Chapter VII

✦The Unknown Facsimile of Longing✦

Saturday, April 6th 2019 appr. 0830 am MDT, Salt Lake City, UT, USA 

At this point, I know that there are at least four other people in here with me. There is: someone weeping, a man and woman speaking to one another, and someone else breathing heavily. It feels like hours have passed, and besides the random conversation in what I believe to be Japanese or Korean, I really can’t tell the difference. People would probably think I’m arrogant, but I’ll admit that I could stand to learn about something that is outside the U.S.

The most perplexing thing in all of this is that in all this time, our captors have remained elusive and, as far as I can tell, haven’t made any intention of making themselves known. They haven’t issued demands nor given us an opportunity to confer with legal counsel. Nothing. It leaves me contemplating whether this is a deliberate interrogation tactic, an attempt to wear us down, or perhaps to facilitate more effective manipulation or control over us.

Hell, is any of this even real to begin with? Or is this the spiritual prison I’ve learned about my entire life? Kind of a bummer, I thought I was on the right track, but I guess you never really know. I slap my hands a few times and remind myself that I would be a spirit, not tangible, if this were, in fact, spirit prison.

As the unmeasurable time continues to pass by, the others continue to speak to one another. The child has stopped crying, and the other man has stopped breathing heavily. I can hear five distinct voices now; that’s one more person than I had previously thought was in here with me. As they continue to speak to one another, I am unable to understand anything they say. This allows my thoughts to wander, as I can’t stop them from thinking up every potential circumstance that I find myself in. Most of them are– unpleasant, to say the least.

I am snapped back to reality after I hear the only female voice say a word, “Maho.” As soothing and captivating as her voice is, this singular word is enough to comfort me and put my thoughts at ease. I don’t know why it does, but I want to know. Sigh. I hope I get a chance to meet her or see her before we are moved out of this place. Again, I don’t know why. I just want to. An unexplainable urge.

My thoughts drift away once again as I lie back down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to them talk. Although I understand nothing, it is at least nice to know I am not here alone.

Feeling like the seconds continue to turn into minutes, which in turn, turn into hours. The banter that had once filled the room just moments ago gives way to a somber atmosphere. My best guess, someone just said something heart-wrenching or shocking. I believe I heard one of them gasping at something; it would make sense. They remain silent until it is interrupted by my stomach growling. 

As I begin thinking about what I can do for food, the vent at the top corner of my room opens, and the enticing scent of something delicious fills the space. A tray with a simple yet nourishing meal is lowered down. But before I can examine the vent opening further, it shuts, excluding me from any more knowledge.

It is a strange shape wrapped in leaves alongside a pouch with liquid and a cup. I can hear the others sigh in relief as I reach out and grab it, looking at the strange food and what I am hoping is water. I’m just grateful to receive this much-needed sustenance for my weary body.

Unwrapping the large leaf reveals a mouthwatering creation- a spicy meat and vegetable-filled pocket nestled within a soft and fragrant bread. The aroma of Exotic spices wafts through the air, teasing our taste buds and igniting a spark of excitement.

I take a bite of mine, and it is unlike anything I have ever tasted. The succulent chunks of tender meat are marinated to perfection, melting in my mouth with a blend of aromatic spices. The flavors dance on my tongue, a harmonious fusion of heat from the seasoning, sweetness from the meat, and earthiness from the vegetables. The meat is perfectly complemented by the soft bread enveloping it, offering a delightful contrast of textures.

Listening as the others consume their food reminds me that I have forgotten to pray for gratitude. I guess I sometimes forget to do the important things when I get hungry enough. Before taking another bite, I close my eyes and quietly mutter a small prayer of thanks; the food really showed up at the perfect time, like manna from heaven.

Each bite afterward is a symphony of flavors, a momentary escape from the confined surroundings. Savoring the meal, I can feel the others enjoying their meals as much as I am. Even though we are separate from one another, and I know nothing about them, I feel us coming together over this meal. We all share the relief and joy of this unexpected treat. At least whoever is holding us is willing to feed us.

