Nightlight

I think the year is 2057. I can't be sure. What use are years or time when there is no schedule to keep?

My feet ache as my hands burn against the rope that binds them. The stranger who tied it is walking me through the desert, much like I used to walk my dog when he didn't want the exercise but I still did.

He might be mad, lonely, or both; I can't tell yet. He wraps the rope around his waist, where it is also tied in a knot. Three times he ties it around himself before making that knot, tightly around his protruding lower ribs.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, not for the first time.

In response he grunts and pulls the rope to get me to walk a little faster. I stumble and regret the question.

Over time, the ground under my feet begins to cool. Distracted by the relief of the heat as night falls, I bump into him. I back away quickly, instinctually. When did he stop?

He looks around us as if searching for something familiar. He settles on a large cactus standing by itself in the desert, the only vegetation we’ve seen. It’s almost as tall as he is.

“Sit.” He instructs.

I pause a second, surprised that he’s finally spoken, and sit in the dirt. He sits down next to me, giving the rope around my wrists a small tug as he pulls the band around his waist down with him. After a moment, he pulls a canteen out of the his backpack and tosses it to me. Too eager for caution, I gratefully unscrew the lid, pouring water into my dry throat so quickly that my mouth overfills and I start choking. I sputter and spit, immediately regretting wasting something as precious as water, even if it meant breathing again. When my throat clears, I take another drink, so careful and delicate this time that my hands shake. I look down at it and consider that I don’t know if this is our only water, suddenly regretting my haste. Before I can think more about it, he takes the canteen back. He looks at me and takes a swig before putting the cap back on. Definitely not poison. That would be reassuring in different circumstances.

We sit in silence, illuminated only by the waxing moon and speckled starlight. When cities were bright, I remember I had to drive out to the countryside to see a sky like this. There are so many dots of light in the canopy of black and blue above us I cannot find any constellations.

As my eyes adjust under the quickly growing darkness, I take note of the man's face for the first time since he kidnapped me. In another life, I would have considered him quite handsome. I notice some scratches around his hands and arms along with fresh pink scars. Some are deep, but none are threatening to reopen. They don't look like he was attacked with a knife or shot. I can't help but think of my childhood dog and the scratches she used to leave on my legs when she got too excited.

“Where did you get those scars?” I ask, unable to stop myself. I should be quiet. I can't stand the quiet for long. I have to disrupt it before it crawls under my skin and festers into despair.

“You should sleep.” He says quietly, not answering my question.

“What?”

“You should go to sleep. We have more walking to do tomorrow.” He thinks a second. “By the way, I’m Matt.”

I watch as he holds out his hand. It's a handshake. My kidnapper is offering me a handshake.

It's so ridiculous a gesture that if I had the energy, I would have laughed until my stomach hurt. Instead I just stare, mouth agape.

He takes his hand away as if he’s just remembered what he's done. I feel the unexpected bubble of laughter inside of me pop, replaced with dread.

“Sorry.” He looks away from me again.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask again, trying to hide the shaking in my voice.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighs, leaning on a rock next to him, and doesn't answer my question. “I’ll keep you safe tonight. You need to get some rest so you can keep walking."

I consider this. If he wanted to kill me, he had about a million chances already. He definitely wouldn’t have given me water. Wherever we’re going, he’s going to make sure I get there.

I lay on my back, reluctantly at first, then more and more I find that gravity is pulling me down, down, down, right towards the center of the earth. For a while I stare at the sky, searching again for constellations. I turn my head to look at him. He is not looking at me. He stares out at something I cannot see, cheeks wet with tears. He closes his eyes, mouth moving.

A prayer.

I roll over as best I can and lift my still tied hands to my mouth, hoping to muffle my sobbing.

Prayer. How foolish.

If there was ever a God, it has long abandoned us.

“Wake up.”

Slowly, my eyes peel open. I look up through itching eyelashes to see a man sitting up over me and shaking me gently. There is a moment of confusion, a moment in between, far removed from this hell. I shift and feel the rope scratching my wrists again. Then I remember.

