Inescapable Escapism

Fire exploded in my brain. Agony ricocheted through me, ripping the air from my lungs and leaving a flaming path in its wake. Sharp, stabbing pain wracked my body, making me long to curl up and cry, but I couldn’t. I had to keep moving. I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down. If I did…

I had no clue what would happen if I did, but terror gripped me, forming a heavy rock in the pit of my stomach. Something terrible would get me if I did. That was all I knew, and I didn’t want to find out what that meant. All I wanted to do was get away.

Lifting my head, I opened my eyes and peered around. It was dark, wherever I was. Dark and… my vision was blurred. Indistinct shapes swam around me nauseatingly, and I couldn’t work out where anything was or even what I was looking at, but that didn’t matter. It would get better. My vision would clear eventually, and then I’d be fine. Once I got there, I’d be fine.

Moving my arm was horrific. I reached forward, trying to ignore the pain that throbbed in my shoulder as my muscles screamed out, but it was nothing compared to the agony that exploded in me the moment my hand touched the sharp gravel I was lying on. Tears began to gather in my eyes, making my vision even more hazy.

My fingers were broken. I’d never broken a finger before in real life, but I knew the pain well. Some version of me, I wasn’t sure which, had felt it many times, and I had to find a way to get through it. I needed to continue dragging myself away from the person who was somewhere behind me.

A chill slipped down my spine. Where were they? The soft crunch of gravel was drowned out by the noise I was making as I moved, and I allowed myself just a moment of stillness. I held my breath, straining my ears as I listened, and for a second, I couldn’t hear anything, but then I did. Distant footsteps echoed through the early morning air. There was no other sound apart from the soft crashing of waves against a rock.

Where was I? There were no cars, no traffic or people, and that didn’t feel right, but I had no recollection of where in the world I was. I wasn’t sure if that version of me even knew. I’d just been running, running for as long as I could until they found me. It was inevitable. They were always going to, but I still had to try to get away again. It might be possible.

The person wasn’t even running, I realised as I started to move again. Her pace was slow, leisurely. She wasn’t hurrying at all because she knew there was no point. I couldn’t run. She was the one who’d made sure of that, after all.

A shudder wracked me as the memory of something, I couldn’t quite tell what it was, being stabbed deep into my thigh, flashed through my mind. Nausea churned in my stomach, and the stones cut into my palms as I tried desperately to move faster. If I was captured again, it would get worse. Everything would get worse, and I wouldn’t survive it. I knew that.

Once they were done with me, my body would be abandoned somewhere, broken, battered and most likely unidentifiable. My family, or whatever was left of them, would never find me. They’d never know what happened or who was responsible, and the police wouldn’t be able to work it out. The most they’d ever be able to do was assume that something terrible had happened, but they wouldn’t know for certain. It would just be a hunch, a suspicion.

I’d tried to leave a trail. That much I could remember. I knew I’d never truly get away from them, and I tried to put something in place to answer the endless questions I would leave behind. Maybe it would work. Maybe one of the many pieces of clothing I’d left with my DNA would be found. Or perhaps some of the notes or the digital footprints I’d made sure to place in every single city I fled through would be found by the right person.

They’d be able to piece the truth together and figure out who was to blame, and then my family would be safe. My dad would be safe. I needed him to be. If they found him, if they decided to go after him…

I needed to do something. I had to find a way to get a message to him again. He was still alive. I’d been watching his social media, hacked into his emails and the digital doorbell at our house. I watched it every single day, every night before I tried to sleep because that was the only way I could drift off. They weren’t even watching him yet. I knew that. There were no new cars on the street outside his house, nothing suspicious or concerning. Not yet, but they would go after him eventually, and I had to warn him.

Panic thrashed in my heart as I tried to push myself up, knowing I’d be able to move faster on my feet, but my arms couldn’t support my weight. They collapsed under the strain, the pain sending the world spinning around me, and I tried frantically to cling to consciousness. If I slipped away, I knew I’d wake up cuffed to that chair again.

