of unreality and numbness between me and the sharper edges of my terror. What are the factors? List them.

“One,” I whisper. “He means what he says. Two: I can decide if it’s Leo or me. If I don’t decide, then it’s me.”

That’s it. There are no other factors.

What should I do, baby? Tell me, please. Help me.

Baby does not reply, and I can’t get either the meadow or the light to appear behind my eyes right now. I search for words from Barnaby Wallace, something to fit the situation, but all I can find is fear.

Leo’s face comes to me, an image that swims into bright clarity. I see him smiling, on the plane where we met years ago, a young man, an earring in one ear, fighting not to become the establishment he worked for, full of the life ahead of him. He found himself in our orbit, and he walked away wiser and darkened as a result. He was seasoned by what we revealed to him, perhaps for the better, probably for the worst.

He’s here because he knows me.

I am bad for the innocent and the young. Doves light on my finger and fall off dead. Matt and Alexa paid the price for loving me. Maybe Alan has too. Will I make Leo buy me life? Will he pay for my baby?

I’m shivered from these thoughts by a susurrus of soft steps coming through the door. Dali wears hiking boots but walks like a cat. Leo will be nude. His bare feet won’t ring on the concrete.

“Lie down on the table, number 36.”

Leo mumbles something and, I assume, complies. It makes me wonder about the drug that Dali is using. I’d always assumed he had to carry us in here.

Chain clinkings, more mumbles. A pause, then more soft sounds against the stone, coming near me. Dali removes my blindfold. I am staring at Leo. His eyes are half lidded, his mouth open. He drools.

“I’m going to move you over to him now. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He undoes the shackles at my ankles. He removes the straps at my waist.

“I’ll undo your hands. You will come to a sitting position with me behind you. I have a stun gun in my hand. If you attempt to escape or make any motion I’m not comfortable with, I will stun you, reattach you to the table, and punish you for an hour. Do you understand, number 35?”

“Yes.”

I have no time for my usual rage at his indifference. I can’t take my eyes off Leo.

Dali releases my wrists. “Come to a sitting position.” I comply. It occurs to me that I’m almost oblivious to my nudity now.

He grabs the back of my neck with one hand. “Stand up.” I stand, swaying slightly. My head is light. “Walk forward.”

I walk until we come to the table where Leo lies insensate. “Wrists forward, and together.”

He cuffs my wrists and then uses a third set to attach me to an eye ring on the table.

“I’ll cuff your ankles now. Try to kick me and there will be a penalty. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Yes and yes. Yes, I understand that you control me, that you are a monster; yes, I understand that hope dies a long, slow death here. He cuffs my ankles.

“Number 36 should come out of it soon. Perhaps twenty minutes. I’ll be watching. You’ll have your five minutes, and then I’ll return.”

He walks off, and I am left there, staring down at Leo. It hurts me to look at him. He’s so young, too young. Was I ever that young? Yes. I was almost his age when Alexa was born. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Time passes. Leo’s eyes open once, then close. They open again a few minutes later and he blinks to clear away the fog. I wish he could sleep forever, baby-faced and serene.

“I’m so sorry, Leo.” I start to cry.

“Hey,” he says. His eyes fill with concern. “Wh-what’s happening?” He’s here but still sluggish.

“I’m not sure. He’s given us five minutes together, but … but I don’t know why.”

The decision to lie comes from somewhere I can’t identify. I haven’t decided what I’ll decide, but I do know that I want to spare him the knowledge. This uncertainty.

A sly voice creeps around inside me, cozening and impure. You haven’t decided? Are you sure about that?

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Shitty. I …” He pauses, swallows. “I talk to myself a lot. I think I’m going a little bit crazy.”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks.

“Jeez. Stop crying, Smoky. We only have five minutes; don’t waste it being all weepy.”

I laugh, tribute to the hollow humor. “Tell me about your girlfriend, Leo.”

“Christa?” He smiles. “She’s got long, soft brown hair and green eyes. Wicked combination. She laughs a lot. She thinks I’m sliced bread. She’s smart.” The smile fades. “I was going to ask her to marry me. I guess I’ll never see her again, though.” He sighs. “I was really looking forward to being married. I wanted to see what that’s like.” He glances up at me. “What is it like? Is it cool?”

I bite back more tears, aghast. A train of answers runs through my mind. What’s it like? It’s a collection of moments, constantly falling like the leaves of October, burnt-orange happiness, dark-red anger, brown for the normal. It’s sharing a bed, day in and out, through tears and sex, laughs and fights. That bed becomes an island, where nakedness is more literal than actual, the place where all the biggest decisions are made, where new life is made, where new you is made.

Above all things, marriage, when it works, is not being alone.

“Yes,” I say, unable to express all of these things to him. “Yes, it’s cool.”

He nods, cheek against the steel. “I thought so.” He looks at me again. “I need to ask you something, and then I need to tell you something.”

I glance at the camera in the corner. “We’re not alone.”

“It shouldn’t matter. The first thing: If you get out of here and I end up like Dana Hollister, I want you to promise that you’ll kill me. I won’t lie around like that. I won’t do that to my family, to Christa, or to myself.”

“Don’t ask me for this, Leo.”

“Who else am I supposed to ask?” The desperation in his voice matches the fear in his eyes.

“Okay,” I say, to soothe him. “I promise.”

I am made aware of the time by the far, faint sounds of Dali coming this way. Leo hears it too. “Lean forward,” he says, his voice urgent. “I don’t want him to hear this. Hurry!”