bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter nine, part one. 💚

For what seemed like a few days (time was hard to track with certainty), Case remained alone in the basement. The adrenaline rush of fear-and-panic began to wane, leaving him restless and bored. By nature, Case had a constant need for stimulation—partying, talking, skating, dancing, drinking, laughing, flirting. He thrived on human energy, communication, touch, friendship, love. Case wasn't designed to be isolated in an empty room. Then again, was anyone?

He tried to keep busy, distract himself as best he could. He searched the basement again, this time with a clearer head and sharper eyes. Maybe he'd overlooked some way to escape?

The only new discovery was a baby-pink foam yoga mat, rolled up and tucked behind the pipes under the stairs. When Case unfurled the mat, he uncovered a bunch of printed-out exercise sheets, the pictures all of women, the workouts all focusing on hourglass figures, tiny waists, and toned butts.

Am I meant to do these? Case wondered; a second later, he realized that the creases in the paper and the imprints in the mat meant that they had been used by someone before him. The thought of the someone (or someones) who Sir had taken before him made Case's brain go blank. It wasn't a conscious effort; more like the instinctive survival mechanism of a squid spraying black ink. Yes, that was it: a veil of black ink, shielding Case from them. He wasn't going to think about who they were, or what happened to them, or why they weren't here now. Not if he wanted to keep believing he was okay and he was going to survive.

He rummaged through the rest of the supplies tub, half-hoping to find a game or iPod or handball or something to help kill the time and boredom. Instead, he found basic hygiene products: toilet paper, shampoo, toothpaste—good, he'd probably need more of that. Deodorant, a roll-on stick instead of an aerosol can (less toxic, maybe?). An unopened 3-pack of antiseptic soap bars; an orange label that read Reinvigorate. Case didn't think reinvigoration had a defining scent, but whatever it was reminded him of the slushees he liked to drink on hot summer days. He liked to mix Lemon Lime with Mango or Tropical, something zesty and fresh. Case cupped the soap bar to his face and inhaled; his mouth watered and he had the vivid, soothing sensation of swallowing crushed ice. A week ago, he'd been skating alongside Jay and Miles on their bikes, a slushee cup in hand, warm air through his hair and sweat on the nape of his neck. He'd had to squint against the orange glow of sunset, but he was at ease rolling down the empty bitumen road as he laughed with his friends. Case decided he liked Reinvigorate better than eucalyptus, so he kept a bar aside.

He found a used hairbrush with long, golden strands of hair still tangled between the teeth. Black ink, blank brain. He buried the brush at the bottom of the tub, bristle side down.

He meandered around the basement until his legs ached from the concrete, and he'd absorbed every irrelevant detail of his environment. The walls were smoothed in plaster, but there were patches of exposed brick like salmon-colored continents in a gray ocean. Several large, solid wood beams ran across the ceiling. Wispy cobwebs hung in some of the corners, but there were no spiders and the silk had turned brown with age.

How am I going to get out of here?

Twenty-five by thirty-five. Heel-to-toe. That's how many steps it took from one side of the basement to the other. Twenty-five steps from the shower to the bed. Thirty-five steps from the bed to the stairs. Case wondered how much that was in square feet. He'd never been too good at math.

Not like school matters now, said the voice, since everyone thinks you're dead.

"Shhh . . ." Case hissed back, pacing. He had to keep moving. Had to keep trying to find a way to escape. He rummaged through the supplies tub again, even though he knew everything that was inside. He could make a shiv out of the toothbrush. Snap off the head, sharpen the plastic into a sharp tip by grinding it into the concrete floor or walls. He could catch Sir off-guard again, like he did with the toilet lid only this time he could stab-stab-stab into his neck-spine-eyes. A good idea, except it didn't solve the problem with the two locked doors.

Case tossed the still-intact toothbrush back into the tub, accepting defeat—for the moment. He curled onto the bare mattress with a sigh. "If I can't escape," he muttered aloud, "then I'll have to wait for rescue."

* * *

Case's parents weren't high school sweethearts, but they had gotten pregnant and married young. The first to arrive was Case's older brother Alex, shortly followed by their sister Bianca. Irish Twins. For five years, the Kellerman's were an ideal family of four, an era that was immortalized in photos that adorned their home even now. In the living room, hanging next to the wedding photos was a picture staged like a 1950's family out on a picnic in the park, their mother in a gingham print dress that matched the red-and-white picnic rug the young family were sprawled across. The novelty or interest in these family photos must have worn off by the time Case was born.

Growing up, Case never really got to experience being the baby of the family. Not when he was still a toddler when his sister Delaney was born. His early childhood memories consisted of his parents doting on her every whim (if both kids got a treat, it was the candy Delaney wanted; if she played with his bike, he was reminded to share—but when she cried about him touching her toys, he was reminded to respect other peoples' things); Alex would show off his baby sister whenever his friends came around, and Bianca was known to play Mommy and push Delaney around in a dolly stroller. Delaney definitely had a good run before their brother Ethan came around five years later.

Now, Ethan was 12 and still the baby (or spoiled brat) of the family. Delaney, the dethroned baby, still youngest girl—and that's all that mattered to their parents. Bianca and Alex, the golden first borns who were both now out of home and living their lives in college. So what was Case? The middle middle child. Until he met Hannah, and he became the one with a girlfriend.

When Case and Hannah told their friends they were dating, there was an eruption of cheers, as if they were all celebrating some momentous occasion. An engagement or winning the lottery. Their collective excitement tempered Case's initial nerves, enough for him to understand the value of being a couple. Suddenly, finally, he was seen (even if it was as a collective). Suddenly, everyone was talking about Case and Hannah. His friends, her friends, people who weren't friends but got some kind of periphery enjoyment out of their relationship, all wanted to know: Have you kissed? Have you said the L word? Do your parents know? Do they let you have sleepovers?

And when he did tell his parents, finally he had their interest. Now, they were fawning over him and his girlfriend: Isn't she lovely? So cute, so sweet. Very smart, such a good girl. Aren't you lucky to have her? Sure, they'd done this dance twice already with Alex and Bianca, but not until both were halfway through their senior years and had already learned the big life lessons on their own. Now, Case's parents got to truly indulge in sharing their sage advice: Don't rush. Don't make her uncomfortable. Anything other than yes means no. Let her choose the pace—she'll know when you're ready. And don't get her pregnant.

Finally, Case had an identity in his family. Something that set him apart from his siblings. Even if it was by association with someone else, Case didn't care. He was so happy to be noticed that it never occurred to him that his parents were more concerned about her consent than his.