Best of the Brine

Carceral

I loved my job. I loved the people I worked with everyday. The window above my desk always had sunlight and a great view of the gardens behind the building. It was a happy place to work, even if it wasn't perfect. Thursdays were cake day, where someone brought in baked goods every week for the office.

It all started on a Thursday.

Now when I think about pink and white frosted cupcakes, it is all I can do to not become violently ill. My life changed on a cake day when scarlet blood spattered onto the perfectly decorated pastries, making them a gory reminder of how living should never been taken for granted.

My first memory of that day was when Jenny bounced in, carrying her platter of community cupcakes. She told us it was a new recipe and that if we didn't like them she wouldn't be offended. I flashed her a reassuring smile and wished her a good morning. That was when I could still give reassurances. When I could still smile and mean it.

The rest of the morning wasn't very memorable until I looked down at the clock on my computer and saw that it was 11:15, time for a short coffee break. I stood, stretching my muscles and walked to the small kitchen, the smell of much needed caffeine driving me forward. It wasn't until I clinked the coffee pot back in place that I realized something wasn't right.

The phones, which usually rang off the hook, were silent. I stared down into the black liquid in my favorite cup. Small waves rippled across the surface, making me want to dive in, head first. Jenny rounded the corner quickly, her eyes bright and excited.

"There is something wrong with the Internet connection. Maybe they'll send us home if we can't get any work done!" She clapped her hands and giggled, taking a step back from the kitchen into the hall. "Have you tried a cupcake yet?" she asked

I eyed the treats on the counter. "No," I reached for one "but I think it's time to-"

A horrified scream that could have only belonged to Beatrice cut me off, but then abruptly ended after a few loud pops. Jenny's eyebrows knitted together in concern. My brain was too slow to process what the noises had been. If I had only reacted sooner, I think Jenny's brains might not have landed on the beautiful pink and white cupcakes. I could have pulled her into the protection of the kitchen. But instead, I was reaching for a cupcake, instead of my friend.



Jenny's face hit the counter, sending the cupcakes flying, before she collapsed to the floor in a heap. She was dead before I had a chance to develop tears. On trembling legs, I backed up to hide in the small space between the counter and bathroom. If I had been thinking correctly, I would have grabbed a knife, anything, to defend myself with. But I was afraid, and had just seen my friend murdered over baked goods. She lay there lifeless, no longer worried if we would like her new recipe.

A few more pops, which I then identified as gun shots, sounded over the chaos erupting throughout the office. High heels dashed past the kitchen, followed quickly by a crash and thud. I clamped my hands over my mouth, pushing down screams and sobs. Tears had started to flow down my face, dragging my perfectly placed makeup with them. I didn't know what was going on, or if the shooting would move closer to where I was. It continued for at least another minute until an uncomfortable silence fell upon the office. I could hear whimpers and coughing from everywhere. Suddenly, another shot rang out, but it was much closer to the kitchen. With as much force as I could, I pushed myself further into the crevice. I didn't care how dirty it was, or that Gordon had dumped old coffee there once and never cleaned it up. None of that mattered.

Footsteps. They were heavy and alarming. Immediately, my pulse sky-rocketed and my breathing became uncontrollable. Each moment, the shooter advanced towards me, doom looming. That was when I noticed the blood. It was pooling underneath Jenny's head and slowly expanding in my direction. Soon, it would be upon me. The thought of sitting in a puddle of Jenny's blood made me cringe. I was a shaking mess. When I heard the shooter pause outside of the kitchen and nudge Jenny's body, I experienced a moment of complete delusion. Maybe he would take pity on me and let me live. Perhaps he had his fill of killing for the day and would move on. If I could only make myself smaller, then he wouldn't notice me.

But that wasn't going to happen.

The edge of his shoe appeared in my blurry vision. Could I look at his face? Would I be brave? When I heard a distant resemblance of my voice begging for my life, I knew that bravery was out the picture. My face was covered by my hands, shaking with the fear that those were my last moments: wedged in a dirty corner between a counter and bathroom.

His voice was scratchy and without feeling. "Stand up or die."

Without hesitation, I shot to my feet as fast as I could. I had never followed an order so fast in my life.

"Now walk." He motioned with his gun to exit the kitchen area.

I had to step over Jenny, my shoes sticking in her blood that covered the entire surface of the linoleum.

"To the right, move faster." He ordered.

Everything in front of me shimmered. Bodies were strewn down the hall. A single black pump sat in the center of the floor. I wondered why he hadn't shot me yet. When I reached the supply closet, the man grabbed my elbow. He wrenched me towards the door, pain lanced through my arm.

The door flew open and he pushed me inside. I tumbled to the floor, skinning my knees on the carpet. As fast as I could, I flipped over to see what the man was going to do.

He raised his gun. I was paralyzed with the certainty that my death was imminent. That thought sent my mind reeling into places with dust and cobwebs. They were locked places that should never be entered, because they were dangerous and full of traps.

The loudness of the shots made my whole body jerk towards the floor. I waited for the pain, but it didn't come as I thought it would. Instead, hot pieces of shattered glass rained down on me and the room went dark.

The man's silhouette loomed over me, his shadow stretching into the closet like the monster from a nightmare. A monster that was real.

"Forget your name. You are hostage four now," he paused to cock his gun. "What did I just say?"

My voice shook, but I was sure he mistook it for fear. "I am hostage four."

"That's right," he stepped back into the hallway, grabbing the door with his hand. "If I don't get what I want, you'll be the fourth to die."

The door was shut. Darkness was the only thing I could see in my future.

But there was something else. Something the man didn't know about me.

I had loved where I worked, and I had loved cake day. Underneath those things was something I had not shown to another person in a very long time. So long, in fact, I had nearly forgotten it myself.

But there it was. Hostage number four would have her cake, and eat it too.