Short Story: The Captive by RM DuChene

SS Note: I'm pretty excited that I got permission from RM, a Facebook friend, to start using his website as a means to get short stories. I read this story that you're going to see below and it really does have an unsuspecting ending that literally made me think, "WTF?" But it is a very intriguing story and I'm sure most of you will like it.

I'm always looking for new short stories, so if you want to have yours on here please send me your stories!

This story is Rated E for Everyone

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The Captive 

From Ray DuChene 

From the shadowy confines of a claustrophobia inducing cell, I could hear her scratching, attempting to rip through the wall that divided us. She’d been at it for weeks, sometimes dragging her fingernails feebly against the cold stone, sometimes losing patience and striking it with her fists. As always, the last sounds she made were the ones produced by her mouth as she wailed in frustration. The thought of sweet resignation hadn’t entered her mind yet.

I pressed my ear against the wall and strained to hear her. This is the best part, I thought, when I picked up the soft whimpers that always came in the aftermath of one of her tantrums. It won’t do her any good, I thought; all of those tears. They all cried; they all pleaded…and in the end, they all succumbed, one way or another.

The alarm from my watch sounded its jingling chime, eliciting more screaming and banging from the captive. I turned off the alarm and left the adjacent cell. As I walked out, I could hear the sounds of her strikes moving with me, until they began to reverberate off of the cell door. She grasped the metal bars of the cell window and stared at me while I took my time opening a single can of tuna, dumped it into a small bowl, and then threw a few crackers on top. I put the bowl on a plastic tray, along with a water bottle and carried it to the cell door. She licked her lips as I opened the slot under the window and slid the tray forward. The captive snatched the tray from my hands and shoved her face into the bowl. It was a disgusting sight, watching her eat like that, but at least she was quiet.

The food that I give them is never enough to keep the hunger monster at bay; it’s only enough for them to survive. One can of tuna a day, three crackers, and two bottles of water…that’s all they get from me. In exchange, I expect them to behave themselves. They may cry and scream and beg…that doesn’t bother me at all. It’s the ones that lash out and bite the hand that feeds them; hurt the only person who is trying to help them, that have their suffering ended early. Most of my captives spend about a month in their cells before I free them from their suffering, but I always find another one to take their place quickly enough.

I waited until the captive finished her food and gulped down the bottled water, then I instructed her to push the tray back through the slot, with all of the trash on it…I have to be specific about that part. I scraped the trash into a waste basket and returned the tray to the table where rows of tuna cans and boxes of crackers were neatly stacked. She didn’t move away from the cell window after I took her tray, but stood there, staring at the food and licking her lips.

“More…,” she said. It came out raspy and weak, just like she was.

I raised my eyebrows at her.

“More?” I asked.

She didn’t respond, just continued to lick her lips and stare at the food. I walked to the table, retrieved a single cracker, and held it out to her.

“More?” I asked again.

“Please…” she whined.

I smiled at her and shoved the cracker into my mouth. She screamed, pulled on the bars, and banged against the door as I chewed the cracker and wondered how she could want such a nasty, dry thing that much. I had to use a whole bottle of water to wash it down!

She left the window in a spray of tears and snot and I heard her flop down on her cot… crying into her pillow I imagined. I returned to my usual place at my desk and picked up my notebook. I’d been keeping a diary containing my adventures with my captives, documenting the funny things that they’ve said and done - one even offered me money for sex. That specific captive wasn’t the best behaved one I’d had, but she wasn’t the worst either… She was about average.

A few hours later, I was deep in the throes of writing when my alarm sounded again. The captive heard it too and appeared, almost magically at the window of her cell. I set down the notebook, grabbed a bottle of water from the table and took it to the door. The Captive stepped back a pace when I opened the slot and slid the plastic bottom of the bottle toward her. She reached for the water, overshot it, and clutched my wrist instead. Before I could react, both of her hands were wrapped around my wrist and pulling my arm through the slot. I struggled to get myself free, to break her grip, but when the pit of my arm slammed against the edge of the slot, I knew she had me.

I stopped struggling almost immediately, afraid that she’d break my arm if I didn’t. Then, I peered in through the cell window and saw that she’d propped her left foot against the cell door and was pulling my arm toward her with all of her weight. The look on her face scared me a little; between the crazy eyes and the tongue that absent-mindedly peeped out from the side of her mouth, I knew that she wasn’t messing around.

“You don’t want to do this…”

“Open the door or I’ll rip it off!”

To validate her threat, she pulled my extended arm to the right. My shoulder wrenched and felt as if it was going to tear away from my body.

        “Okay…okay…okay!” I shouted.

She relaxed a bit, just enough so I could concentrate on using my free hand to unlock the dead bolt. I put my fingers around the edges of the lock and peered back in at her.

“You know what this means; right?”

“Yes! It means that you’re done with me. I don’t care!”

I unlatched the door and pulled it open. The captive kept hold of my arm and swung me around until I was caught between the large metal door and the outer wall of the cell. She didn’t release my arm right away though and I began to worry a little that she’d decided to break it after all.

“I’m not going back in there,” she said, tweaking my arm a little to make her point.

“No,” I said. “We’re done.”

She released my arm and stepped back from the door. I simultaneously pushed the door away from me and pulled my sore, tender arm out of the food slot. After my arm was completely freed, I took a small step toward her. She backed up frantically and began to shake and shudder a little, so I stopped and pointed to the scale that sat on the floor next to the food table.

“Aren’t you curious?”

She dropped her gaze to the scale and then moved slowly towards it. When she stepped on it, the needle spun around and landed half-way between 115 and 116 pounds. When she saw her weight, she let out a flood of tears and pressed her forehead against the wall.

“Wow!” I shouted.“You’ve lost another twenty pounds just since last week!”

“I should’ve stayed another week,” she said, “I would’ve dropped below a hundred…I know I would’ve.”

She stepped down from the scale and began shuffling toward the staircase. I grabbed her arm lightly as she passed and guided her to the food table.

“You need to eat before you leave. I don’t want to be liable for you falling and breaking your neck on the way out or something.”

“Thanks,” she said,“But I’ll be fine.”

Before leaving the basement, she paused and looked back at me.

“I have a friend…”

“Send her over,” I said.“If she comes in the next two days, I’ll give her half off.”