Breakfast
A thumb grazed your temple as you woke with a start, inhaling sharply. Your body hadn’t felt this well-rested since you’d been abducted. Stoki squatted on his calves as he leaned over you, his right hand filtering through your hair in tender strokes. He’d nursed you awake.
“Hey sleepy girl,” he cooed. “You look so pretty when you’ve got a full night’s rest.”
“Mm, thank you,” you grunted, the sleep lingering in your throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. Al made you breakfast. Think you’ll be ready to eat soon?”
I was worried you’d never ask, you thought. You could feel the hollow pit in your stomach curling in on itself. Starving.
“Al?”
“Allen. The other guy,” Stoki said.
Oh, he means ‘Tony,’ you thought, picturing the limping blond guard.
“Do you have a name?” you asked. His brows pinched as if your question was a punch in the gut. There was a pregnant pause.
“I’m Cyrus,” he finally mumbled.
Huh. Who would’ve thought he had a real name? You couldn’t understand what was with the sudden nice treatment. The revealing of identities. There was something they weren’t telling you.
Maybe they… No. No. It couldn’t be… They weren’t going to kill you, right? Had you run out of time? If they’d discovered the password on their own, that was very possible, or… Or maybe they just realized you weren’t going to crack, so it was time to give you a nice meal before ushering you out of the mortal plane. What if they poisoned the food?
Suddenly, you were a lot less hungry than before.
If you were going to die, would it be the meal or by their own hand? How slow would it be? The frantic panic made your mouth dry. How could you contact Stephen? You needed Stephen now. He would know what to do, and if your ticket had just been punched, you needed him to know what was going on. So you wouldn’t die alone. So he could say goodbye for you. Clearly he knew how to get in touch with you, so what was the trick? You started yelling in your mind.
Stephen? STEPHEN?! Stephen Strange?
Stephen Strange in my mind NOW.
…
I summon Stephen Strange.
…
I summon “Doctor” Strange?
Doctor Stephen…uhh… Cornelius Strange, manifest in me!
Wait, no, it’s Vincent.
DOCTOR STEPHEN VINCENT STRANGE, I CALL YOU FORTH!
Can you hear me? This is a real emergency, I need your help.
Please don’t leave me alone in here.
I know I yelled at you and I kicked you out before. I’m sorry. I take it back.
I take back everything mean that I said. Please help me.
Stephen?
Is no one there at all?
Please.
I don’t know what to do.
I can’t do this by myself.
I don’t want to die alone.
Radio silence. You steeled yourself as Stoki—Cyrus—lead you from bed into the bathroom. There was a cream-colored mid-length linen dress hanging on the shower rod. As Cyrus pulled it over your head, you adjusted the poofy sleeves around your arm, and as he zipped the back, you watched the shape of your body reveal itself from under the form-fitting bodice. It was very comfortable, the perfect summer dress with a sweetheart neckline and flowing skirt. Angelic.
“Today, I thought it might be nice if we went on a little walk and then maybe chat after,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically perky. “Breakfast first, of course.”
Oh yeah, you were definitely going to die.
Did you hear that, Stephen?
It’s getting worse over here. I don’t know what to do.
What do I tell him? How do I get out of this?
Aren’t you going to help me? I know you can see in my mind.
Why aren’t you answering?
“Why are you shaking so much, Pretty?” Cyrus was running a comb through your hair. The bristles made your neck and scalp tingle. You swallowed thickly, trying to imagine what your favorite doctor would say if he were here right now.
“Um, just hungry,” you said, internally cringing at how phony the answer sounded. Also, if they had poisoned your food, telling him you were hungry was not helpful.
“Well we can fix that real soon,” Cyrus said, handing you a toothbrush.
After you’d gargled and spit, he took a warm washcloth and wiped it over your face and arms. Cyrus had you sit on the edge of the tub so that you wouldn’t fall as he fitted a pair of sandals on your feet. Not worth much as walking shoes, but you were grateful to be fully clothed, at least. Then, the two of you walked to the dining room.
