I am not sure how many hours or days go by before I hear someone else unlocking the basement door, then flipping on the light. I have to blink a few times to adjust my eyes. I see a pair of Timberland clad feet, followed by long, muscular legs coming down the stairs. He’s in a pair of Duke Basketball shorts and has on a white wife beater. Like everyone else, his face is masked. He’s carrying a tray of food. I’m not sure what is on the tray, but whatever it is, it smells good. Like curry. My stomach growls as he gets closer to me and the aroma assaults my nose. I am weak to the point that I actually feel sick.
He sets the food on the pool table, then grabs a wooden dinner tray and sets it up in front of me. He removes the tape from my mouth. There’s something about him that’s different from the others. He seems calmer. And hopefully, he has a heart.
“Listen, I brought you something to eat and drink. You hungry?” I nod. Attempt to speak, but the back of my throat feels like it has been swallowing sandpaper. He grabs the drink from off the tray, then kneels down in front of me. “Here, drink.” He holds the straw up to my lips. I take long, deep sips, allowing the cold, sweet elixir to soothe and moisten my throat. It’s an Arnold Palmer—a mixture of sweet tea and lemonade, one of my favorite drinks.
“Thank you,” I am finally able to say in a whisper.
“I hope you like curried chicken and rice and peas,” he says, scooping up a forkful, then bringing it up to my lips. My mouth waters. Again, I nod. I open my mouth and let him feed me. I stare at him; try to see his eyes, but he won’t make eye contact with me. He shifts them, almost nervously. Maybe he has a conscience, I think. There is something strangely familiar about him.
I chew, then swallow. “Please,” I beg in a whisper, “let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I just want to go home.” I feel myself starting to get choked up. Tears well up in my eyes. “Please…”
“Listen, that’s not gonna happen,” he tells me, dashing any hopes that he might have an ounce of empathy for me, maybe even become an ally. “But if you wanna get outta here alive, then you gotta do what they tell you, understand me?” I nod. A single tear rolls down my cheek, then another.
“Don’t let them do this to me.”
He shifts his eyes again. “No one wants to hurt you,” he offers.
“Then what do they want with me? To rape me? Fuck me all night, what?”
He hangs his head. “To teach you a lesson.”
“A lesson? What kind of lesson can I learn from being tied up like some dog?” He lowers his voice, glances over his shoulder to make sure no one’s around. “Look, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, ma. This shit’s almost over. All you gotta do is handle ya business and it’s gonna be over. We gonna let you go as long as you do what you’re told, feel me?”
I nod. “Why you telling me all this?”
He stares at me. “I have my reasons,” he tells me. “Eat it up.” He scoops up another forkful of food, then shovels it into my mouth. He alternates between feeding me and giving me sips of my drink. Although he isn’t willing to help me get out of here or to give me any more information, I appreciate him not manhandling me like the others. I appreciate him saying as much as he has.
When I am finished eating, he tells me that he is going to untie me and let me use the bathroom, take a shower, then put on clean clothes. My mind immediately begins to race, plotting my escape. But, again, my hopes are quickly shot to pieces when he tells me that the bathroom door will be open. That there are no windows in the bathroom, or exit doors with the exception of the one that is chained up so if I have any ideas of trying to escape to forget it. He tells me that there are other niggas upstairs so it wouldn’t be in my best interest to try, or do, anything slick.
“I’m your safest bet,” he adds, standing up and removing the tray table from in front of me. “But I’m warning you. Don’t take my kindness for weakness. We understand each other?”
I nod. “Do I have to suck your dick, too?” I ask.
He shakes his head, walking toward the steps. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll be back to help you get cleaned up.” The way he walks, his body build, is familiar to me. I stare at him. I know this man…I know this man, I think, watching him climb the stairs and disappear behind the door—to freedom, but where?