“Nonsense. You haven’t killed yourself yet. I doubt you’ll do it now.”
“That’s because I had hope. And now you’ve told me there’s no hope.”
“Well, you can always pretend there’s hope. Just enough not to kill yourself, please. Here’s your scene for tomorrow. Learn it well.”
“No. It’s over. I will never do a scene with you again.”
“Yes you will. Otherwise …” he showed the gun.
“I welcome otherwise. Please give me otherwise, but the big otherwise, the last otherwise. Give me otherwise, fatally.”
“Read the new scene, learn it, and let’s get on with our days.”
“I will never read it.”
But I did read it. And then I read it again, and again. There was no way I couldn’t escape if things unfolded the way they were written in the script. No matter how many times I reread it, I could not find a catch. And it couldn’t be stupidity on his part. It was intentional.
I didn’t sleep at all, and there was no anagram that night.
I nervously waited for Damon’s arrival the next day, but he did not come to my cell until five o’clock in the afternoon, which explained why he had left two sandwiches for me the day before.
He came carrying the dinner tray and two antique swords. I was ecstatic. He closed the cell door, but did not lock it.
We ate our meal politely. More politely than I could ever remember. I tried to be patient. I didn’t understand why he had apparently decided to release me in this roundabout way, but it didn’t matter as long as it happened.
As we dug into our fake desserts of yogurt and fruit, Damon said, “Act.”
“You brought swords,” I recited.
“Yes, to cheer you up. You must be pretty upset about the news that you won’t be released. If we engage in a little game of fencing after dinner it might help you feel less homesick. Wouldn’t that cheer you up a bit?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ve never fenced with anyone who actually knew how to fence. I’ve never fenced with anyone, in fact. It’ll be exciting. And then you can give me some pointers; a mini fencing lesson. This way, we’re creating a nice dynamic: I gave you dancing lessons and you’ll give me fencing lessons.”
He ate a piece of fruit and resumed his monologue with his mouth fulclass="underline" “And if we do enjoy ourselves tonight, there’s no reason we can’t fence every single night! This is my first big step in making you happy here. Notice I’m determined to succeed and will stop at nothing.”
I had trouble swallowing my banana. Finally, Damon looked at me and said, “Shall we?”
We got up. He walked over to the swords resting against the wall and picked them up. He readied himself with one of them, holding it firmly by the handle, and he handed me the other. He looked nervous, and I was too, until I had the sword in my hand.
We fenced. That’s where the scene he wrote ended. What happened after that was not acting.
I soon disarmed him.
“That was great!” he said. “Now you must teach me how you did that.” He gingerly went to pick up his sword, but I kicked it away from him.
“Oooh. You must teach me that too.”
I picked up his sword and threw it out of the cell.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
He rolled his eyes. “No you’re not.” And he pounced on me, not seeming to care that I was holding a long cutting object that I handled well.
“What are you doing?” I said, and slashed his arm. He screamed and looked furious. Things were not unfolding the way I had expected. Blood spread through his white clothing, but the cut didn’t look deep, not that I knew much about cuts or had engaged in much cutting of people.
“Hand me the key,” I said.
“Why?”
“So I can lock you up, so you won’t run after me, and so that the police will find you.”
“Oh, well that’s useless.”
“Hand it to me.”
“Forget it. I was nice enough to fence with you, to make you less homesick, and this is how you re—”
I did something I had often fantasized of doing: I smacked the side of my sword against the side of his head. He fell against the bars and looked slightly knocked out.
“Now give me the key!”
He pounced on me again and I gave him a few new cuts. He fell back against the bars.
“Will you give me the key now?”
“No, it’s useless,” he said, lurching toward me once more, and I again slammed the side of my sword against the side of his head.
He now looked mostly knocked out. I carefully slid my fingers into his pocket and took out the key. To my surprise he started laughing and said, “It’s useless. Don’t bother.”
As I was about to leave the cage, he tried to grab me yet again, but he was weak, and I shoved him back violently. He grabbed a bar and tried to get up, still laughing. I stared at his index finger curled around the bar. I was filled with disgust and resentment for everything he had done. I raised my sword and swung it down on his finger, slicing it off in the middle. It landed a short distance away. Damon screamed. I exited the cell, locking it behind me. Damon looked enraged, screaming and crying. His transparent white clothes were now covered in blood.
I rushed out of the room, unaccompanied, for the first time in nine months. I flew down the stairs, clutching my sword, frightened because he had said “It’s useless.” I was tempted to use the kitchen phone to call the police, but had an irrational fear that Damon would find a way to come after me. So I unlocked the front door and ran down the driveway and then along the road. My beige sweatpants and yellow T-shirt were covered in blood. His blood. I was crying, but smiling at the same time. A few cars passed. I tried to hail them by waving my arms and my bloody sword. They didn’t stop. I kept running. I passed some houses and considered stopping at one, but was gripped with paranoia that his neighbors were in on the whole thing.
I finally arrived at a restaurant. It looked safe enough, with all those people inside. I entered and walked by tables, looking for someone who worked there. As I passed the people dining, they stopped talking and stared at me. I was a spectacle.
Suddenly, I was gripped with horror and stopped in my tracks: I knew the smells in this restaurant. I looked at people’s plates, and in each one was food I knew, food I had eaten for the past nine months. This terrified me. A waiter walked toward me holding a dish that had been one of my favorites.
He said, “What are you doing?”
“You are the restaurant that gave Damon food.”
“Excuse me?”
“There is a man who orders food from you every day … I need a phone, to call the police. It’s an emergency.”
I called the police. “Please come and get me,” I told them. “Come and get me.”
They came five minutes later and drove me to their station. I told them everything. Police cars were dispatched to Damon’s house.
I called my parents. My mother answered. Her hello had changed. It was more quiet than it used to be. When she heard my voice, she sobbed. I told her I was at a police station.
“I was kidnapped,” I said.
“You were kidnapped? For nine months?”
“Yes, I was held captive. In a cage.”
“Oh my God! Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“Sometimes. But I’m okay.”
“Did they feed you?”
“Not much.”
“Oh, Anna.” She cried again. “Can you … walk?”
“Yes. I can run too. I ran here.”
“Did the police catch them?”
“Him. Just one man. I don’t know yet, but I think they will, cause I locked him in the cage.”
“We were never asked for a ransom.”
“I know. It’s not that kind of kidnapping.”