Tethered

The sharp song of crickets slowly brought Willow Viviers from yet another hollow, dreamless night. It had been weeks since she had dreamt of anything. The reason this was so despairing was because all through a decade of living with a crippling illness, her dreams had been her way of escaping.

Since a young age, even before her illness struck, Willow’s dreams had always been so vivid, colorful, and meaningful. She not only felt them but believed her dreamscape was where she truly lived. In a reality where her world involved being in and out of hospital so many times she’d lost count, sometimes living there months on end, her dreams offered her an alternative to a world where hope often failed her. So for Willow to spend nights on end without a single dream was like a crack in her soul had allowed the darkness in.

As she was torn from what she thought was a very deep sleep, Willow’s eyes slowly fluttered open to a cool, damp and dimly lit room. The chill air sliced through her thin layer of clothing, leaving her breathless. Sitting up straight, her hair wet at the tips and dripping down the front of her light blue dress, shivers exploded through her body. Her top-half had been resting in a small pool of water, in which shimmered a ghostly reflection of her gaunt face. Willow stared down at her muddy feet, which extended before her. Her dirty knees and filthy hands quivered with terror.

“What the hell?” she whispered, returning her eyes back to the puddle and staring harder at the almost unrecognizably filthy face reflecting back at her. She wracked her brain for answers as to how and why she found herself in a dark, dank room, but she had no recollection of how she had gotten there.

Looking up, her eyes focused on the strange distant light, which looked more like a large full moon cut into the wall, its glow half-hidden behind a thick metal pipe. With shallow breath, she got up onto her shaky legs to inspect her creepy surroundings. Terror washed over her, but it didn’t quite belong to her.

The crickets were overbearingly loud, reverberating off the dark concrete walls from all around her. Her teeth chattered as she hugged herself for warmth. Above her, a series of metal pipes ran along the length of the concrete ceiling. Slowly, she moved towards the light coming from the passageway beyond the concrete box, her bare feet moving faster and faster, with a desperate gait against the numbness that had settled in her limbs.

The shuffle of feet coming her way caused her to call out, “Hello!” Her sweet voice echoed around her, making her realize just how small she was - lost in the yawning vastness of the empty space.

“Hallo,” a deep, commanding male voice replied.

“Help me!” she cried out, unsure if it was the right thing to do. He could be anybody. He could be a deranged murderer, but she didn’t sense that from his voice. He sounded honest.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“I’m lost,” Willow said, pulling herself tighter into a hug and feeling a rush of relief at the sight of flashlight beams and the sound of jingling keys coming her way.

“No one is allowed down here,” he said, sternly.

The beam of light grew brighter as the man came closer, causing Willow to raise her arms in order to shelter her eyes from the stark light. His shadow was slight and tall. “How did you get here?” he asked, walking up to her, and diverting the flashlight from her to the direction she had come from.

“I woke up here,” she explained. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the maintenance section.” His tone was clipped, filled with annoyance.

“The maintenance section of what?” she asked, looking at the dark cement walls and floors.

He took her arm gently and shined the light onto her medical bracelet. “Miss …Viviers?” he asked, struggling to pronounce the surname.

She looked him directly in the eye and shook her head slightly. “No, my name is Palmer, Loral Palmer.”

Clearly the girl was confused. Not wanting to cause her anymore distress, the janitor nodded. The patient’s medical bracelet visibly stated, Miss W. Viviers, heart transplant patient. Ward C. Recovery. Room 212 but he guessed it was easy, what with the drugs and the strangeness of the situation, to get confused.

She grabbed his wrist in turn, her fingers so cold they almost stung his skin. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes darting from one corner of the structure to the other.

“In the hospital,” he replied, knitting his brow together and giving her a look that told her he thought she was crazy.

She looked down at her hospital gown. “Oh.”

“Let’s get you back to your ward. I’m sure the nurses must be looking for you.”

She took his hand, unafraid. “Thank you.”

“I’m George,” he said as he slung her arm over his shoulder giving her support.

“George,” she repeated.

“That’s right.”

She let herself be led, his flashlight lighting the way.

“We need to get you back in the warm—you’re freezing.” He offered.

Her mouth quivered from the cold. “I know.”

A loud noise erupted at the end of the passage causing her to stop abruptly. Her heart burst with fear. It was as if the noise was some awful thing coming for her. Her feet refusing to move she stood agape waiting in petrified state for the onslaught.