We return to our journey across the desert, walking without speaking, the sun traveling across the sky so slowly that at times I wonder if time itself has stopped. When a breeze does come, it’s never long enough to dry the sweat gathering all over my body. Even my hair is wet with it. I didn't know that could happen.

Eventually, he gestures for me to sit. My legs practically collapse into jello, chest heaving with the effort of so much travel with so little food or water or shade.

“Please tell me where you’re taking me,” I ask again.

Matt looks away from me, face flushed. I can't tell if he's blushing or if his cheeks are cherry red from the start of a sunburn. The skin on my own nose has already started peeling, as have my shoulders and calves. He looks up at the branches of the tree he has sat us under. My eyes follow. Once, long ago, I imagine it had leaves and this was a sort of oasis of shade, of relief from the unrelenting sun. Now, its is a skeleton.

After several minutes he looks at me and asks, “What’s your name?”

“Jessica.” It comes out of my mouth before I can think about whether I even want to answer.

“Hm.” Matt nods and looks away from me again. He picks at the dirt, covering his already filthy hands in it. He starts repeating my name under his breath. "Jessica. Jessie... Jess... Jess... ic... a..."

“I have - had - a sister named Samantha. Growing up.”

Matt continues picking at the dirt. His mouth tightens. I take a deep breath, hold it a few seconds, and let it out again.

“My mother’s name is Clarice. My father died when I was three.”

Matt begins to dig at the dirt more aggressively.

“My favorite movie used to be -”

“Don’t!” Matt snaps. “Don’t.”

He turns to me with a look of impatience before his face softens again, seeing my eyes have grown wide and are filling with tears. “I'm sorry, just... please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Before I can process the implications of what he's said, he's standing up again. He pulls on the rope, dragging me with him.

The desert, once teeming with life, is nearly silent, save for the small crunching against the dirt of my feet and his worn boots and the sound of heat waves. I can hear my own breathing as I struggle to keep pace. The pain in my ankles is more intense than it is in my sunburned shoulders. I try not to whimper but it’s been almost two days of constant walking, and I can’t help but let out a gasp as a sharp pain shoots from the sole of my right foot up my leg.

Matt turns and looks at me as I reach down and grasp my foot, trying to massage out the cramp. I look up at him, embarrassed.

“I have flat feet,” I explain. “You took me without shoes, and it’s harder for me to walk without them.”

He nods. He walks over to me and bends down, taking off his pack as he does so and transferring it to his front.

I look at him, unsure what to do, what he wants me to do.

“Hop on my back.” He instructs, looking back at me.

I shake my head, still holding my foot.

“I can carry you.” He explains. “Come on.”

I shake my head again.

“I can’t leave you out here.” He sounds impatient. “And anyway you’d die out here if I did.”

Carefully I step towards him and swing my legs around where the rope meets his middle. He supports my legs and I wrap my arms around his neck, grateful to rest for a little while, even if it means being carried by this man.

He grunts with the effort of carrying me now and again, but does not complain. I look to try to find the knot that holds everything together, but I cannot reach it. Even as I think about this, I realize that I can’t run until my feet can hold weight again. I listen to his breathing and feel his heartbeat through the ribs that poke through his backside. This is the closest I have been to another person in... I don't know how long.

Matt shifts his arms and lets out a long breath. For a moment, I think he is going to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps walking, resolute as ever.

“Will you please tell me where we’re going?” I ask as calmly as I can manage.

No response.

“Will you… at least untie my wrists? This hurts.”

“You’d run away.” He says bluntly, puffing slightly. “Can’t have that.”

"How can I run if I can't walk?"

Matt lets out a small laugh, the first I've ever heard from him. "That's a good point."

I sigh, closing my eyes for a long moment. "I'm human, you know."

“Yes.” Matt nods. He sighs as he adjusts his grip on me and continues forward. “I know.”

