Strapped Down Read online

  “Not as much as you might think.”

  “I don’t know. What do you want to know?”

  “Hmmm…what about your favorite childhood memory?” He had to go there. My farce of a childhood is still a sore spot.

  “I don’t know…I don’t remember much. I was an only child, just me and my mom. I guess the simple things. Friday pizza night was nice. We’d get a frozen pizza if times were good and watch one of those made for TV movies when they were still on network TV. What about you?”

  Eric waits a few beats. “What has Taylor told you? About our childhood?”

  Why bother mincing words? “That you were jealous almost as soon as he arrived. That you hated him, became very disruptive. Drugs, boarding school. Typical rich boy acting out stuff.”

  Eric laughs to himself. “I was disruptive?” He laughs again. In this darkness, it’s like his voice just floats in the air, unattached to a physical being. “Shyla, do you understand how disturbed he was when he showed up? It was almost like he was feral, but he wasn’t. He was very careful about what he showed our parents. He was quiet, helpless Taylor, the traumatized boy who never said a word and couldn’t be touched when my parents were around. When it was just us, he was still quiet, but like fucking Damien from The Omen. He would fucking bite when I tried to play with him! Sometimes, if I looked at him for too long, he would attack me. My father said I was being aggressive, that I was provoking him. He couldn’t be touched, or spoken to, or even looked at, and yet everything revolved around this boy. I became invisible.”

  “Taylor knows he was difficult, but he was a little boy and he was traumatized. He was damaged.”

  The bed springs squeak as he shifts. “That was just when he first arrived. As we got older, he got even better at his dual personalities. Taylor, the perfect student, who was fragile as glass. Don’t touch him, don’t upset him, don’t look at him. Eric, you’re always trying to rile him up,” he says in a cartoonish mocking voice. “Taylor became hyper-competitive, making sure that he was the favorite son. He would steal class notes to sabotage me for tests, hide my shit so I would run late for school and practice. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew it was him. He fucking planted drugs in my bedroom! That got me sent away to military school.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Of course not, no one ever believes hysterical Eric. Emotional Eric.”

  “I think your parents would have caught on.”

  “He drove me to the point where I did become rebellious. I sought out a bad crowd because no one in my own home had my back. And then it made me ‘unreliable.’”

  “So you never did drugs?”

  “I did…but what they found in my room was planted, he knew that they would test me and I would turn up positive. I never brought drugs home. We had a cleaning lady who would find it within a day or two. And then, there was Becky.” He has that sour look on his face again, I can’t see him, but I can hear it. “I liked this girl, she was my first big crush, love really. My parents were out at a gala one night and I came home. The house was completely dark, except for some noise coming out of Taylor’s bedroom. Taylor’s bedroom door was halfway open, and Becky was in there, sucking his dick. He had her hair in his hands, shoving her face back and forth. When he saw me, he smirked at me. Just smirked that I got her smirk. It took her what seemed like forever to realize I was standing there in shock. She was mortified. He told her I was at the gala, that it would be just the two of them, but she ran out of the house. He didn’t even follow her; he wanted me to find them, show me that he had won, yet again. He used her to get at me.”

  I thought Taylor told me he didn’t do anything until college.

  “Tell me Shyla. Does that sound like an innocent victim to you?”

  I don’t answer. I am a prisoner. I am a prisoner. Taylor has warned me Eric is manipulative, that he will try to turn me against him. I am sick of telling Eric he is a liar, and the worst part is I am starting to believe there may be some level of truth to his claims. But I don’t really know Eric, and Taylor I have known since I was born. He protected me, he was fed to the dogs so I could escape. He is my hero.

  “He won’t let you ever leave him; you understand that right? He disposes of people, but he is not the kind of person who gets disposed of. He will never let you go, you have become a prized possession.”

  I never wanted to leave Taylor, but the seed Eric just planted, the idea that Taylor would never allow me to leave him, grows into a pit in my stomach.

  “That’s not true. He’s let me walk out. We have arguments just like any other couple.”

