The Locket

“Careful how you speak to me, sweetheart. I don’t want to be angry with you. You should try a little harder to get along with me since we’ll be spending so much time together.” Logan alluded to the fact he would not be letting me go anytime soon, swiping his tongue across my cheek. The combination of smells caused bile to rise in my throat.

He put his hands on both sides of my jaw, placing his lips on mine, attempting to force his way inside. His lips were chapped and his tongue felt like sandpaper. I latched my jaw firmly shut, denying him access. The stench of booze hit my stomach and I started to gag. I was dry heaving into his mouth, suddenly grateful I had not eaten, imagining chucks of food spewing out between our mouths. Logan used the opportunity to sweep his tongue across mine, tasting of alcohol and vomit, causing me to heave again at the disgusting behavior. I thrust my hands into his chest. He had plenty to drink, was off balance, and stumbled back, releasing my mouth. His beastly eyes searched mine as he laughed dark and loudly, from deep within.

“I really don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Logan said, wiping his lips on his soiled sleeve. “I’ve tasted much better.”

My stomach flip-flopped at the sight of him.

“Gross!” I muttered under my breath, glaring at him with contempt.

He spoke slowly in my ear. “I think you need to be nicer, Claire,” he reprimanded, blowing in my ear and licking the lobe, laughing lecherously.

Using my sleeve, I wiped his saliva from my ear.

“I think you’re disgusting, Logan,” I uttered, moving away from him.

He grasped the metal shelving and shook it forcibly, snorting when the mice scurried out from under the shelves. I shrieked, backing into the corner.

“Why don’t you take some time to reconsider? Spending the night in the dark, alone with the mice, might make you change your mind,” he slurred, before slamming the freezer door shut. I heard the latch suctioning the door into place, sealing me away.

Pounding on the door repeatedly, I screamed. “Let me out…Please Logan, don’t do this…Please!”

Finally giving up, I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, trying to figure a way out.

Logan was someone’s baby boy. That is what I chose to think, not how much I hated him and how despicable he was. At some point, he came into the world bringing joy to the woman who waited nine long months to hold him.

I had a vision. Logan’s mother held an infant in her arms, bundled in a blue hospital blanket. She placed her finger in Logan’s tiny palm, a single tear trickling down her cheek as he squeezed her finger. Blessedness sheathed in a tiny package. She was wrapped around his little finger from that moment on. The vision ended and I sobbed.

Logan must have brought his mother more wonderful memories. She must have boasted proudly over his first haircut, first tooth, and first steps. Was she proud of him now? What went wrong in his life that he could be so troubled? Was his father abusive? Did his mother resent him? What could make one go from bundle of joy to bundle of rage, in such a short life?

Logan was incredibly insecure, wanting to be loved so badly, and yet, rejected so often. Could I help him? Probably not, but I could use his needs against him.

With no way of knowing how much time had passed, I guessed it must be dark outside. I had arrived here around two in the afternoon and now the lantern had just died. It was the same one my family used when I was growing up. We could usually run it straight for six hours before it went out. Quickly figuring the math, I estimated it was around eight o’clock.

Logan had not returned.

I wondered if he cleaned up, before going home for the night, interacting with his family as though it were any other day. Maybe he was doing homework, or eating supper, ignoring the fact he was keeping a neighborhood girl prisoner down by the river.

Shivering, I listened to mice squeaking and clawing at the shelves behind me. Swimming in a sea of despair, I wanted to drown in my depression. Clutching my chest, trying to calm the panic, I felt the cold metal beneath my fingers, my gift from Brent. Releasing every horrific thought from my mind, I felt a new resolve. I would not give up.

“My happy place,” I said aloud, strumming my fingers across my stomach playing air guitar, imagining the strings beneath my fingers, singing a Charlie Parker tune that my dad and I sung together many times.

You are the promised kiss of springtime

That makes the lonely winter seem long

You are the breathless hush of evening

That trembles on the brink of a lovely song

You are the angel glow that lights a star

The dearest things I know what you are

Someday my happy arms will hold you

And someday I’ll know that moment divine

When all the things you are, are mine