“It’s just the fan kicking in,” George explained upon taking in her reaction to the sound.

“Hey,” he said as he shook her, “I’m too old to carry you all the way. Just try to stay lucid, okay? I’ll get you to the service elevator in no time.” He pursed his lips before saying, “Just stay with me, okay?”

As she muttered her thanks, her tongue felt thick and full in her mouth from exhaustion and dehydration. Something felt oddly familiar about being down here. Not just familiar, she was certain she had been here before, and that noise—the one George dismissed as just being the fan clicking in, terrified her so much, she felt sick to her stomach.

“We need to hurry, please,” she told him, suddenly recovering her strength and almost pulling him along. “We need to go.”

The sound of the generators got louder, to the point they sounded like they were crushing down on her, pushing her mind somewhere she didn’t want it to go. They rounded the corner into a larger square room made up of abandoned hospital gurneys and a large biohazard sign half- faded and glowing in the light of the torch. Was this a nightmare she’d walked into?

Her naked feet slapped with increasing speed along the cold concrete as she was now the one dragging George along, as if trying to literally outrun the terrible dream. Not soon enough, to Willow’s fleeting relief the lights became brighter, instilling some reprieve from the terror, but there still remained dark corners everywhere she looked. From one of them, a face appeared, and she let out a small scream. The figure was just standing there, staring at them as they hurried along the corridor of doors.

“Dear what is it?” George stopped to stare at her.

Quickly, she closed her eyes and opened them again to see that the face had disappeared, replaced by a single steel door with a small window in its center. It was stained, scratched and cracked as if many years and some trauma had afflicted it.

“What’s in there?” is all she offered as an explanation, immediately feeling the pull towards the door.

“No idea,” George said. “This basement gives me the creeps. I try not to come down here unless I really have to.”

She placed her hand on the door as if to push it further open, but George stopped her by pulling her back. “It shouldn’t be open.”

She looked to him and saw the worry in his eye. For a moment they were held in suspended animation as the temptation of pushing the door open hung between them. The tension was broken when George took her by the hips and firmly guided her away.

“I don’t think that is a very good idea.” He pulled her along, “A few more stairs and then the elevators are on our left,” he said with gritted determination, taking her away from the creepy room.

Willow nodded but the door had imprinted itself in her memory. She was almost curious enough to fight George off and return to find out what lay behind it. She had never been good at leaving well enough alone.

The metal stairs were jagged and added another layer of cold to her feet. Her lungs labored as she climbed up and she silently cursed her weakened state. The sound of water, drip, drip, dripping filled her ears and she tried to find the source, but the shadows got darker as they hit the metal catwalk.

“Come along,” He pulled her to walk father. “Almost there.” His patience with her was something to admire.

Willow couldn’t shake off the strange feelings of the place. “Who else is down here?” She asked, feeling the encroaching darkness as if it were an entity on its own.

“No one at the moment. It’s just me, two other janitors who use this section and guards. But not for a while.” He sighed wondering why he was telling her all this, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” she asked looking back over her shoulder.

“Yes, now come along before you get sick.” His patience had just run out.

She snickered. “Sicker, you mean.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “I promise there is nothing down here that might interest you.”

They stepped into the service elevator where it immediately felt safer and warmer.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those coffin kids, searching for paranormal experiences?” His tone was mocking.

“No,” she said smiling, but as the doors slid closed with the soft creek and moan of metal, Willow stared out into the shadows searching for the unearthly face she’d seen watching them.

Raine Viviers woke in the dead of night, a slight breeze tickling over her skin. Looking toward her bedroom window, she noticed the curtains were closed, with no breeze ruffling their edges. A quiet yawn escaped her while her gaze shifted to the air-conditioner on the opposite wall, only to discover it was off. At first, she thought she had been dreaming as her brief investigation concluded here was no reason for the curtain to have ruffled in the non-existent wind. So she pulled the covers right up to her chin, about to drift back into sleep, then suddenly she jerked from her half slumber when a noise came from somewhere in the house. Her hand dropped beneath her bed, where she felt the cool smooth surface of a golf club. Her palm wrapped around its narrow rubber grip, and she waited with bated breath for any movement to follow.

Raine felt the chill of the breeze brush against her skin and swung her feet from the bed with a sense of urgency. Her heart pounding behind her ribs, she padded across the carpet toward the door as silently as she could. With her back against the wall, she held the club to her chest. Silence filled the house, and the only sound was that of the city in the distance.