  I feel him sit up and I react by sitting up as well. “Shyla, of course he won’t tie you down. He lets you walk out because he know’s you’ll come back. That’s not what I am talking about. He will make you think you made the decision. He will manipulate your world so that you feel you need him. People are like chess pieces to him.” He wants me to want it.

  “You don’t understand us.”

  “He’ll be allowed to change, but you won’t. That’s how it works. If he tires of you, you’d be gone in an instant, but if you got fed up, he wouldn’t let you go. I promise. Taylor gets what he wants, always.”

  I won’t believe Eric. Taylor loves me. I am different. I am not Becky, or Em, or Lane or any of those weak bitches in his journal.

  I am the exception.

  ***

  Sleepyhead falls asleep. Taylor would laugh at the fact that I can’t even pull an all-nighter during a hostage situation.

  “Shyla. Shyla, time to get up,” Eric gently nudges me and only then do I hear his phone alarm going off. I’m a little embarrassed that I fell asleep, it doesn’t make me appear as angry as I should be.

  “I’m up. I’m up. I say groggily. What time is it?”

  “4:30 am.”

  “Ugh.” I pull myself up sharply, only to be whipped back down. I forgot I was still cuffed to Eric.

  “Hold on,” he reaches into his boxer briefs and pulls out the key. “There’s mouthwash in the bathroom if you want to freshen up. Door stays open.”

  I nod, rubbing my barely open eyes. After washing up, I am more alert, but that only serves to make me think about the day ahead. The unknown. The ominous.

  Eric stuffs his possessions into an olive green canvas backpack. He grabs his pistol, reloading the magazine. Oh no.

  “Alright, let’s go. We’re almost done, please don’t give me a hard time.”

  I nod. Please Taylor, have a plan.

  There is one other car in the parking lot, a beat up and rusty diarrhea-colored Ford Pickup. It’s empty. I glance up at the windows of the motel, not a shade drawn, not a face peering out of a window. Even if I did run, there would be no where to go. He would catch me before I ever made it to the front desk on the other side of the building. This time he makes me slide into the passenger seat of Ladybug, cuffing my hands behind my back.

  “Sorry, but after that shit you pulled last time…”

  “I get it,” I say shortly.

  We drive for about 40 minutes, twists and turns and backroads. Only one car passes us in the opposite direction during the entire drive. I look over, hoping to make eye contact, please remember me, but the man keeps his focus straight ahead. It seems Eric is purposely taking me to the mystery spot in a roundabout fashion; I try to remember how to get to the location, but get turned around 10 minutes in.

  Finally, we drive down a long stretch into the woods until we come to a gate, the kind that marks a boundary, but is not attached to a fence or wall, so that you can walk right around it.

  “Alright, we have a bit of a walk ahead of us,” Eric says, emerging from the driver side of banged-up Ladybug, turning her off, but leaving the keys in the ignition. I try to interpret what that means, but that’s too far ahead in the future right now. He comes around to the passenger side and uncuffs me. We march around the gate, which says boldly: NO TRESPASSING. Oh god, he is going to off me Sopranos-style.


  “Are we going to get shot?” I ask as we trespass.

  “No, this is acres and acres of unused land. Some rich asshole’s lot. Don’t worry.” I follow him along an unkempt trail, stepping over fallen branches and large stones. He moves so briskly that I break a sweat trying to keep up with him. The weather has cleared up from yesterday and the sun is beaming through the foliage. Occasionally, I look up and see the clearest blue sky between the red and orange leaves. We hike for about 15 minutes and then emerge from the tight hug of the forest into a clearing. It is so abrupt, like a smack of flat green land right across the face. Eric glances down at his watch. I know nothing about the time or the coordinates of the meetup; Eric was happy to discuss anything but that during my “stay” with him.

  The clearing is huge, the wilderness on the other side of it so far away, it looks like a dark green shag carpet. We walk, and walk until we are at the center, then Eric stops.

  “We’re here.”

  “Where’s Taylor?”

  “We’re a little early, he should be here in ten minutes or so.”

  Five minutes pass when I see him, well I assume it’s him: dark hair and a smooth, assured stride. As he gets closer, I can make out what he’s wearing, a heather blue t-shirt and light jeans. His pace is no faster than it would be if he were taking an afternoon stroll and it seems as though he’ll never arrive. Then he’s close enough for me to see his face. His look is firm; focused but relaxed.