As I eat the food, I become certain that this isn’t a prison, they wouldn’t have fed us this well if it was. I mean, no one would ever feed something this, well, expensive looking to a prisoner. Right? Like, I did study and found that America fed British prisoners of war lobster during the War of 1812… I think. That just leaves me with one question, then. Where the hell are we, and how did we get here?

After eating, I pour water from the pouch into the cup and drink it. It tastes so clear and refreshing. Using some of it to wash my face and wipe it clean with the leaf, which is a lot more sturdy than I thought it would be. Gradually, the exhaustion catches up with me. I hear as the others remain silent and think they are each passing out one by one. I begin hearing snores from one of the other chambers, and the heavy burden of fatigue rests on me.

I lie down on the bed and feel the weight of my eyelids prevail. I still hear her voice engaging in conversation with someone that I am unable to fully hear. I allow myself to be enveloped by slumber as her voice becomes a distant echo, like something out of a dream.

Once again, I begin feeling the similar strangeness that I felt the last time I went to bed. I can feel the same low, trembling sensation in my body and low, rumbling sound in the air. Unlike before, however, I feel my body starting to ascend— well, not my body per se, but me? Whatever piece of me, that makes me, well, me. As the strange drifting sensation returns, I feel lifted away from the metal walls and floor.

I open my eyes to see that I am passing through the same void of memories, just a little quicker this time, or more like that feeling you get when you hike, and the return trip feels like it went by quicker even though it is the same distance there and back. I look around but don’t see the others this time, but I can see the lights opening up into the visions of my past again.

I focus on different memories this time, like my fifteenth birthday or my high school days with my friends. Searching through the memories for the one that caught most of my attention last time, I see it and focus on it. Watching intently as my younger self stirs, I focus on the woman in the room with me. Still, I can’t make out any new discernible details about her beyond the rags and shaved head. I wonder who she could be, at least who she could be to me.

As I watch, once again, my heart feels drawn to the memory and begins aching in a manner I haven’t felt since my Grandpa Alex died a few years back. I hold onto the thought of this feeling and ponder why this woman who is only in my dreams makes me feel like my heart is grieving and has been without my knowledge. The memories dissipate as I ponder these thoughts and continue ascending through the darkness.

My eyes jolt open as I stare at my bedroom ceiling, Frigo curling up and purring next to my head. I feel tears running down either side of my face as I sit up, wiping my eyes with my bed sheets. Although it feels like I’ve been awake for hours, I’m strangely refreshed. My stomach growls as the hunger wakes me up fully. 

As I stand up, the details of the past events in the secluded chamber begin to become fuzzy as though it never happened to begin with, like it was a dream, the first I’ve had that isn’t the same old story. My head begins rattling as it is overtaken by a massive migraine. Extreme nausea begins to set in as I rush to the toilet, where I begin throwing up anything I have in my stomach. My muscles tense up and feel sore as my bones begin aching, but surprisingly, my sinuses are clear, even though my breathing is rapid and heavy.

After I feel like nothing else is coming out, I stand up and look into my mirror. My eyes are red and irritated, and my jaw hinges slightly open. Sensing that something is amiss, Frigo enters the bathroom and begins brushing against my legs, perhaps attempting to soothe whatever is ailing me. I will admit it is comforting to me that he does this when he senses something is off.

As I stare at my reflection, the memories of the voices I heard in that strange place feel even more distant. What was I just thinking about? Whatever dream I was having… I can’t remember it. All I feel now is a strange, harrowing longing in my heart.

Tears begin to form in my eyes and roll down my cheeks as I stare at my reflection. I feel nothing but the fleeting notion of longing in my heart, one I can’t explain away. The strong desire to search for something begins to fill my body. What that thing is, I don’t know, and the thought of not knowing only makes the tears continue to flow.