Hours. I was on it for hours. Flashes of memories finally revealed themselves to me, and I cringed away from them. I wanted to flee, escape the world and run far away so I’d never have to see or experience what I’d already been through there, but I couldn’t. My mind was filled, consumed by what had happened.

How long had it been? The sun had been just starting to set when they’d found me the day before, and they started working immediately. I couldn’t remember when my arm had first been broken or when they’d driven the knife into my leg for the first time, but the sensations stayed with me.

It was rising now. Colours were just starting to streak across the cloudy sky, and the streetlamps would be turning off soon, but that realisation just caused more horror to flutter in my heart. How many hours had passed since they first cuffed me to that chair? How long had I been there, watching my blood slowly darken the stones around us and simply waiting for it all to be over?

They’d chosen a light-coloured gravel intentionally, a detached voice in the back of my head told me as I continued trying to get away. It was a smart decision. It added to my suffering and provided a visual display of how much pain they’d caused me, using my blood like paint on a canvas. They really were artists.

No, not they. I could only hear one set of one set of footsteps. Only one person was tracking me, but that felt wrong. There had been another person there at some point in the night. I could recall someone else being there. Their cruel smile was far too clear in my memories, and it sent a shiver down my aching spine.

They’d left that alone, mostly. It was bruised but nothing more, and that was another deliberate decision they made. The risk of hitting the wrong spot or me moving and them accidentally causing too much damage was too high. I could be paralysed before they even realised, and then what? It would just be a relief for me, and then they’d have less of my body to destroy.

My hand slammed into something hard, and a strangled gasp of pain escaped my lips before I could stop it. I lifted my head, staring up at the dark shadow and trying to will my eyes to focus so I could work out what I was looking at.

A car, I realised after far too long. Hope flared in my heart, but it was smothered too soon, and that moment was more gut-wrenching than anything else I’d felt all night. It wasn’t the van they’d arrived in, and I couldn’t use it to escape. It was propped up on bricks. The wheels had been removed, probably long ago. I was trapped.

Tears streamed down my face, and sobs threatened to choke me as I pulled myself around to the other side of the car. Hopelessness threatened to drown me. I wanted to keep running, to keep fighting, but I was just so tired. My body was too exhausted, and it yearned for rest, regardless of the cost. I’d been running for so long. Would it ever end?

Somehow, I managed to manoeuvre myself so I was sitting with my back pressed against the car as the footsteps continued to move closer to the other side of the car. My head dropped back as silent sobs wracked me, and I pressed a hand to my lips to muffle the noises. The second my fingers touched my lip, nausea clawed at my throat. There were gaps. I could feel them through my busted lips. The spaces where my teeth should have been were empty. Most had been knocked out or pried from my mouth at some point during the night.

My hand dropped, falling to the solid gravel with a muffled clatter. The burst of pain was brief and barely noticeable compared to the agony I was already feeling, but it was enough to steady me. I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together as I surveyed my situation. I was exhausted and pretty much empty, but maybe I could still do something. They didn’t have to win.

Another deep breath helped clear my mind, and I listened carefully, trying to locate the second person. Where was he? Henry had been there at some point, but I couldn’t hear him. Was he hiding in the shadows between the too-widely spaced street lamps? Or had he simply gotten bored of torturing me and returned to the base so he could sleep in a nice, comfy bed?

No. I knew him better than that, and that wasn’t his style. He preferred to stay until the bitter end, and I knew that. There was no way he’d leave before he had the chance to watch me take my final breath, but then, where was he?

Anya’s footsteps were close, I realised as my head snapped around as fast as it could. She must have started moving faster, and that meant I had to make a decision. Either I continued to sit there and wait for her to find me, or I could keep moving. I wouldn’t get another opportunity to run. When she caught me, it would be the end.