  I think it’s because he is finally here, because I know something must happen right now, that fear, actually not fear, more like terror: that terror that had been laying dormant inside of me slowly floods my body. Much like a river rising in a storm, it spreads from my core to my toes, my fingertips. It submerges me, expanding to my ears, my eyes, my lungs. Like being underwater, everything is diluted, blurred, my movement labors. All of my senses are filtered through this terror.

  Taylor stops about 15 feet away from us. “What do you want Eric?” He asks firmly. He glances at me, giving me a knowing look. I know he can see the dread in my eyes, but it doesn’t break him.

  “I want you to know the pain you’ve caused me,” Eric says. I am in front of him, he clenches the hind waist of my pants tightly. His voice quivers, not with fear, but with rage.

  “Fair enough. So what do you want to do?”

  “I want you to pay for what happened to Em.”

  “You were in love with her?”

  “She was going to have my fucking child and you fucked her up so badly that she drove off of a fucking bridge!” Eric screams hysterically. Oh this is bad.

  “Eric, I am sorry. I had no idea, but she made her own decisions.” Taylor is not sorry, not in the way Eric wants him to be.

  “Bullshit! You mean when you gave her to other men like a trading toy? When you walked her around like a fucking bitch! When you disposed of her like an old rag?” And I feel the metal barrel of a gun bump into my head. Don’t collapse, Shyla. “She was a good person Taylor, and you took her away, just like you did Becky!”

  “Eric, Becky was so long ago. That was just sibling rivalry.” Taylor continues to remain calm, in fact, I might be more frightened by Taylor’s demeanor than Eric’s.

  “It’s not just Becky, it’s everything! You took everything. Left me with the scraps. I was your brother you son of a bitch! You had me disappeared and I am not just talking about when we were battling over H.I., from the moment you came into my life, you wanted me to vanish.”

  “You wanted me gone too. You’re just upset that I won.” I want to scream at Taylor for saying something so reckless.

  “Well, now I’m gonna win!” Eric says, shoving the gun onto my temple. I think I wail or something, because Taylor’s focus breaks for a moment. Eric whispers into my ear. I’m not going to hurt you.

  “Easy Eric. You know she has nothing to do with this. She’s just as innocent as Em.”

  “No, fuck this. Shyla is important to you, isn’t she?” Taylor remains silent. “We can call it even right now.” I clench my fists, trying to contain the horror. It’s so strong that I wish for death at the moment to make the all-consuming fear end.

  “Eric, what do you want from me?”

  “I want you.”

  “No!” I scream, falling to my knees.

  “Shyla, look at me, it’s going to be fine. Look at me.” I look at Taylor’s eyes, but I can’t, I won’t give him permission to trade himself for me. I’ll never see him again. “It’s going to be okay Shyla. Remember when we first met?”

  He’s not talking about the coffee shop, he’s talking far beyond that. I nod, even though I don’t. “It’s what I do for you. It’s always been my purpose.”

  “No, no, no,” I wail. Eric pulls me back up onto my feet.

  “How do I know you won’t hurt her? She knows your identity.”

  “Taylor, if you trade with her, we’ll both watch her walk away. By the time she gets to anyone, we’ll be gone without a trace. I left the keys in her car for her to go.” Taylor nods. “You know I didn’t rape Shyla. You know that.” Taylor doesn’t move an inch, he doesn’t even blink. I think he doesn’t want to irritate him any further by disagreeing.

  “Please Eric. Let’s just go our separate ways,” I beg, trying to appeal to the side of Eric that cried into my stomach last night.

  “Shyla, someone has to pay. My fiancé and child and birthright are gone and it’s all because of him. I have nothing but vengeance left. He is evil. I have to do this for them. They can’t have died for nothing.”

  “Let’s do it,” Taylor says.

  “No. No. I won’t let you,” I scream, almost throwing a tantrum.