“I love people. I have... people who love me." I have no idea if this is still true.

“I’m sure you do,” Matt says quietly.

“Do you love someone?”

For a moment he is quiet again, and I can hear my own heart hammering against his ribs now as I wait for him to respond. Then he sighs. “Shouldn’t be too much longer now.”

I lower my head onto the back of his neck, too exhausted to speak.

A while later I find my eyes opening. It takes a moment, but then I feel the rope and I remember. I look around and take a deep breath. Matt is still carrying me.

“Can we eat something?” I can feel my stomach hollowing out.

“There’s nothing left,” Matt says apologetically. "Just a little water."

“Oh.”

Eventually, the sun lowers itself beyond the horizon once again. We continue for a while after this, the only light available that of the now full moon and starry sky. After a time Matt stops and bends down, allowing me to move my arms from around his neck and climb off his back.

“Is your ankle okay?” I'm surprised by the concern in his voice.

“A bit."

Matt nods. "Good."

“Or at least ankle braces.”

Matt takes the backpack off his front, and lays down. Carrying me must have taken all resolve to keep watch out of him. I watch as he puts his hand to his brow and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not much farther. I just need to rest.”

“Not much farther until what?”

Matt doesn’t respond. He simply rolls over onto his side, stretching his long, skinny body out on the sand. I sit next to him, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. There's a whimper on the wind, and I realize he's crying. I sit and listen, thoughtful, staring at the rope and the raw skin around my wrists, listening. As he cries, his breathing begins to slow. Soon his back rises and falls as he slips into a restless sleep.

I cannot sleep. I cannot let myself sleep. This is my chance. He hasn't slept in front of me the entire journey, not that I've seen. If it's not far away, if I'm almost there...

It's now or never.

I stand up as slowly as I can, worried that Matt is a light sleeper. He does not stir, and I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

I look down at my hands, wondering how exactly I am going to go about this. Maybe there's a knife in his bag.

I reach over for the backpack, which is still next to me, and begin to unzip it quietly, as quietly and slowly as I can. The entire time I look over at Matt expectantly. He mumbles something from a dream and shivers, but does not wake up to the sound of the zipper. I reach into the backpack, hands clumsily groping for purchase. I feel the nearly empty canteen and some other things that I can't make out by touch alone. Papers? Socks? My hands have trouble working together to grab anything. But then I feel it.

Buried at the bottom, my fingers grasp at something heavy and solid.

I pull it out as carefully as I can, snagging it on the edge of the backpack more than once before I can see what I'm holding.

It’s a knife.

I gasp and lose my grip. It falls, but not into the darkness of the backpack. Instead, there is a small thump on the ground. My eyes turn to Matt again. He is, thankfully, still asleep. Maybe there is still a God after all.

I set it down and think, breathing now as quietly as I can, afraid to make any sounds that I don’t have to. I grasp it and then grip the handle between my boney knees before I begin sawing, looking up at Matt now and again before I continue. Slowly, the dull thing begins to break the binds. The skin of my palm catches but I keep cutting, more and more desperately, sending sprays of blood from my hands down my wrist and onto my legs and old dress. I clench my jaw as tightly as I can, willing myself not to cry.

There is a snap - then another - then -

I'm free.

I put my hands to my mouth to keep myself from crying out in joy, covering my face in blood before I remember that I had cut my hands several times. That can wait. Slowly, legs still weak, I stand up. I begin to shuffle away, dropping the knife on the ground. I don't go back for it. No matter what, I must not stop moving.

My feet scream when I put pressure on them, pain shooting up my legs, into my knees and back. I begin to walk awkwardly, putting all my weight on the sides of my feet, trying desperately to alleviate the pressure. I trip over them and let out a small cry before silencing myself as I realize I've bit my tongue and smashed my nose on the fall. Blood is pooling in my cheeks. I begin to breathe through my mouth, leaving a trail of saliva and red matter in my wake. The sky begins to shift – the sun is rising. I laugh for the first time in a decade, tears of joy rolling down my cheeks. The sun is rising and I'm free!