Most days you were blindfolded as you travelled between rooms, and if not, the windows had blackout padding and foil shades taped over them. This way, you’d never know what it looked like outside or what time of day it was. Today, however, you strolled through a bright, happy-looking home. The windows were not only uncovered but cracked open, allowing a light breeze to freshen the air inside. As you walked towards the smell of hot bacon and the sizzle of eggs being dropped into an oiled pan, you looked outside to see a luscious, healthy field, the grass rippling like waves as the wind ran over it. It seemed you were in a farmhouse. Out back you could see a well-loved barn, haphazard piles of debris and wood that looked like unfinished projects, and a few chickens scurrying around one another as they pecked the earth.
There was a chair pulled out for you already as you entered the dining room. The table was set with some lovely floral porcelain. In the center was a clear glass carafe, akin to an old-school milk bottle, full of orange juice. The room was connected directly to the kitchen, so you were able to watch Tony—sorry—Allen hobble from the stove to the counter before placing two more pancakes from his skillet to a waiting stack.
“Smells good,” Cyrus said casually. He plucked a piece of bacon from the bunch and ripped into it like it was a piece of jerky. Cyrus offered you the half left between his forefingers, but you shook your head ‘no.’ He shrugged and tilted his head back, mouth wide open, before tossing the bite in. It was like you were peeking behind the curtain, feeling like an outsider in this inexplicably not-hostile room.
“Classic Americana,” Allen explained, running a hand through his thick blond locks before grabbing the plate with pancakes on top and another plate with fried eggs and walking over to set them in the middle of the table. “Bacon, Cy.” He sat down so hard in his seat that it creaked under him. You gulped, watching him with wide, astonished eyes, your mind unable to grasp the situation.
Cyrus obliged his partner, munching on a second stolen piece of bacon as he carted the remaining plate from counter to table. Allen stabbed two pancakes with his fork before plopping them on your plate without a word. He used his elbow to nudge a bottle of syrup and a stick of butter towards you and then hurried to fix his own plate. As they talked, you took a small portion of each item and began eating.
“You’d better not drink the juice straight out the jug this time, man,” Cyrus grumbled. “Darren wanted to fire you just for that.” Allen snickered before stuffing an entire fried egg in his mouth in one bite.
“He couldn’t afford to get rid of me. It just tastes better when everyone else is pissed off,” Allen said as he chewed. A couple small flecks of egg flew from his mouth and splat against the table, but Cyrus either didn’t notice or was so used to it that he didn’t care.
“Where is Darren?” you said. Both men’s faces whipped around to look at you, as if they’d forgotten you were there. Cyrus stopped mid-chew, his jaw clenching, and Allen smirked.
“He’s with his lady friend,” Allen said. You snorted and blanched, shaking your head in disbelief at the idea that a man could spend his days torturing a captive and go home to a woman that wanted him. Who could ever want that little sleaze? “Oh don’t look so surprised, Dummy, you’d love her.”
“I doubt that,” you scoffed, cutting your egg in half with the edge of your fork.
“What if I told you—”
A fist slammed against the table.
“Drop it,” Cyrus barked. Allen rolled his eyes.
“She probably already suspects—”
“She probably doesn’t. And I said to drop it.” Cyrus flashed a stern look towards you. “Darren’s whereabouts and private life aren’t your business. Eat.” He gestured towards your plate, face scrunched into a scowl as he dug back into his own food.
You dissected that interaction in your mind through the entire meal. Why was Allen so tickled by the idea that Darren’s girlfriend would mean anything to you? As far as you were concerned, anyone willing to give that man a second glance was a half-rate woman. No one you knew could ever be that lowly, hairbrained, or cheap.
“Full?” Cyrus asked as he took your plate away, not making eye contact. The rest of the meal had been tense thanks to Allen’s comment. Cyrus was on edge, bristling.
“Yes sir,” you said, using that submissive doe-voice to try and ease the tension. It didn’t do much good.
“Time for a walk. Thought the sunshine and fresh air might do you some good. Make you a bit more…pliant.” He ticked his jaw, using his tongue to loosen the leftover breakfast from between his teeth.
As you entered the field, Cyrus trailing behind, you felt the sunshine oozing like wax over your skin. It was your first time outside in…too long. Breeze caressed your face, your freshly cleaned hair floating over your shoulder. You breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in, deeper, trying to suck as much of this ultra-fresh air into your lungs as possible. The dress fluttered as you traipsed through the tall grass. The property went so far back that you couldn’t see the rear fence, but you knew it was there based on the barbed-wire lines that penned the front yard from the back. It could’ve spanned a hundred acres.
