The Way Out

“No matter how hard you try, it won't get you anywhere. Give up. There's no point in continuing, you know that.”

I could hear his mocking, distorted voice coming from the television, between my angry shouts and the pounding of my heart drumming heavily in my ears, so loud it felt like it could burst my eardrums from the inside.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much my voice broke, no matter how much my sanity evaporated in the burning embers of anger, I couldn't silence that rage. I couldn't smother that fire.

“You have a good physique – athletic, well-built muscles, I'll grant you that – but it won't do you any good in this situation. You can't escape. You won't break free. You can't even move the chair – it's bolted to the floor. You're condemned to wait. But won't your patience run out before then?” His laugh filled my head, evil, louder than my heartbeats, as sharp as the sharpest needles.

I gritted my teeth. His words struck straight into a place that hurt deep inside my chest. My heart was in agony, trying to keep up by pumping blood though my veins at full speed, burning them, bursting the vessels in my eyes to dye the corners red, adrenaline flowing without end. The pressure of the ropes on my arms scarred them, but it couldn’t last long, returning to their previous state again and again – without pain, yet with the temporary scars as witnesses to my rage.

But the pain inflicted by his words was the last drop my heart could endure. The pump faltered under the brain’s command, and the blood was forced to give up its race, slowing as it was driven aside.

My breathing slowly staggered and ragged as it worked to recover a slower, calmer heartbeat, allowing my body to relax and my grip on the armrests to loosen.

One.

Two.

Three.

I counted slowly, again and again, closing my eyes until everything inside me calmed down, until every outward sign of my rage disappeared, leaving no evidence of what had just happened.

“He’s right… I can’t do anything… screaming at a TV… trying to break something that won’t move or break… What dumb ideas do you still have in stock, Ryota? It doesn’t work, you see?”

I looked down at my shoes, feeling his gaze on me. He was watching carefully, without a word, as I humiliated myself.

“He knows he has the upper hand now… that I’m inferior. Everything… everything I could try to do… to ridicule myself even more… would only make him laugh at my weakness.”

I shouldn’t cry. I wasn’t this weak. So I swallowed back those awful salty beads in my eyes, letting the two that had formed in the corners dry and disappear in their turn.

“My tears will be only for Atsuko. Only for her… but not tears of sadness. They will be tears of joy when everything is over. I promise.”

I bit my lip to keep my mind sharp, but it bled as my canines pierced through the skin. Blood seeped out carefully, then immediately turned back, returning to where it came from, only to reappear seconds later when my lip was pierced again. This continued for long minutes during which, my eyes fixed on the ground, nothing happened. Nothing was said.

I waited.

Finally, I dared to break the silence without moving an inch, without lifting my eyes from the abyssal gray before me – far from being as captivating as Atsuko's eyes.

“How long… how long am I going to have to wait like this...? Will I at least be fed… or do you intend to let me waste away and starve to death…? And… how am I supposed to pee…?” I tried to sound confident, but my intonation, hesitation, and gravelly voice – ravaged by rage – betrayed me.

“Do I look like I care? Do you think I'm a maid or something? I won’t serve you. Shit yourself or piss your clothes if you want. You’ll wait, that’s all. It’s not time to eat either. You’ll wait. Everything will come when it’s intended to. You’ll wait. Wait!” He answered dryly, pissing me off and cutting off any desire I had to speak to him again.

I heard movement from the television. I glanced up and saw Leo leaning back in his armchair, pulling out a book that had been under him, and beginning to read attentively, without the slightest concern for my situation.

“So it’s like this, huh.”

Seeing him enjoy his relaxation while I drowned in despair infuriated me.

I glanced around, searching for anything useful, but there was nothing.

Then something unsettling burst into my mind.

“My backpack…”

I swallowed, my throat painfully dry, cleared it, and spoke with renewed resolve.

“Leo. The backpack. Where is it?”

I stared at the television as he glanced over his book and met my eyes. He smiled faintly and leaned forward.

“The backpack? Oh. I threw it somewhere in one of the rooms, but it's such a fucking maze here that I don't even know where I put it. Anyway, it doesn't matter. It's not like you’ll be getting it back anytime soon. Apart from a toy, some unimportant papers, and a few useless bits, there was nothing interesting inside. Of course, I took back all the documents you stole from me.”

“Well… it’s not like I was expecting a useful answer… At least he took the nose out of that book”

I looked around again, my only occupation, hoping for a brilliant idea to spark – but none came, no matter how carefully I examined every molecule of this room.

“Ahhhh… what should I do to her…? Hmm… making her suffer will be so much fun. But how? This should feel like a grand finale – with Ryota's death as the final touch.” He murmured, ardently stroking his chin, deliberately ensuring I heard every word.

My anger stirred again, my teeth grinding slightly, but I refused to let it consume me like before. I stayed still. I showed nothing.

“That’s what he wants. I won’t give it to him.”

