out loud or merely shouted them inwardly to all the warring confusions and hurts that were racing about within her. It was almost impossible for her to tell whether she was in pain or whether she was in doubt. Each seemed to hurt equally, but she knew she needed to make some sense of what was happening beyond the hood.
She told herself to take deep breaths. Jennifer! Try!
There was something oddly reassuring in speaking to herself in the third person. It reinforced her sense that she was alive, that she was who she was, that she still had a past, a present, and maybe a future.
Jennifer, stop crying!
She gulped at the stale, hot air inside the hood.
Okay. Okay.
It wasn’t as easy as that. It took minutes for her to calm down, but the gasps and sobs of fear finally slowed and nearly stopped, although there was nothing she could do to halt the uncontrollable quivering that infected each muscle, especially in her legs. They were twitching fiercely, spasms that made her whole body feel Jell-O-like. It was as if there was something disconnected between what she could think, what she could perceive, and how her body was reacting. Nothing was synchronized. Nothing was coordinated. Everything was out of focus and out of control. She could not find any mental grip within her that she could seize so she might try to understand what had happened and what might still happen.
She shivered, although she wasn’t cold; in fact, it was very hot in the room. For the first time she became aware that she was nearly naked. Once again, she shuddered through her entire body. She could not remember being undressed, nor could she remember being brought into the room. The only thing she recalled was the man’s fist coming at her like a bullet, and the sensation of being thrown into the back of the truck. It all confused her; she was unsure whether it had really occurred. For a second, she imagined she was dreaming, and that all she had to do was stay calm, and then she would wake up in her bed at home and she could go down to the kitchen and fix herself some coffee and a Pop-Tart and remind herself of all her plans to run away.
Jennifer waited. Beneath the hood, she squeezed her eyes shut and told herself Wake up! Wake up! But she knew this was a hopeless wish. She wasn’t nearly lucky enough to have it all dissolve into a dream.
All right, Jennifer, she told herself. Concentrate on one thing. Just one thing. Make one thing real. Then go from there.
She was suddenly terribly thirsty. She ran her tongue over her lips. They were dry cracked, and she could taste more blood. She pushed against her teeth with her tongue. Nothing loose. She crinkled her nose. No pain. All right, now you know something useful: no broken nose, no fractured teeth. That’s good.
Jennifer could feel something near her stomach that itched. There was also an odd sensation on her arm that she could not place. These confused her more.
She knew she had to take two different inventories: one of her self, one of where she was. She had to try to make some sort of sense out of the darkness and come up with some kind of clarity. Where was she? What was happening to her?
But these simple tasks eluded her. And the more she insisted on control, the more elusive it seemed. The blackness inside the hood seemed like it was taking over within her, as if the hood did more than merely prevent her from seeing out; it prevented her from seeing in . She had the sense that her entire world was descending into her stomach and painting over her mind; all she could imagine was a fierce terror of nothingness. And then, as this despair swept over her, she understood a truly awful idea: Jennifer, you’re still alive. Whatever it is that is happening to you, it’s not going to be anything you’ve ever known before or ever even imagined taking place. It’s not going to be quick. It’s not going to be easy. This is just the beginning of something.
She could feel herself spiraling down. A
She told herself to take deep breaths. Jennifer! Try!
There was something oddly reassuring in speaking to herself in the third person. It reinforced her sense that she was alive, that she was who she was, that she still had a past, a present, and maybe a future.
Jennifer, stop crying!
She gulped at the stale, hot air inside the hood.
Okay. Okay.
It wasn’t as easy as that. It took minutes for her to calm down, but the gasps and sobs of fear finally slowed and nearly stopped, although there was nothing she could do to halt the uncontrollable quivering that infected each muscle, especially in her legs. They were twitching fiercely, spasms that made her whole body feel Jell-O-like. It was as if there was something disconnected between what she could think, what she could perceive, and how her body was reacting. Nothing was synchronized. Nothing was coordinated. Everything was out of focus and out of control. She could not find any mental grip within her that she could seize so she might try to understand what had happened and what might still happen.
She shivered, although she wasn’t cold; in fact, it was very hot in the room. For the first time she became aware that she was nearly naked. Once again, she shuddered through her entire body. She could not remember being undressed, nor could she remember being brought into the room. The only thing she recalled was the man’s fist coming at her like a bullet, and the sensation of being thrown into the back of the truck. It all confused her; she was unsure whether it had really occurred. For a second, she imagined she was dreaming, and that all she had to do was stay calm, and then she would wake up in her bed at home and she could go down to the kitchen and fix herself some coffee and a Pop-Tart and remind herself of all her plans to run away.
Jennifer waited. Beneath the hood, she squeezed her eyes shut and told herself Wake up! Wake up! But she knew this was a hopeless wish. She wasn’t nearly lucky enough to have it all dissolve into a dream.
All right, Jennifer, she told herself. Concentrate on one thing. Just one thing. Make one thing real. Then go from there.
She was suddenly terribly thirsty. She ran her tongue over her lips. They were dry cracked, and she could taste more blood. She pushed against her teeth with her tongue. Nothing loose. She crinkled her nose. No pain. All right, now you know something useful: no broken nose, no fractured teeth. That’s good.
Jennifer could feel something near her stomach that itched. There was also an odd sensation on her arm that she could not place. These confused her more.
She knew she had to take two different inventories: one of her self, one of where she was. She had to try to make some sort of sense out of the darkness and come up with some kind of clarity. Where was she? What was happening to her?
But these simple tasks eluded her. And the more she insisted on control, the more elusive it seemed. The blackness inside the hood seemed like it was taking over within her, as if the hood did more than merely prevent her from seeing out; it prevented her from seeing in . She had the sense that her entire world was descending into her stomach and painting over her mind; all she could imagine was a fierce terror of nothingness. And then, as this despair swept over her, she understood a truly awful idea: Jennifer, you’re still alive. Whatever it is that is happening to you, it’s not going to be anything you’ve ever known before or ever even imagined taking place. It’s not going to be quick. It’s not going to be easy. This is just the beginning of something.
She could feel herself spiraling down. A
Similar Books