  “Shut up, Shy,” he orders. He gives me that look, that knowing look. Don’t fuck with this Shyla. I make the rules. I am the person people fear. I go quiet, like he is my snake charmer, lulling me to submit from 15 feet away. I close my mouth and try to contain the panic, but my short, choppy breaths fill my ears. “Let her go, and when she is out of sight, I’ll walk over.” He raises his hands in the air.

  Eric hesitates, as if it was too easy. I feel the same way. Taylor, don’t go with Eric. Don’t leave me. “Okay, okay…” I feel him nodding behind me. “Alright, Shyla. Go.” But I can’t move. I know if I step away, Taylor is dead. There is no other outcome. “Go!” Again, I don’t. I look at Taylor and he nods just slightly, to tell me it’s okay, but it’s not. “Dammit Shyla,” Eric says. Then he says fuck it. Not to me, not loud enough for Taylor, but to himself. Fuck it. I know that means something finite, it’s a resolution, but before I can turn, scream, slap him, or do anything, he whispers in my ear. I’m sorry Shyla.

  I open my mouth, just to scream no particular word, but I hope my scream will shift the course of events. That it’ll bring Taylor and me back home, me watching him from the breakfast bar all smiles as he makes me French toast. But the scream never emerges, because I am shoved so hard that I am lifted off of my feet and as my eyes see the dewey, green grass come closer and closer, I hear it: Pop pop pop pop.

  I am lost forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Remember what I wondered when I couldn’t go to sleep next to Eric in the hotel room, about whether time would move choppy and fast or in slow motion? The answer is both. As I was falling to the ground and I heard the gunshots, it was like one of those nightmares where you fall endlessly. I needed to reach the ground, so I could turn and see what was happening behind me. I knew the answer, but I had to see if I would have a chance to say goodbye. I had no doubt it wasn’t me, I believed Eric when he said he wouldn’t hurt me. Eric wasn’t sorry that he was going to shoot me, he was sorry that he was about to devastate my world in the way that Em had devastated his when she drove off the bridge. Slowly, so slowly I fall to the ground and then BOOM.

  Everything speeds up again.

  I roll over and Taylor is standing over Eric, his gun pointed over Eric’s lifeless body. Pop. Eric looks at me, a trail of blood trickling out of his mout
h. “No!” I scream sensing Taylor is about to shoot again. Taylor looks at me, watching me as I crawl over to Eric. There is still light in his eyes, he is still alive. His eyes are pale like his mother’s but they are not cold like hers. And then, the light is gone, his pupils, visible from feet away against the clarity of his eyes shrink to a pinpoint. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Taylor killed him.

  I come to my knees and stay there in shock, my mouth open, but unable to make a sound or produce any tears. Watching someone die kills you for a moment as well. I motion to touch him instinctively, this tragic man dying alone in a lonely field.

  “Don’t touch him,” Taylor blocks me.

  He pulls me up on my feet. “Taylor…” I say, burying my face into his chest. “He’s dead. He’s dead. Oh my god.”

  “Shyla.”

  “He’s dead. He’s dead.”

  “Shyla.”

  “Eric…oh my god.”

  “Shyla!” Taylor shakes me so hard my neck whips back. It works.

  “What did you do? You killed him! You killed your brother!”

  “Just because we have the same father does not mean he is my brother.”

  A wave of nausea hits me, but I hold it in. Taylor’s voice is distant again. “Shyla, listen to me. You’re in shock. You need to listen carefully. I am going to walk you to Harrison and he is going to take you home. You are going to wait there for me and speak to no one, not a soul, not even Harrison. Not a fucking word.”

  “Bu…but. The police. We are going to go to jail.”

  “Shyla. You need to be strong here. No one knows Eric is in the country. This is Evan Sumner. Evan sold his business and packed his bags a year ago and no one has seen him since. No one is looking for Evan and Eric will be on the run forever. You are in shock, but you are going to be fine. We are going to be fine.” His eyes have no warmth, he is only giving me orders. This is no time for a grand reunion. “Wait a second, I have to make a quick call.” He grabs a flip phone which is definitely some sort of throw away. “Yes. Done. Disposal.” When people are an inconvenience to Taylor, he discards them. Eric’s voice haunts me.