Page 39 of Muted

Coming to a stop, I wrinkle my brow and tilt my head at the building standing in the center of the field. Why the fuck is my elementary school building way out here? A crack of a branch refocuses my attention on the sounds behind me, but I hear nothing else. I won’t risk it, though.

I move forward for a few minutes, and then halt again when I notice that the distance between me and the building grows further away instead of closer. Checking behind me, I find that I’ve crossed more than half the field from the tree line, but my forward progress only seems to regress.

Before I draw my eyes away from the trees, I see a shift in the shadows and every muscle in my body tenses before I explode in motion, sprinting toward the building. “Be unlocked. You HAVE to be unlocked,” I scream at the dour structure.

It keeps moving further away from me as I run toward it, and a sob is ripped from my chest in frustration and fear when I hear a chuckle ring out behind me. It’s not in my head this time, but the sound is still mixed with both of our voices like it is.

The wind whips my hair across my face, but I ignore it, pumping my arms to push me forward. There’s a tickle of a breeze at the back of my neck, which doesn’t make sense, until the hint of bourbon slithers around to infect my nose. It’s the scent I smelled when he was hovering over me, pressing my back on the cold concrete of my driveway.

Fingers rake across my lower back, and I bellow in a rage as I lean forward to remove his touch from my body.

The moment my scream stops, I slam into the door of my old school, my breath hitting the wood before the heat of it slams back against my face. I grapple for the handle and whimper in relief when it moves all the way down and swings inward.

My body falls into the space, and I land on my elbows. Flipping onto my back, ignoring the ache racing up my arms, I see HIM just as he’s about to pass through. I hook the tip of my toes on the door and swing it in front of me and then use both feet to slam it shut.

HIS body slams into the door over and over again, shrieking inhumanly in rage, pissed the fuck off that I’ve cut off his entrance and separated us. Scrambling to my knees, I twist the lock with shaking hands and sit back on my heels.

One more thump against the door, which causes the frame to rattle; I hold my breath when I wait for another, but it doesn’t come.

For this one moment, I’m safe. I can’t stay here forever, but for now I can rest.

I fall back, letting my ass hit the floor before I twist my body to look around the space I now find myself in. It looks exactly the same as when I was six. Desks are aligned perfectly, spaced out in a 4 x 4 square, separated by a foot in every direction. My teacher, Mrs. Ashe, was always a perfectionist when it came to her classroom.

She wasn’t mean, per se… but she was strict, and she intimidated me. The longer I sit here and study the room I spent nine months in, I note a few differences. The toys and books are non-existent, and the lighting is off.

There’s a red hue to the space, like when someone lays a thin blanket over the top of a lamp, and it distorts the color. I can’t find the source of the light, but the longer I look, the deeper the red becomes.

The sound of a small child screaming, then sobbing in agony wrenches my eyes to the corner of the room, and my world tilts on its side.

Chapter 11

Incoherent

Susu

I sit straight up in my bed and scramble for my phone.

Just have to make sure they’re alright.They’re okay, they’re safe, they’re fine.

Pressing the phone to my ear after I dial their number, I listen to it ring two, three, four times before I let my eyes fall shut when I hear it connect and a sleepy voice fills my ear.

“Hello? Susanna?” Uncle Ronnie’s voice scratches out, clogged by the deep sleep I most likely woke him from. I can’t stop the sob that rips out of my throat, so unbelievably relieved to hear him. “Jesus, what’s wrong, pumpkin?”

“I-I-I,” I stutter, trying to force the words through my throat. I clench my eyes shut and remind myself that these are the people I’m safe with. The people I trust. “Nightmare,” I finally croak out.

“Oh, honey… Do you want to talk about it?” Uncle Ronnie must have put my phone on speaker because Aunt Elaine’s voice comes through sounding a bit further away. She sounds just as tired as him, and I feel a rush of guilt for waking them.

“I’m so sorry I woke you guys. I panicked and just needed to hear your voices.” I’m still crying, but my voice comes out less wobbly than when I first spoke. It’s raspy from lack of use and sleep.

Uncle Ronnie’s sigh crackles through, and although he’s probably slightly annoyed by my neediness, he asks, “Was it the same as before?”

“Yes,” I croak out. I’ve told them every detail of my never-ending dream. It comes so often and haunts me, particularly when my stress levels rise.

“We’re safe. We’re fine. I swear to you, no one will hurt us, pumpkin. Unless it’s the indigestion your aunt gives me from making extra spicy Mexican. I swear to God, the woman doesn’t know how to measure out the spices.” I hear a soft thump and know that Aunt Elaine punched him in the shoulder.

“Ignore him, sweetheart. You and I both know the man can’t handle anything heavier than pepper.” I giggle at their banter, relaxing into my pillow as my heart rate slows from the chase my mind just put me through.

“Did you make tacos or quesadillas? I hope it was tacos.” She makes the best. Some people like to doctor the recipe, but Aunt Elaine always follows the recipe on the back of the seasoning packets, and it tastes like home.

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