I breathed slowly, steadying myself.

“What can I do? Even this stupid doll isn’t here. She stopped talking to me, even though she could have helped me – especially since there are things she understands better than humans. We could have avoided so many complications.” I whispered, irritated.

“You said something?” He raised an eyebrow. “Nevermind. I'm going to take a piss and do a few things. Be good until I get back. By the way, the alarm will go off at the slightest suspicious move. And trust me, you'll be in deep trouble. But hey, it's not like that's going to happen.” He laughed loudly, the sound saturating the room.

He stood up, and the television went dark, plunging the room into silence, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

“This… this could be my chance, right? Quick! Isn’t there really nothing I can do? I won’t get another opportunity! I need to find something!”

I stared at my arms and legs, still tightly bound, the ropes refusing to loosen even slightly. I shifted as much as I could, twisting my limbs in every possible way despite the chair’s restraints, trying to loosen my bonds.

I stopped. Useless efforts would get me nowhere. I stared at my wrists again.

“What if I break them to free myself? Wouldn’t that work? Breaking my joints would make my hands limp, letting them slip out the ropes… Everything would be fine. Everything would fix itself afterward. I’d recover.”

The thought made me smile. For the first time, I had an option.

Then I hesitated.

The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“But… even if I don’t feel the pain… doing this while seeing myself, pathetic as I am, in the mirror… I don't know what it would do to my mind. Even with my eyes closed, I'd imagine it. I’m not insensitive to everything.”

The mirror. I couldn’t count how many times I’d met my reflection here. I’d avoided every reflective surface I could before, but now there was no escape. It stood right in front of me.

My gaze fell again on my reflection – more precisely, on something resting behind my shoulder on the back of the chair. I couldn't make out what it was, no matter how I squinted.

I turned my head as far as I could. Nothing.

I looked again in the mirror. It was there.

Again – nothing.

Again – the mirror showed it.

“It’s only in the mirror…? Am I hallucinating?”

I rubbed my eyes against my shoulders, the only places I could reach.

My vision cleared – maybe there was dust in my eyes. I couldn’t know, and all of it seemed far too strange for me to start debating dust and probabilities. Supernatural things had happened to me before – this wasn’t new – but this… this was different.

“My backpack? Why is it here? Why only in the mirror…?”

The backpack leaned forward in the reflection, pressing against my shoulder, but the strangest thing was that I could feel the pressure even though it wasn’t physically there with me.

I moved my head slightly to the side, staring at my reflection to see it move with my small push. I could feel it here too.

A chill ran down my spine, a cold chill.

But I didn’t have time to process everything. A small porcelain hand appeared from one of the holes where the bag was damaged – not from the large pocket that was properly closed by the zipper.

It firmly grabbed my hair in the mirror, and, no longer without surprise, I felt the tight grip of that small hand in my hair here too, followed by it shaking my head as hard as it could, shaking it here as well. Everything was strange.

“Throw… mirror… break…”

A muffled voice could be heard coming from the mirror – faint, but I could make out every word.

“Hold my hair very tightly, I'll let you handle the rest!” I shouted as hard as I could.

I felt the grip tighten on my hair and, without hesitation, I tilted my head back, feeling the weight of the backpack pulling on my neck and my hair, almost tearing it out.

I didn’t lose a second. Despite having no explanation of what was happening, I acted purely on instinct, my gut trusting what I saw.

With all my strength, I smashed my head forward, the backpack flying over it, the hand still firmly attached to my hair. It followed the trajectory of my movement, but when the force became strong enough to send it toward the mirror, the hand let go.

The backpack went straight from inside the mirror into the mirror itself, shattering it the instant they made contact.

Yet it was far from over. A second later, it was as if the backpack passed through the mirror and entered the room, flying straight into my face and hitting it hard before falling onto my thighs.

I shook my head to regain my composure, and – as if it would have been too good for it not to – the alarm went off.

A dark red light bathed the room, giving me a headache. Something about it felt wrong.

Then trapdoors opened in the walls, and a strange gas began to spread throughout the room. When it reached my nostrils, I began to laugh, the laughter growing stronger with each passing second.

“Laughing gas? What kind of trap is that?”

The zipper opened, and from the backpack the doll pulled out its head and one hand, holding a knife.

“You… can… move…?” I tried to say, interrupted by bursts of laughter.

“Don’t worry about it for now. We have to go.”

With the knife and its small hand, the doll cut the ropes holding my arms, allowing me to untie my legs as well. I was free.

I put the backpack on and, weakly, made my way to the door.

I turned the handle. Click – it opened.

“How? Wasn’t it locked?”

“I’ll explain later. Hurry!” The doll shouted.

I slammed the door open and stepped into a large, white, brightly lit corridor, then shut the door behind me, escaping the gas.

The laughter ceased.

The alarm, however, continued to rang.

I was safe – at least for the moment.