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somedayonbroadway · 10 months

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Isolation

Jack Whump Board

TW: Severe Isolation, kidnapping

The first thing Jack could feel was a pounding in his head. He tried to sit up, tried to pull his knees up so he could curl up and settle the turning in his stomach. His knees hit the ceiling. Jack groaned a bit and reached up to try and figure out how to curl up when he felt his palm press flat against solid wood. Slowly, his eyes opened as his breath sped up. “What?” he whispered to himself, wiggling to try and find an opening, but beginning to hyperventilate at what he saw.

Nothing. He could see nothing. But he could feel the confinement he was in. Surrounding him were wooden walls, encasing his body like a coffin. It was nearly impossible for him to turn on his side, much less sit up.

In a panic, Jack began to punch at the ceiling. “Hello?!” he screamed. “Hey! Let me out of here! Somebody!” He heaved for air, trying to shove the top off of this box but it wouldn’t budge. He breathed hard. “Please! I’m in here! Let me out!”

Only silence met Jack. He gasped for air, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, only making his head hurt more. He couldn’t remember what happened last. He couldn’t remember being anywhere but home. He tried to feel around for a phone or anything that could help him, but found himself wearing only his boxers. He kicked at the ceiling. It hurt.

Jack was never good with isolation. He’d especially never been good with silence. Still, he tried to calm himself. He breathed hard, not knowing what was happening. He tried to remember, but it only hurt his head more. “Racer?” he called. “Crutchie?” Maybe it was some kind of nightmare. Jack tried to reach to his sides. He found that he could barely move his arms a few inches away from his body. It only made it harder to breathe.

He’d been home. He knew he’d been home. He remembered coming home from work and collapsing in bed beside his baby brother. Race had curled up at his side. He could remember mumbling to the boy to tell him that they were safe and together. Race had night terrors. Jack hoped he did too. That would make this make sense. He remembered wrapping his arms around his brother and warming him up to go back to sleep.

Wait. No.

That was last week.

Was it?

He remembered waking up the next morning. At least, he thought he did. Maybe that was yesterday. He’d taken Crutchie to physical therapy. Charlie was trying to get the feeling in his leg back. Jack was trying to be there to see him walk again.

No. That wasn’t yesterday either.

Everything was a blur. Jack shook his head, trying to get the proper memory to surface in his brain, but he couldn’t grasp anything solid. So he banged at the ceiling again. “Let me out of here!” he wailed. “Let me out!”

Still, he got no reply. So he kept screaming. He screamed till his hands were torn and his throat was raw. And by then, it was time for the poor boy to go back to sleep.

—

Jack tried to breathe steadily. He didn’t know how long he’d been in here. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d passed out. Still, he couldn’t stop the panic. He’d already released himself once, making the wood beneath him wet and the boxers he wore increasingly uncomfortable. He swallowed hard, trying to trick himself into believing he wasn’t at all thirsty. In reality, he knew he could drink half the ocean.

He tried to find a weak spot in his prison, feeling himself begin to panic even more when he still couldn’t find any way out. He whimpered, kicking at the top of it again. He sniffled as his tears stung. He let out a desperate scream, banging at the lid once again for only a mere moment before giving up. If no one was there to get him out before, he doubted anyone would get him out now.

Still, he had to try.

His lip quivered as his stomach growled. He clawed at his stomach, angry that his body was betraying him like this. He groaned and felt around again for some kind of crack, but it only got him a splinter in his palm. He gasped and immediately picked it out of his skin. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he told himself, closing his eyes and trying to force himself back to sleep where ignorance was blissful. “I’m okay… and when I wake up, I’ll be home…”

It was a lie.

And it would be every time.

—

There was no time here. Day and night were a fantasy here. Jack didn’t know if it had been days or months. It was hot now. He was sweating, dehydrated and trembling as his stomach pinched and curled over on itself. Jack wondered if he was dead and in hell somewhere being tortured for the rest of eternity. That’s what it had to be. Someone had killed him and now he was dead.

In his aching head, Jack went through his list of suspects. His neighbor who constantly banged on their door telling Jack to keep his little brothers quiet. Jack hated that woman. She could have poisoned him somehow and he’d died in his sleep. Maybe it was that awful barista across the street from his office that constantly got his order wrong for no apparent reason. Jack suspected he was jealous of him for being much prettier than he was. It could’ve been a rat in the walls of the apartment. Or even a feral cat. But Jack thought about his ex boyfriend. A man Jack had adored once, one that had ended up beating him senseless and walking out on him.

He’d threatened to kill Jack before. Maybe he’d finally come through on something.