I wipe them away as I move sluggishly through my cluttered room, shuffling my feet over the debris of food packages and wrinkled clothing that I have been scattered across the floor for weeks now.

Taking a seat on my bed, I allow myself a moment to get myself together before changing into a more suitable outfit for the day. I look at my phone and note the time. Four-thirty? Looks like I actually got a full eight hours of sleep for once. As I sit there, I stare at the collection of knight swords hanging on my wall. It is a strange collection that started when I was twelve, and my father gave me one as a symbol of our proud lineage of knights from England and Scotland.

My mom always said that was a poor excuse he made for a frivolous purchase he made around the time they had first gotten married. No matter what the truth was, it is a gift I still cherish and an obsession I’ve had to this day.

Examining the first one he gave me, I run my fingers over the cold steel, tracing the intricate Celtic knot patterns etched into the blade. Recalling a memory when I swung it around and almost injured my little brother, I smile and stare into my reflection. As I do so, I notice something off about my eyes. For a split second, I could have sworn they appeared completely black, except for my irises and pupils, which were glowing pure white.

Freaky.

I blink, shake my head, realizing everything looks normal, and straighten the sword before leaving the room. On my way to my front door, I pet Frigo on his soft head, grab my keys, and leave my apartment.

It feels like a normal day. Then why does everything feel so off?

Time passes without me noticing, really, because before I know it, I’m at the bottom of the stairs to my apartment and halfway to my car. This continues, as my mind constantly feels distant yet remains strangely present, as if it is somewhere else. My thoughts feel sluggish and slow, as everything around me feels like it is being played on autopilot. This continues as I absentmindedly drive to the nearest grocery store.

I snap out of it momentarily when my phone rings. Answering it, I hear my mother’s familiar accented voice: “Hola, sweetheart. How are you?”

“Hola Mama,” I reply sweetly, looking around to see that I have already made it to the store and my cart is almost halfway full of various foods that I like to eat. Not remembering how I got here exactly or picking any of these things out, I get more freaked out. What is happening to me? I ponder as my mother talks on the other end of the phone. 

“Hijo?” I hear her ask, “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh, sorry, ma, just have a lot on my mind. What was it?” I feign a smile, even though she can’t see me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. I just don’t feel up to smiling or talking, for that matter, right now.

She continues speaking, as I catch myself not listening again, doing my best to at least get a little bit about what she is talking about. “... your brother is coming over for dinner tonight at six.”

“Tonight?” I ask, just so she knows I at least am getting a little of what she is saying. “That’s kinda late notice, don’tcha think?” 

I hear her chuckling on the other end: “Yeah, well, you know your brother. He gave us a last-minute call himself and we thought you would be sleeping, so we waited.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense. I head over after I finish a few errands. Okay?” I reply halfheartedly, not really wanting to go but also not really wanting to let her down all the same. I’m just grateful I got most of my errands done yesterday. I really don’t think I would be up for them today. Crap, I’m not listening to her again.

I begin to listen once more, picking up in the middle of a sentence. “...if you could invite Mark and Lucy as well, that would be wonderful.” She asks. I’m confident I’ve missed a few things.  

“Ummm, sure, I’ll text him after we’re done talking.” Not wanting to continually be rude to my mother, I look for any exit from this phone call that wouldn’t just be a rude cut-off. “Well, I’ve got to finish up here, and I’ll be right over.”

With a loving tone, she sweetly says, “See you soon, sweetheart. I love you, and drive safe.” 

“Okay, love you too,” I reply before hanging up the phone and continuing with my subtle mental breakdown. Looking around, my mind wanders, beginning to wonder how I got here. My heartbeat quickens as my palms become sweaty, and a wave of anxiety washes over me. I’ve never really blacked out like this before, and ending up somewhere without knowing how I got here is a strange feeling.

I don’t think I’m taking this well.