Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,9

ahead of him down the hall, and I walk blindly ahead, unsure where we’re going, but knowing I don’t want to spend any more time with him than I have to.

“You didn’t say what your name was,” I say to the empty space in front of me.

“Who said you could speak?” His fingers prod my back, and I walk faster to stay out of his reach. “I’m Kane,” he says after a minute. “In here,” he says when we reach a heavy, metal door. He presses his fingertip to the sensor, and the door clicks open. Inside is a big gymnasium with ropes hanging from the ceiling, various weights, benches and barbells. And through the doors on the far end that connect to another room – I smell a pool – though I can’t see it yet.

“Over there.” He shoves me toward the weights.

I would gladly walk; I don’t know why he doesn’t just ask – probably an excuse to show off his control over me. I don’t like the thought of being alone with him.

He selects two twenty-pound dumbbells and sets them at my feet. “Start with curls – do as many as you can.”

I pick up the weights, which feel much heavier than twenty pounds. I was never strong to begin with, but the lack of food and proper rest certainly isn’t helping. I hold them at my sides and curl them up once, twice and by the third time, my arms are shaking. But Kane is waiting for me to fail, to give up, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I begin lifting one at a time, my entire body struggling with the effort. I make it to ten, and my arms are quivering. A drop of perspiration rolls down the back of my neck, and I set the weights calmly at my feet.

“This is boring – come with me.”

He stops in front of a rope suspended from the ceiling and motions for me to step forward. “Climb to the top.”

It’s at least thirty feet up. I grip the rope; it’s so thick my fingers can barely make it all the way around. I pull myself up and bring my feet up. I begin shimmying my way up the rope. Miraculously I’m doing it. My hands ache from my grip on the rope, and my muscles are tense, but slowly, slowly, I’m making my way up toward the ceiling. I can tell it’s not what he expected, and that pushes me forward.

When I reach the top, just to spite him, I stretch out and skim my fingers across the ceiling, then begin to slide down slowly so that I don’t get rope burn. Then I’m standing in front of him, out of breath, but proud of myself for the first time since I got here.

“Since you’re so good with ropes, let’s try something else.”

And suddenly I regret showing off, for climbing so high, for touching the ceiling. I follow him to the far corner of the room. He picks up a length of rope from a container in the corner. It’s about four feet long. He turns me around and takes my arms behind my back and begins tying the rope tightly around my wrists. Once he’s knotted the rope and tugged on it a few times to be sure it’s secure, he sets the timer on his watch. “Okay, get yourself free.”

I struggle with the ropes, thrashing my arms around, trying to pry my fingers underneath, but it’s no use. The look on Kane’s face is pure amusement. I swallow and calm myself. I stop thrashing long enough to think this through. My wrists are small, and that will work to my advantage.

I notice the rope seems to be tied in a figure eight, looping back around again, binding my wrists together. I pull until the left side is tight, causing the rope around my right hand to loosen just slightly. I pry my fingers under the rope to loosen it more, sliding my hand up. The rope around my left has gotten so tight, it’s cutting off my circulation, and my hand starts to go numb, but I don’t stop. After I get the rope over the biggest part of my fist, my right hand suddenly comes free, and then with a free hand, it’s easy to pull the rope off my left.

Kane’s grin fades when the rope drops to the ground behind me. “One minute thirty-four seconds,” he says, stopping the timer.