The young man took in a deep breath and sighed, noting that he could still breathe. He wasn’t delirious. At least, he didn’t think so. It must be hell. It was the only explanation. He was awake in his dead body in his grave. That was what it was.

He thought about his brothers crying for him, his friends, his coworkers wondering how it all happened, wondering if Jack was looking down on them from heaven. He wished he were.

He was dead. He must be dead.

He was nearly convinced of the fact until he vaguely heard footsteps coming closer and closer. Jack held his breath to hear them better. Then he hit the top of his coffin. “Hello?!” he cried weakly. “I-is somebody there?! I’m in here!” he wailed, believing it to possibly be his hero. “I’m in here!”

He breathed harder, wondering how long it had been and waiting for the lid to open. It didn’t. He kicked at the ceiling again. “Let me out! I’m in here!”

A slot opened above Jack, small and right at his eye level. He squinted at the sudden light, breathing hard. He tried to see outside, but dark eyes looked down on him instead. He stared at them, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. Those eyes just stared at him. Those dull eyes that made Jack’s breath catch in his throat and his voice recoil. He waited as those eyes stared at him, unable to roll away or hide from them. He watched them, waiting for them to make a decision he wasn’t aware of.

Then the slot closed. Just like that. And Jack was once again in the dark. He gasped and snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in. “Wait… wait, let me out of here!” he tried to cry, but it came out like more of a question, unsure of who this person was.

Another slot opened, one right over Jack’s mouth, and some sort of substance was poured through it. It smelled like fruit. A smoothie of some kind. Jack flinched and coughed as some of it slid down his throat. He shivered as the rest covered his bare skin. Then that slot closed and Jack was alone again, alone and terrified.

—

Jack couldn’t remember when he’d taken up talking to himself. Sometimes in the time he’d been in here. He didn’t know. Time was relative here. He had no way of knowing how long it had been or keeping track of how many times that slot had been opened for those gray eyes to stare at him. He was simply just here.

And he wasn’t sure here even existed.

He laughed at something he’d said. He couldn’t remember what. “Silly…” he whispered. “Stupid, Kelly, you’re really fucking stupid,” he said to himself.

“No, I’m not,” he responded.

“Yes you are,” he laughed at himself, gripping at the hair on his head that was longer than it had ever been before. “You’re so stupid, and you’re never getting out of here.” And that was funny now. Everything was funny. Because nothing mattered anymore.

His nails were broken and bent from trying to claw his way out of this wooden box. He couldn’t remember trying to do that. Sometimes he was sure he’d suffocated and then he would wake up all over again, staring into the blackness above him. And that was funny. Death was a joke. A funny joke. Maybe it would come for him and maybe it wouldn’t. Death was his friend now. The abyss of sweet nothingness.

And then that slot opened again and he gasped for air like he hadn’t been breathing before as those gray eyes stared down at him again. Jack just laughed maniacally. Then he opened his mouth and waited for the slush to come. He looked forward to that frozen strawberry taste. It was all he looked forward to now. That and not waking up again.

Then the slots closed once again and Jack closed his eyes and let the new air lull him back to sleep.

—

Jack woke up laughing again, tears streaming down his face from a dream he couldn’t remember. His back hurt badly, sores and bruises littering it, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. His hands were raw again, like he’d been hitting the invisible ceiling again. He heard footsteps outside of his box and waited to see the only other eyes he would see for the rest of his life. The slot opened. But those gray eyes were nowhere in sight. Jack squinted at the light and whimpered a bit, hearing someone speak.

“Shit, there’s someone in here!” they called.

“I’m in here!”

Jack flinched at the voice in his head. “Hey… hey, what’s your name?” the stranger asked. Jack didn’t speak. “Hey, we’re gonna get you out of there, just hold on— I need something to open this thing with!”

Jack tilted his head, laughing quietly. This was a trick. The devil was playing a trick on him.

He heard a noise, something creaked and suddenly, his black ceiling began to turn brown in the light that made Jack’s eyes water. He brought his hands up to cover his face as he screamed. Someone cursed above him and said something about the smell that Jack didn’t know the difference of anymore. “Son, what’s your name? Do you know where you are?”

Jack screamed again, unable to unwrap his arms from in front of his eyes. But his sons came out in laughs as someone tried to help him sit up. His back screamed in pain as skin peeled from it and stuck to the bottom of the box. He gasped for air, beginning to hyperventilate, unsure of what was happening. “I found an ID!” someone yelled. “James,” they said. “James Francis Kelly… Jesus, this is the kid that went missing three years ago…”

That sounded familiar. Jack just kept laughing and crying. He couldn’t stop. He sounded mad. He sounded absolutely crazy. But he couldn’t stop. Not until he passed out completely.

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