The Cured by Deirdre Gould Page A

to shrug it off. He twisted until he was sitting. His hand damp plastic behind him and he realized where he was. A blanket slid from his chest and hit the plastic beside him with a soft crinkle. He tried to twist his knees underneath him so that he could stand, but a thick rope around his waist grew tight when he tried. He realized he was tied to the wall. Harnessed and leashed like a wild dog.
    The little room was warm and the dark pressed in like water. Henry wondered if he would suffocate. He began to struggle to at least sit up. The slick plastic made it hard to press himself up and he was out of breath and sweating by the end. He sat for a minute to rest. The sound of his breath washed against his ears, drowned out anything else. He strained to hear anything outside of the shed, but there was nothing. Not even wind rustling the great trees that surrounded him.
    He began to yell for Dave. The sound bounced around him and he wondered if it escaped the shed at all. He yelled louder. But no one came. He kicked out with his feet, searching for a wall. After a few tries he found it and banged his foot against it while he yelled. He had no shoes on and his feet became sore quickly so he stopped. He realized he was tired. And his thoughts were muddy. He tried to concentrate on getting out of the ropes, but his heart wasn’t in it. He gave up and tried to grab the fallen blanket with his teeth and then with his foot. He managed to snag a corner of it and worked it slowly back up his cold legs. Henry lay on his side, his arms prickling painfully as they lost feeling around the ties. Like an animal. He thought it over and over, like a skip in a record, each time making the groove deeper, more natural. He forgot to think about anything else. He felt warm water on his face but he wasn’t sure if it were the condensation from his breath on the plastic or if he were crying. He decided it didn’t much matter and fell asleep at last and dreamed he was in the lion’s pen at a circus his father had taken him to as a kid.
    A raw wind splashed over him. Henry squinted and slid backward as the light from the open door hit his face. “Henry? Are you awake?”
    Henry struggled to sit up. The door banged behind Dave as he squeezed into the shed. He put down the plate he was holding and helped Henry up.
    “What did you do?” Henry asked as he twisted his hands behind him, trying to wake them up and get the blood circulating again.
    “I had to,” said Dave, “I couldn’t let you just walk out into the woods to die.” He squatted next to Henry and pulled a piece of foil off the plate. “I’m sorry about tying you up, but I wasn’t sure how much time we had.” He fiddled with a fork while Henry glared at him. He held a piece of toasted waffle up to Henry’s face. “I’d untie you now, but your hands are in bad shape. Why do you keep biting them?”
    “What? I wasn’t biting them.” But the memory of the blood oozing out of his thumbnail came back to him. He shook his head. “I can’t stay here like this Dave. I can’t die like this.”
    “You aren’t going to die,” sighed Dave and waved the piece of waffle in front of Henry. Henry felt the back of his neck begin to heat and the skin of his face began to burn.
    Like a dog. Or an infant. He kept his thoughts to himself. “It’s not safe,” he said.
    Dave shoved the waffle into Henry’s mouth while he was talking. “It’s fine. We’ll be careful. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
    Henry turned his head and spat the dry piece of waffle out. “You aren’t listening to me Dave. It’s not safe. I’m not safe.” His voice rose as he spoke. Dave shook his head and poked another bit of waffle.
    “It’s not safe, Dave!” Henry yelled. Dave looked up, mildly alarmed. Henry shouted again. “It’s not safe. Not safe.”
    Dave backed up slightly, his rear brushing against the damp plastic wall. “Calm down Henry. It’s going to be fine.”
    “Not safe!”