My name is… Doll. No, that's not right. My name is… something with an "r". I know it starts with R. Riley? No. Rebecca? No. Think! Think! It starts with R. Ruth! Yes, I think that's it.
"Such a pretty flower." A voice appears in my head, it's deep like a man's. Why is he talking about flowers? I like flowers, especially Roses. Hmm… that would be a pretty name. Rose.
Okay, my name is Do- Ruth. I am in a basement and the floor is hard. My arms hurt. Why can't I move them? Why am I always in this position in the basement? I want to go upstairs. Why can't I go upstairs? Think, Ruth. I am down here because it's nighttime and this is where I sleep? No, that's can't be right. I don't always sleep when I'm down here. I don't like to sleep when I'm down here.
Why am I not allowed to go upstairs? The man who visits me every night goes upstairs whenever he wants. He likes to play with me and call me Doll. He's mean, why does he get to go upstairs?
New question: who is the man? Why does he come to see me?
Think, Ruth!
The man is… the man… he likes to call me Doll because he says I'm a fragile thing that he wants to take care of, but he hurts me a lot.
Why does he hurt me? What did I do to him? Remember. I need to remember.
"Does he know?" Another deep voice pops into my head, different from the one earlier. Does who know? What does the person know?
Why can't I remember?! I need to remember. He needs to help me.
Wait, who is he? I know him. He called me a pretty flower. Why would he call me that? Focus, who is he?
Images flash through my mind, all of them are too brief to catch a glimpse of anything important.
Okay, think. Back to thinking. My name is Ruth and I'm in a basement. There is a man who visits me every night who calls me Doll. I don't like him; he hurts me. There is another man, one I faintly remember, who called me a pretty flower. He's in my dreams when I can sleep. Okay, good, Ruth. Why are you in the basement?
The bad man put me down here. He said that I had to be punished because someone did something bad and they had to pay for it.
A smile breaks out on my face. I remember! I remember! Okay, okay. Keep going. Keep thinking.
Who has to be punished? What did they do?
Another image flashes in my mind. A man is holding my hand. Why is he holding my hand? I don't have a brother. I don't have a best friend. Do I have a boyfriend? No. I- I don't know anyone in college. Why would he be holding my hand?
"Such a pretty flower." The voice echoes in my mind again. Why does he keep talking about a flower?
Focus. Focus. Who needs to be punished?
The rattling of the door pulls me out of my thoughts, not that there was much thought to begin with. The man, the bad man, comes in. He's the only one who visits me. Is he the only one here?
"Hello, Doll. I see you look well today."
He always says the same thing every day. It's the only routine that I have, everything else is just an unpredictable blur that I can't remember.
"What day is it?"
I know I shouldn't ask, but I need to know. I need to have one question answered to ease my mind's struggles against the million other ones bouncing around.
"Tuesday. No. No. That doesn't sound right. Maybe it's Friday. But what if today is Wednesday? It might be Wednesday. What do you think?"
My mind reels with the new information. It has to be a weekday, he never mentioned a weekend. But what if he did that to throw me off and make me think it's a weekday when it is really a weekend?
"Come on, Doll. Does it really matter what day it is? Do you know what time it is? Do you remember why you are here? The last time you ate something? How long you have been here?"
His questions hurt my head. I don't have any of those answers. I know I should remember them, but it's as if there is a barricade in my mind that is preventing me from accessing any of the important information.
He steps closer to me and I cower as far into the pole as possible, the cold seeps through the thin material of the clothing the bad man changed me into. I really want to take a shower or lay in my small bed. I am always so cold and tired.
When was the last time I showered? Had a proper night of sleep? How long have I been here?
"We are going to do something different today. You must be tired of being around the same pole all the time, yeah?"
My heart starts to race. No, I don't want to leave this pole if I can't take a shower or sleep in my own bed. This is all I know. Besides, the pain in my arms has long since numbed and my body no longer aches in hunger and sitting in the same position for days, weeks, possibly months.
I feel his body heat radiating into my own as he unties my arms. They fall limply at my sides. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he picks me up and places me on my feet. I wobble and fall; they are no longer used to holding my weight. Small needles prick into my legs from the movement.
He laughs at my pathetic situation. It angers me, but I'm glad. I now know that I have been here for more than a couple of days. Maybe a week. Or two.
He walks away from me then. I listen as the creak sounds through the room. I know the door is shut.
Why would he untie me?
Taking the blindfold off, I look around. I am in a basement. There are no windows to give me a clue of what time it is. I listen for sounds, but everything is quiet. Is it nighttime?
Using the pole as support, I try to help myself stand up. I need to get out of here. I don't know where I am or who is here, but I know I am not safe. He doesn't make me feel safe every time he visits me or plays with me.
I slowly walk around the box, my hands leaning against the wall to take some of my weight. My mind starts to wander back. Why am I here? Who needs to be punished? And, why would they take me if I didn't do anything wrong?
The image of the man holding my hand comes back to mind. Is he the reason I'm here? What did he do? Why would they hurt me to get back at him?
None of this makes any sense. Maybe I was right in assuming that I was his girlfriend, but then new questions arise. Where did I meet him? What is his name? Does he go to college with me?
Stumbling, I turn my attention away. I need to focus. Forget the unanswerable questions. Once we escape, I can find the solutions.
The box is empty. There is nothing in the room aside from the pole and a plate.
When did I eat? What did I eat? I don't remember a plate being here.
Stop. Focus.
I need to escape. But how do I escape when I don't know anything? Searching through my older, non-related thoughts, "Taken" appears in my mind. Of course! He counted how many guys he was against and he would probably analyze their routine to find any gaps where he could escape.
How many guys are here though? I have only met one man. I don't know if there are any more.
There has to be more. If I am here because they took me, this is not a one-man operation. They either took me from college or my apartment. In both cases, I would have been alone, but I would have put up a fight. Two or three men must be in the building. I don't think there are guards. I don't remember hearing anyone and I was tied to a pole anyways. How would I break loose?
Now that I am free, maybe there are guards. I could find the door and try to leave. That's too obvious though. There has to be another way out. … Except if you're in a basement, which I am. There is only one way out. Okay. Good. Keep going.
If there is only one way out and I am untied, there are guards. Maybe they would put only one guard. Maybe the bad man watches me.
He can't watch us all the time.
Of course. Someone has to relieve him. Maybe there is a small window where I can get out.
The door opens again and the bad man walks in. Something scrapes the floor behind him and I lose all hope of getting out of here. Where is here again?