Feeling dizzy
at first he leaned against the wall to steady himself. It was in
this moment that he appreciated the pain in a warped way, because
it was the only thing stimulating his mind enough to keep him
awake. Three days without food and only the occasional glass of
water hadn’t kept him in good health.
And in those
first few moments of being vertical the thought of food and water
propelled him to walk. Taking it inch by inch in baby steps he
shuffled to leave the wall. He wobbled at first but he was
determined to keep going despite him being certain he had at least
one fractured rib and a broken nose he could barely breathe
through.
He shuffled a
little further and soon he was at the halfway mark to the stairs.
Blinkered vision developed quickly as he kept his eyes on the
prize. The stairs would lead him from this squalor. They would take
him to the bathroom, to the phone, to food and water and most
importantly to his son.
John didn’t
know what trouble his boy was in but it had to be serious and every
second he was away from him made him more impatient and terrified
for his safety. He may have been an old man but he loved his child
and he would die for him.
So close to
the stairs now he could almost smell the fresh air that came from
above. With a mighty exertion of effort he made one last big step
and he was at the bottom. He clung onto the bannister and readied
himself for the climb. It may have only been his basement steps
that he’d walked up a thousand times, but in the moment they looked
like Everest.
He placed his
right foot out first and he winced in pain as he felt a twinge in
his side. Looking down to his sweater he saw crusted, dried blood
on the matted wool and it angered him. He was outraged that such a
degenerate could enter his home and hurt him because he felt like
it, because he somehow felt entitled to.
The rage
motivated him. He was going to find out who these bastards were
before they got to his boy and he was going to make them pay.
Before he knew it, he was five steps up and then another one, and
another one, until he was at the top of the staircase looking
down.
The
achievement that was aglow in his heart was immeasurable, and he
looked down to the corner of the room that became his dungeon. It
looked pathetic and he wondered why he had let himself stay there
so long.
Managing to
shuffle himself along the walls he found his way to the kitchen
table. He collapsed on one of the chairs but was proud to get
there. A week old bottle of warm, orange juice was sat before him
and he threw it down his throat. Despite its sour taste it
revitalized him enough to stand up and make his way to the
sink.
He bent over
with his head under the cold tap and drank freely. Then he let the
water glide over the injuries on his face to numb the pain. It felt
good as it cascaded over his nose and washed away the blood.
Drying himself
with a tea towel he looked down to his pants and was aghast to see
that he had soiled himself. He thought that he may have done it on
the first day of him being captive but he wasn’t sure. Fear can do
strange things to your mind and body. He decided his next port of
call was the downstairs bathroom.
He edged his
way through the corridor and before he knew it he was almost there.
The pain was constant in his mind but he managed to imagine it as
living outside his body. He visualized seeing it as though it was a
flaming, red orb outside of his body and he could control it at
will. It was a technique he learned many years ago when working
under cover. He sadly remembered having to teach it to his wife
when her body was gripped by the cancer.
As he entered
the bathroom he was instantly hit by the sight of her things still
on the counter. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, and
as he ran the shower he brushed his fingertips over a pair of her
earrings. She had removed them before taking her last bath in the
house and they’d sat there ever since. That was six months ago now
and as he tentatively picked them up, he noticed they were starting
to get covered in a fine layer of dust.
He placed them
back on the counter and removed his clothes. It was agony as he
bent down to take off his shoes but he’d come this far and wasn’t
going to let himself be defeated by a pair of Hush Puppies.
Climbing into the shower and pulling the curtain across, he let the
warm water caress his body. He had never felt a pleasure like
it.
However he’d
always been fond of water. No water where or who you were, water
washed away your troubles. It never judged you, made you feel bad
or asked anything of you. It was merely there day or night. It
could give you life or wash away your sins. Either way John
imagined it to be proof in some way of God’s existence. Yet as he
stood naked and bruised, he wondered if there really could be a God
with all the terrible things happening in the world. He sure hoped
there was.