The Caged Smile — Part 4

The cold tore at her skin like shards of glass. She had no coat, no shoes, just her trembling limbs and the fire of survival burning in her chest. The snow devoured her steps as quickly as she made them, swallowing her footprints as if mocking her escape.

Every gust of wind screamed against her face. Her fingers numbed. Her lips cracked. But she kept going. She had to. She didn’t know where she was or what direction to take. There was only white. Endless, punishing white.

She fell once.

Twice.

The third time, she didn’t rise immediately. Her legs were too weak. Her body too tired. The numbness reached her spine, threatening to paralyze her into frozen surrender. She lay there, breath shallow, watching her own misted exhale curl into the air.

Is this it?

Then, a sound. Distant. Muffled by the snow.

A bell?

She strained to hear. Yes. A faint metallic clanging.

Church bells?

She rose to her knees, heart thudding. Somewhere, someone was alive. Somewhere there was warmth. She forced her legs to move. Step by agonizing step, she dragged herself toward the sound.

Back in the house, he stood in the empty room where she once sat, the collar lying open on the floor like a forgotten snake. He didn’t cry. Didn’t scream.

He simply knelt down and picked up the collar, running a finger along its inside edge.

She was gone.

He looked up at the cameras.

Each red light blinked quietly.

Then he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He turned them off.

Every. Single. One.

The silence afterward was terrifying.

He collapsed onto the floor, eyes wide, hands gripping the collar to his chest. The world no longer made sense.

She stumbled into a road.

Black asphalt.

Real.

Tangible.

She cried out, but her voice was hoarse. A soundless scream.

Then, headlights.

A truck swerved.

Stopped.

A man leapt out. Rushed to her. She didn’t hear his voice clearly—just the warmth of his jacket, the rough wool of a blanket wrapped around her. He called on a radio. He kept saying: "Stay awake. Stay with me."

She passed out in his arms.

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and warmth. When she woke, she was wrapped in thick blankets, IV lines in her arm, a heart monitor beeping softly.

For a moment, she panicked. Was this another trick? Another illusion?

Then a nurse entered. A kind face. A real one. She smiled.

"You’re safe now."

Those words broke her.

She cried like she never had before.

The police came.

They questioned her gently.

She told them everything. Not all at once. But piece by piece. The chain. The room. The beatings. The snow.

They found the house.

But not him.

It was empty. The cameras had been destroyed. The photo album gone. Only the collar remained, left carefully in the center of the bed.

Months passed.

She returned home, but nothing felt the same. Her friends didn’t know what to say. Her parents tried. But there was a void between them now. Something broken.

She kept waking up in cold sweats, hearing the chain drag against the floor. She still saw him in her mind’s eye, his tears, his twisted smile.

He had become part of her.

A ghost with skin.

One day, she received a letter.

No name.

No return address.

Just one sentence on a single piece of paper:

"I still hear your smile."

Her hands trembled.

She tore the paper up.

Burned it.

But the words had already etched themselves into her memory.

The ghost was still watching.

End of Part 4.