The Cage - Chapter Nine

Maria lay in bed, staring into the blackness. It was five o’clock in the morning, and she had been awake for nearly an hour, her mind filled with thoughts of her children. She hated herself for allowing such desperation to sneak into her life as it had, driving her to join this experiment. Maria wondered if she would ever see them again, or if she would ever see sunlight again. Anything but this cage would bring a smile to her lips. She closed her eyes and reached out her hand, almost feeling her daughters’ faces.

She stood up and stretched, walking out into the living quarters. Sitting on the couch was Alan, with his hands folded in front of him, eyes closed, elbows resting on his knees, and a Bible on his lap. Maria sat down next to him, and he looked at her and smiled.

“Who do you pray to, pastor?” she said.

“To God,” Alan replied.

“What do you say to him?”

“I ask him for peace, for joy in hard times. For the strength to get through this, and for a way out.”

“Does he grant those things?”

He smiled. “He grants me peace. For I know that, as hard as it may seem to accept and understand, he is in control of this situation, and he will see me, and us, through it. His plan is always being worked.”

“How do you know he’s there?”

“I feel his presence. He calms me when I am frustrated or afraid. I do not need to fear.”

“There is so much to fear in this place,” Maria said, shivering as chills ran down her spine. “We do not know if we will ever get out.”

“God’s plan may or may not include us getting out,” Alan said.

Maria raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you want to get out?”

“Oh I do. But if God is in control, then he knows what he’s doing more than I know what he’s doing. In the end, everything will be set right.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Though I don’t know why God would bring us down here to die. What kind of purpose is there in that?”

“Sometimes, the effect of someone’s life is not felt until after they’re gone. That’s when their real purpose is fulfilled. I trust that whatever plan there is for my life will be carried out perfectly, whether or not I’m here to witness it.”

“Well,” Maria said, “I want to be here to witness it.”

Alan smiled. “And maybe you will be.”

Later that morning, the eleven of them sat in the living quarters, eating their grits breakfast. A small white piece of paper floated down from the ceiling, landing on the floor.

“What in the world?” Harry said, lurching forward and grabbing the paper. He peered at it for a few seconds, his face contorting.

“What is it, Harry?” asked Alan.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. Harry sat back in his chair and started reading.

“So after all this time has past, I’m sure you long to flee at last, and soon the time will come to be, when once again you will be free. For there is something sharp and pointed, and for a task has been appointed, while often used to leave for dead, this one sleeps under pastor’s head.”

Harry stared at the paper. “What is this, amusing himself with riddles now?” he said angrily.

“Under my head?” Alan said. “Sleeping. My bed.”

They walked into the sleeping quarters, and Alan pushed his mattress off the box spring. Laying there was a long, razor sharp knife.

“What does the old goon want us to use this for?”

“You don’t think,” Harry said, picking up the knife, “that our only escape – our only way to be free, as the note said, is to use this to—”

“No Harry!” Sally blurted. “I don’t think he gave us the knife so we could slit our own throats.”

“Why else? There aren’t any notes attached to the blade telling us what to do with it.”

“Think rationally, Harry.”

“Rationally? How can any of us still have rationale available in our brains after we’ve been stuck down here for so long?”

“We need to keep our heads on straight so we can get out of here!”

“You think rationally. I’ll think realistically.”

“Wait,” said Maria. “Let me see the knife.”

She took the knife from Harry’s hand and stared at its blade. “There’s an inscription,” she said, and she started to read it.

“You found it here – I am impressed, I hope it did not cause distress, or give you all reason to fear, for you should know the end is near, for kneeling like a drunken fool, is hiding quite a useful tool, that loves to fall through strengthened glass, come through if you want to kick my, umm, butt.”

“Just playing mind games with us,” George said.

“Kneeling like a drunken fool,” Sally repeated. “Where does a drunken fool kneel?”

“In front of the toilet,” Jendy said.

Alan peered at her strangely. “Aren’t you underage?”

Jendy smiled. “Of course,” she said. “That’s just what, you know, people have told me.”

“Uh-huh,” Alan said. “But where would you hide something in front of the toilet? And which one? There are three.”

“Well let’s have a look,” Sally said. One by one, they walked into the three bathrooms, looking even into the toilet tanks, but not finding anything.

“The floors,” Harry said. “They’re tile.”

He took the knife back from Maria and started cutting through the grout between the tiles in the floor in the men’s bathroom. He slowly managed to flip over each of the tiles, but only discovered solid concrete. He walked into the women’s bathroom and flipped over each of the tiles again, but found nothing but more solid concrete.

In the main bathroom, he found more solid concrete under the first few tiles. Then he found something different. He found nothing.

“There’s a hole,” Harry announced from the bathroom to the people sitting out in the living area. “Only about ten inches wide. Goes straight down.”

“Is there anything in it?”

“I’m not sure, I can’t see anything, it’s too dark,” he said.

He lay on his side, reaching his arm down into the hole.

“Ouch!” he yelped, pulling his arm back up. He was now bleeding from the tip of his index finger.

“Well, something’s down there,” he said. He stuck his arm down the hole once more, being careful not to cut himself again.

“Here’s something, yes, there’s something down here,” he said. He started to pull, slowly standing up and revealing a sledgehammer.

“A sledgehammer?” Harry said, gazing awkwardly at the others.

“Why is there a sledgehammer in the floor?”

They all stood there, staring at it, silent and confused.

“Look at it,” Maria said. “This side is not a normal hammer. It’s a point, extremely sharp.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Good for breaking through strengthened glass, I’d bet!”

He ran out into the living quarters, to the window of the observation room.

“We’re coming Mr. Boss! Coming to teach you a thing or two!”

He swung the hammer back and forth several times, building momentum. With one swift stroke, he swung the hammer at the glass, nearly shattering the whole window. Harry dropped the hammer on the ground, grunted loudly and yelled, “come on guys! We’ve found our exit!”

He crawled through the open window, helping others to do the same. Harry then led the other ten through a long dark hallway, around corners, and up and down stairs. He stopped before a door, where light was peering through the cracks on all four sides. But it was no ordinary light. It was sunlight.

Harry turned around and smiled.

“And here comes the end of our experiment,” he said. “This time the rats have won. I will not miss the cage one bit,” he said. With that, he turned around and opened the door. The sunlight crashed into their eyes, and they stood there for several moments before venturing outside. Once their eyes could see again, they did not see what they expected.

There were cameras and people everywhere. Large television cameras and people holding smaller cameras. They were all pointed at the eleven of them as they walked out of the door. Off to the side sat Mr. Boss in his wheelchair, clasping his hands together and smiling widely. On either side of him stood an armed police officer. There were balloons everywhere; it looked to them like they had just entered a birthday party.

They looked around dumbfounded. In front of them was a large group of people standing behind a chain-link fence, cheering, clapping, and playing kazoos. In the middle of this area was a large table, with several small televisions and a large amount of food and drink sitting on it. There were twelve chairs placed around the table, with a space at one of the ends with no chair.

Eleven of the chairs were empty.

In the twelfth chair, living, breathing, smiling and waving, sat Seth.