Raine exited her room, one foot in front of the other, daring herself to be brave. Steadily and slowly, she made her way down the hallway and almost shed her skin when the curtain in Willow’s room suddenly flapped violently on a gust of air. She knew Willow’s window had been closed, as her room had been empty for the past few weeks. Scared out of her wits, Raine dashed back to her room and snatched up the panic button, pressing it heavily with a quivering fear.

The longest few seconds passed before the white-blue flash of the guard-car filled her bedroom windows. She listened for the car door, almost expecting the intruder to come dashing out of the shadows from where he was hiding, but luckily the house remained dead silent. Raine sat with her knees to her chest on the floor of her room like a coward until the doorbell rang. The sound almost gave her a heart attack and she cussed herself because she had been expecting that. How she wished she were more courageous.

The doorbell rang again and Raine sprinted from her room, the club swinging at her side. Her clammy hands reached for the railing of the stairs, and on shaky legs, she made it to the door, flicking on the light and flooding the house with light. When she opened the door, the housing estate’s security guard was already calling it in for back up.

“Miss Viviers?” he said, breaking off his call. “Is everything okay? You pressed the panic button?” his eyes fell to the club in her hand.

The wind combed through the Willow tree’s leaves with a loud swoosh. “Ja, it’s me.” She shivered in the breeze.

The guard looked past her into the body of the house. Raine was still too panicked to string a sentence together, forcing him to ask again, “Is everything okay?”

She bit down on her lip, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, not really! Why else would one use the panic button?” she answered sharply.

She ignored his eye roll and the way he stood still for a while, his body stiff and his hands together in front of him with his feet evenly spread in an attempt to show her who was in control.

“The top window is open,” she explained, “and a noise woke me. The window was closed earlier. I’m certain of it.”

She watched him walk a few steps toward her, his gait heavy from his bulk, a certain air of supremacy about him. “Would you mind if I did a sweep of the interior for you?”

“Please, would you?” She shivered again as the cold breeze blew through her shirt. A few leaves crackled across the stone path as they were picked up by the unseasonal wind. With it she could smell the scent of the rose garden, and something else—something familiar she could not quite put her finger on.

“I am just going to call in my position.” He gave her a faint smile, clearly annoyed at all the procedures his new job entailed. Working for civilians was an adjustment for him.

Raine, too worked-up to swoon over the dark haired, enigmatic man, just nodded and stepped aside so he could make his way past her and into the house. The guard pulled his walky-talky from his shirt, called in his location and waited for a response, smiling at Raine one more time - her standing there, golf club in hand. But it was an awkward kind of smile she thought to herself. Forced yes, but it was something else. She shrugged and placed the club against the wall beside the door.

Moving past her he said. “You stay here, I’ll be right back” as he reached for his holster, his hand coming up with nothing more than a Taser. For a moment, he’d forgotten how bad his demotion really was, but nevertheless, he was still needed. “If it makes you feel safer, go and wait in my car?” he said to her from over his shoulder.

Raine shook her head, her imagination running wild with the possibility of the intruder waiting in the bushes. She didn’t want to be alone. The intruder could already be in the car, she thought, panicked.

Realizing the woman wasn’t going anywhere he cocked his head motioning for her to follow him. “Stay behind me, then.”

It was awkward for them both as they stalked the bottom floor. Raine was a very private person and was not used to visitors in the house, let alone men - even those just doing their job. And for him, being a security guard in the public sector was just painstakingly awful. For good measure, he shone his flashlight into all the shadows of the bottom floor, flicking on the lights as he proceeded from the front entrance into the kitchen. This was everything he wouldn’t have done as a Secret Service agent. But he just functioned better with order in his life.

Once most of the lights were on, they both did a quick sweep through the tiny kitchen and dining area. Raine even took a peak under the tables and chairs. She watched him move deliberately and unafraid, taking in his utility belt with cuffs, keys and baton, then her eyes quickly shifted over his rear as he disappeared around the bend into the scullery section.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he reassured her, coming back around the corner.

She cleared her throat trying to choke down the blush she felt creeping over her cheeks.

“Thanks.” She offered as he passed her.