My eyes found the shopping mall about twenty feet away. That was where I’d been going before. It had been my plan ever since I managed to get away from them the first time, and I knew if I got there, I’d be okay. There was no one inside. It looked abandoned, and someone would have come out when they heard my screaming during the night, but that didn’t matter. There were more places to hide in there, and I might even be able to find a weapon.

Maybe at some point, someone might have stashed some guns there. It was unlikely, but it might have happened, especially around where I was. That would be good. I could use a gun. My fingers were broken, and it wouldn’t be particularly easy to hold one, but I didn’t care. I’d fired a gun with broken fingers before, and I’d do it again.

I threw myself forward, shuffling on my elbows and knees. It was the best I could do, the only way I could keep moving.

“Really, Grace?” Anya sneered, her cold voice, full of repressed fury, seeming to come from all directions and echo around me. “Are you really trying to run?”

Answering her would be stupid. I couldn’t do it. There was no point. She wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. She would just attack, and speaking would give away my location. It was probably obvious where I’d gone, though. There was too much blood flowing freely from the many wounds they’d inflicted upon me. I must have been leaving a red carpet behind me.

All of my focus was fixed on getting to the shopping centre. I gritted my remaining teeth, trying to coax my body to move faster, and risked glancing up. I hoped, prayed, that I’d see a face peering through the cracked glass, that someone would be able to see me and put an end to my suffering, but there was no one. The world was still, and I was alone.

“Couldn’t you just take your punishment like a normal person?” Anya demanded, her voice coming from far too close.

I wasn’t sure where she was exactly. I didn’t hear any footsteps, and there was no noise to warn me, but somehow, I knew she was coming. I threw myself to the side, rolling as quickly as I could as I tried to shield as much of my body as possible from the brutal kick that I knew was coming, but I was too slow. Anya’s foot slammed into my already bruised risk, and my breath rushed out of me.

“Punishment?” I panted, barely able to get the words out through my swollen lips. “This isn’t a punishment… you’re killing me.”

A young woman, who I’d never seen before but knew so well, crouched down beside me. Her eyes were fixed on me as she cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in confusion. I stared back at her, watching as her face swam in and out of focus, trying to take in the details and recall what I knew about her. There had to be something I could use.

She was young, older than me, but not by much. Eighteen, maybe twenty at the most. And not a friend. Almost, but not quite. She’d been there too long for that, and that meant she probably wouldn’t let me escape. If she were going to, it would have happened hours ago. Months ago, even.

“And?” she asked. “You deserve it. All of you do.”

There was an edge to her voice that made my heart race, but I still had to try.

“We deserve to die?” I shot back. “How can anyone deserve that?”

She couldn’t actually believe it. There was no way she did. If I was careful, if I chose my words well, maybe I could still get through to her. She wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t evil. She was just…

“Every single one of you should be killed,” she said with no malice in her voice. It was just a fact to her.

My stomach sank. I was wrong. I’d been so wrong. She wasn’t just parroting their teachings. She held them close, believed them and let them fill her with strength and conviction. They fuelled her, convinced her that she was doing a good thing. She was helping the world, and that meant nothing could be done.

Nothing would ever make her believe that it wasn’t my fault. She’d never accept I couldn’t help what had happened or what I could do, but maybe I could get her to hesitate. If I made her doubt or question it, I could have a window. That was all I needed to squeeze through the window less than five feet behind me.

“Why?” I tried to shout, but only a wheeze came out. “What did I ever do to you?”

A surprised laugh escaped her lips, and for a moment, she looked so young. Maybe she was younger than eighteen.

“I mean…” she started, still giggling slightly as she glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction of where I’d been held. “Did you want me to overlook the fact you killed Henry or…”

My mouth dropped open as she trailed off again. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but a memory crashed into me. It was a second. A split second. I’d had no time to think. I just saw an opening and took it.

His back was to me. Henry’s back was to me as he looked back at Anya. He’d been trained not to do that, and his holder was unprotected. He’d uncuffed my arm to… do something. Move it so he could pull my nails out a little easier, maybe? I couldn’t quite remember, but it didn’t matter. He’d given me what I needed, and in the shock that followed, I ran. I ran as far as I could until my fractured tibia shattered, knowing I wouldn’t get another opportunity to escape.

