Page 36 of Backwoods
“No, no, no!” Amiya shrieked and squirmed.
“Calm down, gal. Good Lord,” Betty said. Amiya kicked, but Betty got her hands around her ankles, above the shackles, and her grip was strong. “You gon’ live like a princess up in here so long as you behave—better than what most folks here get.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Jimmy said.
They dragged her, screaming, out of the wagon, across a threadbare section of yard, through a doorway in the rear of the house, and into a shadow-filled room. Though her tears and tangled hair, Amiya saw a sagging ceiling, floorboards buckled as if something had broken up from underneath them, peeling dirty wallpaper. Gray afternoon light filtered inside through a pair of boarded-up windows. She smelled rotted wood and mildew, and her stomach lurched.
They placed her on a thin, lumpy mattress that lay in the corner of the room. Yawning, Jimmy sauntered back toward the doorway. Amiya tried to get up, and Betty shoved her back to the mattress and wagged her finger in her face.
“You settle down, you hear?” Betty said. “I’m warnin’ you for your own good. Miss Lula ain’t got as much patience as me.”
“I need water.” Amiya coughed. “Please.”
Betty opened a metal flask that she wore attached to her leather belt. She brought the rim to Amiya’s lips.
“Sip slow now,” Betty said.
Amiya drank. The cool water helped to quell the nausea that had threatened to overtake her.
As she held the flask to Amiya’s mouth, Betty brushed locks of hair away from Amiya’s brow and studied her face.
“Quite the stunner you are,” Betty said. She clucked her tongue. “All that smooth skin—looks like you got a nice figure on you, too. Hmph. Hard to say where you’ll get your mark.”
“No one’s marking me,” Amiya said, mouth half-full of water. She swallowed, glowered at the woman. “I’ll die before that happens.”
Betty pursed her lips, took away the flask, screwed the cap back on.
“That might be a blessing, honey,” she said.
They left her in the room, shutting the door as they departed. She heard their footsteps receding, wooden floorboards creaking under their weight.
Silence fell over the house. She heard random pings and groans, noises that old homes tended to make, but she didn’t hear voices or any sounds of human activity.
Gathering her strength, she wobbled to her feet. She stumbled to the doorway, barely able to keep her balance with her chained ankles, carefully avoiding the ruptured sections of the floor.
It was an old door, fashioned of heavy oak, with a faded, old-fashioned brass knob. She turned the knob. She heard a mechanism creak inside, but she couldn’t open the door. It was secured from outside the room.
She hammered her fists against the wood.
“Help!” she shouted. “Someone, please help!”
No answer. She hadn’t expected a response. If there were others in the house—a house staff, as Betty had stated—they were deaf to her pleas, like the prisoners outdoors.
She turned away from the door and assessed the room for anything useful.
It was a small chamber, and held only a meager amount of furnishings. A brass chandelier, festooned with cobwebs, hung askew from the high ceiling, dangling from a rusted length of chain. Against one wall stood a battered chest of drawers, all of the drawers missing. A padded chair sat underneath a boarded-up window, dirty stuffing spilling out of the seat cushion like entrails from a wounded beast.
Nothing in here’s going to help me.
Tears dripped from her eyes, and she felt a sob building in her chest that threatened to overcome her. She lowered her head and willed herself to breathe slowly.
She had to stay strong, focused on escape. Despair was her enemy. If she allowed her resolve to weaken, she would be vulnerable to whatever methods they employed to break and mold their prisoners.
But she was so exhausted. That lumpy mattress lying on the dusty floor was beginning to look as inviting as the queen-size Tempur-Pedic bed in her condo.
I’ve gotta stay in motion.
Although none of the furnishings in the chamber seemed helpful, to keep herself active, she opted to take a closer examination of each of them. She began with the chest ofdrawers. It was literally an antique, and in terrible condition; it looked as if it had tumbled end over end down a long flight of stairs.