She followed him up the stairs, marveling that even with his bulk and heavy boots, he moved soundlessly. Lights flicked on as they entered the study, which was once their father’s, proceeded to her room and then down the hall toward her sister Willow’s room. Raine hovered in the doorway as he padded across the white carpet toward the window. The curtain shifted slightly in the cool breeze. He inspected the latch and closed the window before bending down to pick up a photo frame which had fallen to the floor. Raine waited at the door, trying to work out what he was picking up—or perhaps she was checking him out, she admitted, her eyes skimming over the muscles in his back as he moved.

He placed the frame back on to the tabletop. “It must have blown off the nightstand,” he offered as explanation.

She jerked uncomfortably when his eyes met hers as he turned towards her. He must have sensed her lingering gaze and spun back to the window.

“The latch is a bit loose,” he said checking it and straightening the drapes. His hands subconsciously glided over the curtain feeling for bugging devices. Mentally, he wanted to slap himself for being so paranoid, but some things were so deeply engrained in him, it would take forever to rid himself of the obsession. But as he turned, ready to go, he noticed what appeared to be a bugging device stuck to the bottom of the white vanity table across the room. An untrained eye would have missed it, not him. Immediately, his eyes narrowed on her, wondering who she really was. He left the device, not mentioning it to her. It was a piece of the puzzle to put together for a later time He struggled with all of his being not to do something about it, but he wouldn’t want to be arrested for interfering with a federal case.

He pursed his lips and placed his hands at his waist, keeping his cool. “Other than that, everything seems fine.” He walked past her back into the hall, and so desperately wanted to go back and deactivate the device, but Raine pointed to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and he had no reason to go back into the that room right now. So he gave a curt nod and they proceeded with caution.

“You left the tap running,” he said, turning it off and noticing some smudges on the mirror, which caused him to search behind the shower door.

Raine pulled a face, not sure if she had left the tap running, she was careful with things like that.

“Nothing here.” He turned to study her face.

She nodded and followed him back toward the staircase, every light in the house now switched on making them both feel a little more relaxed. As they reached the door his eyes full of seriousness found hers.

“You have an accent?” he stated.

“Wow, here I was thinking it was you who was the one with the accent.”

Her joke fell flat; he was too curious about her.

“You live here alone, Miss?”

The suspicious expression on her face told him his prying was becoming too obvious. “You really should get a dog,” he said. “They make great companions—and they’re paramount for early detection of strangers.”

“Ja, thanks,” she said bleakly. “I’m not staying here long enough for that.” She wiped down the sweat from the back of her neck as his stare intensified.

“I was so sure someone was here,” she said feeling awkward.

He gave her a smile. “It’s okay.”

“Thank you for the advice, on the dog and the…” she searched the term he used, “latch.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it, you’re welcome.”

With his hand on the front door, he stopped and called in the all-clear over his walkie-talkie. When he was done, he brushed his hands through his neatly combed brown hair, stalling.

“I could do a patrol every hour past your house,” he said. Raine took in his perfectly arched eyebrows, which framed the glimmer in his dark eyes. She could tell he loved a challenge.

“That would be nice. I’d really appreciate that,” Raine answered.

“I’ll get dispatch to send you the number of a handyman to take a look at that window for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to stay out here for a few minutes—just until you get settled.”

She smiled. “You are too kind.”

“No need to thank me ma’am. It’s my job.” He took a look around then his gaze went back to hers. “Where are you from?”

“South Africa.”

This only piqued his interest more, but his face gave away nothing as he let himself out.

“Nice to meet you.” He offered with a slight smile.

She smiled back. “Thanks.”

With that Raine watched him walk down the path to his patrol car before she closed the door.

“Thanks.” She huffed. “I said thanks, not nice to meet you too.” She spoke out aloud. “Raine you are such a dork.” She reminded herself.

She made her way to the lounge and pulled a blanket from the cupboard before taking the sofa. Turning on the lamp, she lay down flicking through the channels without much thought to what she wanted to watch. Her thoughts still caught in the events of the night.

About to fall asleep, something caught her eye. She sat up squinting as the object lay on the floor. Her feet swung off the sofa, the blanket fell to the floor. Padding across hardwood floors she noticed a bright green hair band on the white carpet near the dining area. Retrieving it a fresh smell triggered a memory of what had wafted on the wind between roses early. It was a vaguely hospital smell, mixed with coconut shampoo. Her gaze shot up to gaze unregistered to what was on the television in disbelief.

“Willow?” She said, recognizing her sister’s shampoo immediately.