You looked behind you, flashing a wide, grateful smile to Cyrus, and felt a breath within your own mind. A second set of eyes opening behind yours. Another consciousness filling the crevices between your temples, the same way oil coats the surface of water.
“You’re welcome, Pretty,” Cyrus said, understanding your grin was meant as a ‘thank you’. Just as quickly, he noticed the hitch in your breath, the flicker in your eyes as you stumbled, your expression faltering. “What’s wrong?”
Where are you?
“Stephen?” You said, not meaning for it to be out loud. A look of concern washed over Cyrus’s face as he rushed to you and put the back of his hand over your forehead.
“I’m Cyrus, remember? Are you feeling okay?” He held your shoulder with one hand and cupped your cheek with the other, drawing his face close to yours to search your eyes. You shook your head at him, utterly confused and unsure how to explain yourself. Your eyes looked behind Cyrus, back to the house, without your permission. You fought, looking back to Cyrus, only to have your eyes seize and look back to the house again. Studying the dark shingles, the large yard with no road in sight, the creamy white exterior. It was as if someone was thumbing the joystick in your brain without your permission.
“Don’t do that,” you growled, again not meaning to speak out loud.
“Hey,” Cyrus snapped, yanking your chin, “Look at me. What happened? We were having a good morning. What’s this about?”
Finally your eyes behaved. Your “guest” took his thumb off the controller.
“S-sorry. I just got a little headache I think,” you lied sheepishly.
“Are you too hot?”
“No,” you said too quickly, not wanting to be forced inside again. You scoured your mind for an easy excuse. “I think I ate too quickly.”
“Alright…” Cyrus said, clearly suspicious, before releasing you. “Why don’t you go play? Check out the yard, explore a little bit. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
You took off at an easy jog, your tight joints singing at the familiar sensation.
What, are we not friends anymore?
Let’s not. I called for you all morning and you ignored me, only to show up now and almost get me in trouble.
Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.
You can’t…it…I should have explained sooner.
You can’t get to me this way, only I can reach out to you.
You couldn’t hear me looking for you at all?
No, honey. Are you okay?
This is why I didn’t want you kicking me out.
I have to be here, I need to monitor so I can help you, protect you.
What happened?
He was frantic, rushing from one thought to the next without giving you room to interject. If he were here in person, he’d be pacing, tugging the grey tufts of hair by his temples until you popped his cheek just to make him shut up. His concern was endearing, but it could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t been so hellbent on keeping things from you.
Nothing worth fussing over now. I’m fine.
Are you?
It was a false alarm. Quit freaking out, you’re killing the mood.
I can scan your memory, see if they did anything—
Good grief, man, have you no sense of privacy? Why don’t you trust me?
Please stop trying to fight with me, Peach.
It’s safer this way, with me here to watch over you.
Why don’t we cut the melodrama and agree that you don’t need to puppeteer my body from now on?
Fine, but next time, answer me quicker.
Excuse me?
I asked you where you were. You’re outside.
It’s the same house I’ve been in. Cyrus is giving me a nice outing in the yard.
That must be…nice. What a guy.
It is.
You stood at the entrance to the barn. The paint was once firehouse-red with white accents, but over time the paint had yellowed and the red had sun-bleached and chipped. There were holes in the sagging roof, allowing the sun to burst through like spotlights on a stage. You took a step forward, peering in even further.
You shouldn’t go in there.
This doesn’t look safe.
Quit ruining my fun.
As you stepped in, there was a supply closet to the right that had bags of chicken feed, buckets, and various farming supplies scattered about. As your focus narrowed, however, you noticed some familiar tools. The cow-prod, for example. Clamps. Rope. Handcuffs. The riding crop. A pronged dog collar. All things Darren had used on you in the past. You also noticed a small handgun on the workbench and a rifle hanging on the wall. Your pulse quickened.
You know what to do.
C’mon. Go get it, baby.
You licked your lips. Gulped. Peered over your shoulder at Cyrus, who smiled at you and waved from his post. He hadn’t moved since you left, standing far away.
What are you waiting for?
You waved back at Cyrus and returned the smile.
Peach. Get the gun and get yourself out of there.
Do you need me to take over?
You stepped towards the supply closet against your own volition. You stomped, regaining control of your legs.
If you do that again, I’m going to kick you out. I mean it.
Go get that gun and get yourself out of here.