I closed my mouth, unable to say anything to Anya. Her smile turned smug, and she began reaching into her pocket. Somehow, I knew exactly what she was about to pull out before she did. My breath caught in my chest, and my heart began to speed as frantic terror exploded in me. I tried to scramble backwards, the gravel biting into my hands, but Anya was too quick. Her foot was on my broken leg before I could pull it away, and a scream tore its way out of my throat.

“Really?” she sighed. “Can you stop being pathetic for five minutes? It’s really starting to bug me.”

My chest heaved as I stared at the unassuming metallic disc in her hands, my fear chasing away any lingering pain. I couldn’t feel anything else. Numbness was spreading through me.

“You don’t need to do this!” I begged.

Anya threw back her head as she laughed. The movement put more pressure on my ruined leg and caused another agonised cry to escape my lips, but Anya’s genuine and delighted laughter bounced around the car park and drowned it out.

“Oh, Grace. You do make me laugh,” she said finally, wiping the tears from her eyes before focusing on the disc.

All I could do was watch as she twisted the top, causing it to expand outwards. The chrome metal glinted dully in the early morning sun as it grew before finally stopping. Her face flashed, illuminated by the brightly coloured buttons that flared to life on the surface of the device, and she began typing immediately.

Sweat dripped down the side of my face. I had to get away. I needed to escape before she could press that thing against my skin. I couldn’t take it, not again. But it was too late. Anya was already beginning to crouch again, the device held in her hand. The sharp pincers on the underside, the ones that would burrow deep into my flesh, were exposed, and my arms were bare.

When had they ripped my sleeves off? I didn’t even remember it happening, but that must have been their plan all along. They were always going to use that thing on me, and I couldn’t let them. I couldn’t let Anya do it.

I thrashed, flailing my arms wildly. I wasn’t really trying to hit her, just make it harder for her to get the thing in place, and she must have realised what I was doing. Irritation darted across her face as she tried to pin me down, holding the disc awkwardly to keep the pincers away from her skin.

There was no escape for me in that world. The realisation hit me suddenly, and I felt my mind lunge outwards, searching frantically for a dizziness, for my dizziness. It had to be there somewhere. It was normally so easy to spot; it felt so different from the rest. All I needed to do was find it, and then—

A loud, jarring beeping dragged me back to the world. Anya had fallen still, the disc still clasped in her hand. Her wide eyes were fixed on the flashing device, and I tried to seize my opportunity, my chance to run, but I barely managed to move before her hand shot out. Her nails dug into my chin as she gripped it tightly, pulling it forward. Anya’s face loomed close to mine as she leaned closer and stared into my eyes.

“It’s happening,” she breathed, seeming to be talking to herself. “You’re doing it right now, aren’t you? Who else is in there?”

I jerked back, not just away from the girl who saw me but also away from the world. Darkness swallowed me, spinning around me as I held my breath. How? How did she know what was happening? Was that even possible?

The world fell still, but still, I didn’t dare open my eyes or breathe. I was scared, absolutely terrified of what I would find if I allowed myself to look around. It might not be my world. It could be another world, another one with Anya, who somehow knew I wasn’t the real me. Or that I was the real me. I wasn’t sure which of us was the real one or if it was more complex than that, and I didn’t want to think about it. My head was already pounding.

It wasn’t real, I tried to tell myself. Nothing about that world was real. It was a dream. A nightmare. My brain was just making things up to scare me, and it worked. It knew how scared I was about anyone else finding out about my fantasies or whatever they were, so that was what it had done. It had created a fake world, one that wasn’t real, where someone found out. That was it.

Slowly, unable to resist the need to check for any longer, I forced myself to open my eyes. Relief slammed into me so strongly that I almost cried. I knew where I was immediately. The half-naked people who stared down at me from the walls were far too familiar. I’d made it home.