The Writing Retreat(81)

“Not yet.” Zoe waved us in and spoke the words in a whisper: “We have to convince them to open the door of the cell.”

“And how do we do that?” Keira’s eyes were dull as she raised the coffee to her lips.

“Good morning!” Taylor’s voice burst from the speaker. “Welcome to day two of Roza’s retreat-within-a-retreat.” The exaggerated English accent made me grit my teeth. “Because you all did such a wonderful job with yesterday’s instructions, you have a treat coming. Yes, on top of the blankets and heaters and coffee. Stay tuned!”



* * *



Sometime later—fifteen minutes, forty-five?—the door creaked open. We were still on the futon. Barely speaking, we’d drifted off in our own thoughts as we waited for whatever came next. I struggled to make sense of what was happening, but my mind was filled with fog. Every so often I’d veer into another feeling: that this wasn’t real. That somehow I’d fallen into a dream I couldn’t wake up from. That sense of unreality would touch on a deep, wretched panic. So I’d press my hands against the concrete floor to pull myself back. This was real. This was the present reality. But I couldn’t stay with that information, either. The vague confusion would return, only to start the whole cycle over again.

Taylor’s arrival was, in a strange way, a relief.

“Hi!” When she strolled through the door, she looked odd, and it took me a second to figure out why: she was dressed in Wren’s clothes. Taylor was shorter than Wren, and the sleeves and ankles of the teal jumpsuit bunched. “Like my outfit?” She posed, hands on hips. “I hope it’s okay, Wren. I didn’t want your gorgeous designer pieces to go to waste.”

Wren glared at her.

“Jeez.” Taylor dropped her hand. “Look at the sourpuss faces on y’all. Aren’t you happy that it’s not ten degrees in here anymore? And that we gave you coffee?” She shook her head. “Talk about ungrateful.”

Fury tightened like a fist in my chest. Taylor was as excited as she’d been the night of Valentine’s Day. She was truly relishing this.

“You’re lucky I’m not in charge.” Taylor crossed her arms, considering. “This cell would look very different, let me tell you.”

“Taylor.” Wren’s voice quavered. “Please, please let us out.”

“You want me to let you out? Sure!” Taylor’s cheerful grin widened. “Just guess the magic word.”

A grinding sound came from the far end of the room. The metal door to the basement slowly swung inward.

“Chitra!” Wren jumped to her feet, knocking her head on the low ceiling. Keira grabbed my arm.

“Don’t talk to her,” Taylor commanded.

Chitra’s shoulders hunched over as she shuffled in with a tray. She looked at least ten years older and fragile.

“Sit down,” Taylor directed. Slowly, Wren settled back onto the futon, rubbing her head. Chitra refused to look at us as she set the tray in front of the door. Her eyes were red and raw.

The smell from the covered pot—some rich meat—was making me salivate. Besides the pot, the tray held four bowls, silverware, and a loaf of fresh bread. Taylor bent and touched something at the bottom of the door. A small section of it sprang outward towards her, swiveling like a doggie door. She pushed the tray through.

“Wait for it…” Taylor drew out the last word. “Go!”

Zoe ran to the tray, pulled off the pot’s lid, and dished out the stew. My stomach twisted as I waited for my bowl; had I ever been this hungry before?

“Hold on,” Taylor called to Chitra, who already had one hand on the door. “Don’t you want to see them enjoy your culinary work?”

Zombie-like, Chitra turned back around.

“Chitra,” I said in a normal tone, my mouth already full. Her eyes flicked to mine.

“I told you not to talk to her.” Taylor’s voice thundered in the confined space. “Do you want me to take away your food?”

“No.” I looked down. “Sorry.”

“Good.” Taylor smiled and settled onto the floor, cross-legged. “Chits, you want to tell Alex how you fucked with her in the basement the first night?”

“What?” Wren asked.

“Roza told her to blow out all the candles, but apparently she disobeyed and left one burning for you.” Taylor shook her head. “She’s lucky the light went out on its own. It sounds like you were on the verge of seeing her.”

Chitra stood still, head hanging.

“Why?” I asked. It was hard to divide my attention between Taylor and the food.

“Roza wanted to push you.” Taylor chuckled. “You were clearly on the edge to begin with.” She turned her head. “Okay, you can go.”

Chitra slipped out and shut the door behind her. I chewed. It was strangely reassuring to find out that it hadn’t just been my imagination. But it was nearly impossible to imagine sweet Chitra sneaking around like that.

“Eat up,” Taylor said. “Roza wants you to be in a good mood when she comes down here.”

I locked eyes with Zoe.

“When is that happening?” Zoe’s voice was light.

“I don’t know.” Taylor smoothed back her hair. “Soon, I think.”