Hansel 4(7)

“I had an interior designer come and change things up,” he says. His fingers rearrange themselves around mine.

“It looks different,” I say.

There are more comments I could make, of course, but now that I’m standing here with him, my brain feels like it’s taken a vacation. I just want to see my prison cell and get out, but I can’t seem to verbalize that.

He doesn’t know, of course. I can tell he doesn’t know what I want and is trying to figure it out, because I feel his eyes on me constantly as we make our way through the foyer.

“I’ve taken two of the others through here,” he says as we start down the hall.

My feet stop moving. “Really?”

He nods. “Women.”

My heart flutters up into my throat. “What were their names?”

“Michelle Littlebird and Heidi Smith. They were known as Snow White and Rapunzel.”

I exhale. No ‘Shelly’. “When?”

His hand tightens around mine, and we start to walk again. “Michelle asked to come shortly after I bought the place. She works on a reservation north of here. Heidi was last year. Brought her husband with her.”

“God.” It sounds so bad, when I think about the others. I try to think back on what condition they were in when we were rescued—to compare, if I’m being honest; them or me, who had it worse?—but I can’t remember.

Luke’s hip bumps mine, and warmth spreads through me. It dissipates too quickly. The only part of me that’s warm is my hand, tucked inside his.

We pass the windows. I remember them. The curtains are different now, filmy, so I can see the mountains through the glass, but you can’t change the width of the hallway or the height of the walls. Somehow, I remember all of this. The crown molding near the ceiling is the same. I search the walls for torches, finding sconces again, and start to do my breathing exercises.

He must notice. I’m not looking at him, but his hand squeezes around mine.

I try to remember what the doors looked like. We haven’t come upon any yet, but I think we will soon. I think they were tall, going almost to the ceilings.

“They wanted to see their rooms, too,” he tells me.

He’s trying to make small talk, I guess. To make me feel at ease. But it’s a band aid. I can feel the tension in his shoulders. Feel the awkwardness of this. Now that we’re here, we’re not the man and woman who met at the club. We’re both…victims.

I wish he hadn’t acted the way he did before now. I wish I felt like I could open up to him. Before this hall, I did feel that way. I was willing to take a risk, I guess. Now I’m…not. Now I can’t do anything but count my inhalations and watch for the doors. And then we’re upon them. Tall, wood doors with brass knobs. Keypads used to be there, right beside them. I remember keypads.

God.

He’s still talking, I think, but my head is static-filled. My hand in his is cold. My feet are cold. My legs feel weaker with each step. Two doors we’ve passed by now. Three doors.

My feet stop.

He slides his gaze to mine.

Tears fill my eyes. They sting. The ceiling tilts above us slightly and I fight to tug air into my lungs.

“Hansel?” Wrong name. Same eyes. I can’t think straight, even with his strong hand squeezing mine. “I’m sorry,” I squeak. “I just—” I look away from him as my throat constricts. “This is harder than I thought, I guess.” Tears spill from my eyes, falling down my cheeks.

I have the time to think: I’m so embarrassed. The others re-visited their rooms. Why can’t I just push through?

Then his hands are on my face. His eyes are on my eyes. His hands are underneath my arms. He’s scooped me up, and he is almost sprinting down the hall, toward the foyer. I think dully how surprised I am by my own weakness. By how fast my heart is beating. Then I sag against him and shut my eyes.

My pounding heart slows almost as soon as he turns us back toward the foyer. By the time we’re halfway through it, I can breathe normally again. I slit my eyes open and look up at him.

He looks hard. Angry.

I don’t know why—I can’t read him very well, as anxious as I am myself—so I strain against his hold. “Hey, Luke. I’m okay now.”

His eyes meet mine.

“You can put me down, I think. I just…need a second.”

He tightens his grip on me and gives a small shake of his head. “You need to go.”

“I can’t.” I grab his bicep, trying to emphasize my point. “I have to see my room. It’s just…is there somewhere different? I just need to be somewhere in here I’ve never seen. I remember the crown molding and the windows and the keypads that were on the doors.” I remember the feel of the air here. It’s tugging me back in time. I’m not sure having him with me is helping with that.