Why are you hesitating?
You didn’t bother answering the question. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. You just wanted to enjoy being outside right now. You stepped deeper into the barn, noticing the abandoned stalls that lined the inside walls. Feed buckets, surely riddled with cobwebs and dust, hung off the front wall of each stall next to the swinging gate that would open them.
You wondered what happened to the livestock that used to live here. You swallowed, flickering your gaze up to the swiss-cheese ceiling. Inadvertently, you’d stepped into one of the large “spotlights” that jutted through.
“There you are,” Cyrus cooed. You spun on your heels to face him. He stood at the entrance of the barn, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. Why don’t you come out here and get some more fresh air? It’s pretty dingy in here.”
Shoot him, Peach.
“Good idea,” you said, jogging to meet him. You felt Stephen’s presence grow hostile, frustrated.
“You know what I was thinking? Your feet might really love the feeling of the grass and the dirt. I can carry your shoes for you while you walk around.” He worded it like a suggestion, but something in you knew it was more of a command, and you immediately complied, unzipping the heels of your strappy sandals and passing them off. Cyrus allowed them to dangle from the hook of his pointer finger as he led you back to the field. He used his body like a sheepdog, angling his broad chest to herd you towards the “junkyard” segment of the yard full of logs and wooden planks. Mid-construction chaos.
“Go play,” he echoed, pressing a firm palm to your lower back, leaving no question about the matter. He was absolutely right—with every step you took, sun-warmed grass and cool, sweet earth under your soles was rich and calming.
“Is your headache getting better?” Cyrus called out as you arrived at the woodpile.
“Yeah, thanks,” you hollered over your shoulder. “The fresh air is helping.”
Careful, here.
You never know what’s tucked itself between logs and such.
Stephen, seriously, chill out.
Looks like this stuff has been untouched for a while.
I’m sure it’s fine. Cyrus is here. He’s literally my bodyguard.
I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what he thinks of you, Peach.
Please don’t go there. Not right now. Just let me enjoy this.
Peach—
“Hey Pretty, if you stand on that log there, you can get a good stretch in your calves.”
“This one?”
“Yeah, that one there.”
As you hoisted yourself onto the log, tuning out Stephen’s hysterical protesting, you felt something pop and heard a crunch. Your leg went through the log. As you fell, an explosive, searing pain charged like volts from a car battery into your calf.
Your elbows braced your fall. The effects of your pain were immediate, the blaze in your calf surging higher and higher, a thick, sticky ember infiltrating the rest of your blood. You sucked in a breath and watched a thick haze bloom over your vision. Your lungs then locked as if your mouth was blocked by a plastic bag, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The harsh rasp of your lungs fighting for breath sounded far away, inhuman, not your own. You tried to lift yourself but your arms collapsed underneath you. Your face went numb.
“That’s more like it,” Cyrus said, lingering somewhere behind you. Then he shouted towards the house. “ALLEN! AL! Call up the doctor. She’s down. Yeah, it bit.”
PEACH?!
They calling a doctor?
You betray me?
PEACH, WHAT HAPPENED?!
I fell.
Your stomach churned. You’d scream if you had the breath to spare.
Through the cloudy vision, you watched as a snake slithered away through the grass. The chickens scurried away from it, shrieking and cawing. It was a thick, brown-gray serpent with a dark diamond pattern running along the center of its back. The end of its tail had a light brown nub that looked like a miniature corn on the cob. A rattle?
Cyrus was talking but you couldn’t see him.
“That, my dear, was an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake. The venom sets in quick, doesn’t it? They sleep in hollow logs. What, no one ever taught you that?”
One of the chickens pecked your ankle. Another one pecked your shoulder.
You’d never felt your heart pound this fast. The faster it pounded, the more the pain spread. The venom.
I’m sleepy.
Don’t go to sleep. Peach. Stay with me.
Come on, Little Patient.
Eyes open—HEY. Eyes OPEN! That’s it. I’m not losing you that easy.
It’ll be okay. Listen to me. Follow the sound of my voice.
Stephen?
Can you hear me?
Peach?
Loki wants to talk to you.
Hmm?
There we go. You hear me? Focus on my voice.
Loki’s here. Loki. Loki wants to talk.
Loki…
Yes, Loki misses you.
Say something to Loki.
Peachy girl, what do you want to tell Loki?
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