I look back at the man who kidnapped me, far in the distance by now.

Or, he should be.

"No... no! No!" I scream then cough as I choke on blood and spittle.

Matt is walking towards me. He woke up. I let out another scream of pain and limp, faster, as fast as my wobbly legs can stand to move. My eyes catch something in the distance coming into view. I couldn't see it in the dark. It's a farmhouse and a barn. Shelter. Safety. It's within sight.

I turn and look again. Matt isn’t running. Instead he's keeping a steady pace. I fall to my knees, gasping, the pain in my feet so intense I can no longer put any weight on them, and begin to crawl, tripping over my cotton skirt. It tears to shreds between my kneecaps and the dry ground. The cuts on my hands are throbbing as they also fill with the desert ground, but I must keep moving. The barn is closer than the house; I can make it as long as he doesn't start running.

I cry out as I hoist myself to my feet at the barn door, the pressure on my arches intense, my ankles collapsing and righting themselves again and again. I take my elbow and try to use it to open the door, but it only scratches my already sunburned skin and falls back into place. Something wafts outwards and I suppress my gag reflex. Now is not the time to be squeamish about some old farm animals that probably starved to death ages ago. I push the doors again and swing my leg in the way of the opening; it is enough. I nudge my thigh in and feel the splinters of wood tearing at my skirt and skin, inching my way inwards. Before I can register the stench of rot I fall onto the floor.

But my hands don't hit hay, or dirt, or even the bones of some old pig. They hit something cold and wet and sticky. I recoil with another scream and look at what I've fallen into.

It's skin.

Skin... and a shirt.

I almost scream again but instead start coughing and choke again on the blood in my mouth. I turn and spit it out and heave, vomiting up what little bile there was in my stomach. The smell is overwhelming, a mixture of rotting meat and feces. Stars dance in the corners of my eyes, as I fight collapsing into it. All around me are little bites of what looks like bone, clothes, hair, and the sinew of old flesh. I put my hands over my mouth and nose in a vain attempt to stop from vomiting again, but it gets into my eyes, making them water and sting.

But then something catches my eye. Something breathing.

I get up to my knees, still letting out little cries of pain, holding my hands in front of me awkwardly, and urge myself to get to my feet, run, run, but I have forgotten how to stand.

There's something breathing in the corner, sleeping. There's something alive in here.

It's a man.

His hair is black and matted against his head. Bones protrude from his skin, bruises so deep that they look like they're made from breathing. His skin is thin, veiny, delicate. It dawns on me; this is not a person. This is something else.

Bright, brilliant blue eyes snap open and look at me. And then I see it - there’s a collar around his neck, and a chain holding him to one of the support beans of the barn, like a dog left to rot in a kennel.

Whatever he is, he hasn’t been human for a long, long time.

He looks at me for a second, his bright eyes confused. Then his pupils dialate. He charges, snarling, the chain snapping against him so hard I'm surprised his neck doesn't break. He claws at the air, desperate, mouth snapping as he growls, long trails of green and black drool flying from a mouth full of rotten teeth. I lean against the wall, shaking, tears pouring down my blood covered cheeks.

I’ve never seen anything so hungry.

“I was bringing you here for him.”

I look over at the door to see Matt standing. I didn't hear him come in, too distracted by the horror in front of me.

He walks behind a wall onto some kind of wooden boardwalk, to the fence post where the chain is secured. The black-haired man - no, not a man, the thing - struggles against his restraints, repeatedly slipping and being pulled backward by the force of trying to get away, never taking his eyes off me.

“I wish we could have... I wish things were different.” Matt looks at me as I try to grasp at what he’s saying, my mind putting pieces together then taking them apart because no, no, it can't be that, it can't be.

Matt looks down at the ground and begins to loosen the chain around the post. Holding the last hook, he looks up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“For what it's worth, Jessica... I will give you a proper burial. I promise."

He lets the chain go.