Outside the
wardrobe, Graham heard Peggy Lee and Ian moving around the room. After a few minutes, they left, closing the
door quietly behind them. Crammed in the
closet, Graham could hear nothing but the sound of his own intensely labored
breathing. Sweat dripped down his brow
and into his eyes. Inside the dusty hood,
the air became nearly unbreathable. His
arms ached, and his stomach throbbed from where Ian had kicked him. He wanted to scream, but his tongue’s effort
against the ball in his mouth made him gag.
He was afraid he’d throw up. He
thought he might choke. He struggled
against the straps that bound his wrists, but he could not free himself. He recalled the terror in Ginger’s eyes back
in the silo – those many years ago – as she yowled against the violent storm of
corn. He wondered if his eyes now looked
like hers did then. He wanted, he needed
to touch his scar, to try to calm himself down, but he couldn’t.
Graham tried to
stand up, but the wardrobe was too short.
He hit the top of his head and then fell forward. He could squat, but that was no help. He tried to push the wardrobe doors open with
his knees, but he could not get any leverage.
The wardrobe seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. Graham felt his breathing quicken. He knew that he had to calm down, but the
sides of the closet were closing in on him.
Now the air in the hood turned to thick gravy. Each breath filled his lungs with dirt and
grit. Each breath became faster, shorter,
harder.
Graham flipped himself
onto his back with his feet in the air.
His arms were pinned painfully underneath him. He tried to calm himself down. The image of Peggy Lee’s face came into his
head. She was so beautiful. How could she have done this to him? She had seemed so genuine, so caring and
kind. The thought of her crying in the
hover transport vehicle made his stomach drop.
Was it just an act? He felt sick
with shame, and then the anger took back over.
He had to do
something to get out of there. With his
feet, he kicked the side of the wardrobe as hard as he could. The banging was deafening inside of the
wardrobe. He knew that trying to signal
someone was a long shot. The soldiers’
quarters were far away, as was the rec room.
Perhaps some of the guys had lingered in the dining hall and could hear
him, but he doubted it. After a few
minutes of continuous kicking, he stopped.
He was exhausting himself, and no one was coming.
Graham began to pass
in and out of consciousness. In his
haze, he remembered a story about a woman who had been caught cheating on her
husband. The husband happened to be one
of the most powerful traders in ancient Rome. He had loved his wife with all of his
heart. In his anguish over discovering
her infidelity, he ordered that she be buried alive. The execution, however, was designed to send
a message to all of the other wives in the area. The trader commanded the gravediggers to
install an air tube from the grave to the ground above. They forced the woman into a coffin-like box,
and then the lid was nailed shut. The
gravediggers attached a ceramic tube to the box and lowered her into the
ground. After the gravediggers filled in
the hole, the end of the tube stuck up from the ground about six inches. The woman survived for days and days. She was slowly dying of thirst and of
hunger. Ghastly, animalistic screams
rang out from the tube all day and all night long. The husband stayed by her graveside listening
and lamenting. Sometimes, he would pace
back and forth on the soil above his wife’s dwindling body and suffering
soul. When finally the tortuous whimpers
had ended, the husband drank a solution of hemlock and died a few moments
later, with his hand next to the silent ceramic pipe.
Graham awoke with
a start. He could feel the heavy dirt above,
the sides of the coffin pressing in against his arms. He could hear the hopeless screams echoing
inside the tiny box, the stifling air filled death and unbridled fear. He twisted and struggled on the floor of the
wardrobe. The gag pressed down into his
throat and the thick hood seemed to tighten around his head. His heart was about to explode. He tried to pull his hands free, but it was
no use. He needed to get some air. He had to get out of there.
And then he heard
a sound. It was faint at first, far
away, but he had definitely heard something.
He listened intently, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his
ears. And then he heard it again. It was Charley: “Graham?
Hey, Graham? Are you still around
here?”
Graham started banging
the side of the wardrobe again with his feet.
After about thirty seconds, he stopped and listened.
“Graham? Is that you?”
Charley’s voice was coming from the hallway. He was nearby.
Graham banged
once.
“Why don’t you say
something?”
With all his might,
Graham kicked and kicked, shaking the wardrobe violently.
“Okay, okay, are
you in Peggy Lee’s room?”
One bang.
Graham heard Charlie
trying the door and then a loud crash as he knocked it down. “Where are you?” he asked as he flipped the
light switch.
Graham banged on the
cabinet one last time. He listened as Charley
untied the ropes. It seemed to take
forever. His body was shaking. His arms involuntarily pulled against the constraints,
tearing away the skin on his wrists.
The doors swung
open. Charlie pulled Graham out of the
wardrobe, loosened the ties of the hood, and yanked it off.