Caught in the Web

Rough Outline

Includes some comments from Josh in (CAPS)

The rough pavement dragged on her toes as she shambled along. Even in her anger that had pushed away her betrothed and made her feel taller, she now felt pushed down into the earth by the disappointment of her father and the look of rejection in Paco’s eyes. Was he still betrothed? Wasn’t he husband? But she had run from the altar even before the kiss, and with her blurred sight, tears running back towards her ears as she sped away on the moped, she traveled alleys unknown.  

Damn that dress!  You can’t ride a moped in a wedding dress with a full cathedral train. (SHE NEEDS TO STRUGGLE WITH BUNDLING IT UP AND TRYING TO SIT ON IT.) It billowed out behind her as she sped along, but in slowing for the corners the train floated to the side and caught under the back tire. The back skidded to the right, the front wheel turned abruptly to the left, and down Cecilia went scraping her left elbow into the road, and sliding her hip along with the skid of the moped until they hit the curb.

There was no thought in her rising; she had just found herself walking along the narrow street, buildings rising up above her, appearing to be melting Goudí buildings leaning over her through her tears. She felt protected by the buildings from her family, who was certainly searching for her, yet overshadowed by a doom, a presence.

The narrow roads, once major thoroughfares back in the mideaval days, linked to one another in illogical ways. She took and left, then a right, thinking she was heading to the Basillica, but she was on the wrong side of Carrer de la Boqueria and found herself looking straight into the blank eyes of a man with a grotesquely large head.  Startled, she whirled around, breaking her heal in a crevice of the wet drain, and pinning her train to the street. Twisted, and unable to take a step, she savagely pulled at her dress ripping the train at the seam and simultaneously catching her finger nails, flipping them all over half way down the quick. She looked down at her hand in horror at the nails sticking straight up, and quickly slapped along the back of her hand to turn the nails right again. She knew that she couldn’t think, or she would be stuck looking in fear at her nails, afraid to do anything. This thought diversion carried her through to her next move, which was running through a nearby door that was left slightly ajar.

There was a short alley leading to a courtyard, and a narrow stair running up to the right. Sitting with her bloodied dress twisted around her legs, tatters caught in the heels of her shoes, she closed her eyes and tried to take a breath. It stopped halfway in, air caught in her throat, causing her head to snap back and her mouth to open and bite at the air. She gasped with each bite, then gave a small cough that pushed out some of the stagnant breath she had been holding in.  But with the next gasp of air, her stomach caved in in a convulsion that propelled her breakfast all over her legs and feet.

What a sight she had become, this woman who so desperately wanted to preserve herself, to be perfect and independent, a modern woman. But as the shadows pushed dimness into the alley, she felt vulnerable and wanted someone to pat her shoulder and reassure her. Her own arm reached up and around her shoulder, clasping at her shoulder blade and rubbing. There was only silence. There was nothing, and no one about. No lights were in the windows; all Cecelia could see was the dim shape of the building. Finally she heard what sounded like a muffled baby crying, a few small feeble gasps and shuttered breaths. (IT’S HER OWN CRYING AND NOISES–SHE NEEDS TO REALIZE THIS SOMEWHERE IN THE CONVERSATION.)

“Are you OK?” Said a thin women, draped with an old shift dress, who swayed in front of Cecelia. “You don’t look OK, but you’re pretty. Very pretty, you’ll do.”

“I’ll do?” Said Cecelia blinking confusion, “I’m fine. I’m just FINE!” She yelled. “Why do you ask?” Came her snide reply.

“Oh, oh…..I’m so sorry.  Well, you don’t smell very good, you’re covered in blood, your dress is torn. Did someone kidnap you from your wedding? And you were crying.”

“I was crying?” Cecelia stopped and realized that the cries she heard were her own. “Uh, yeah, I guess I was.” Looking down, she replied, “I’m a mess. There’s all this blood.” And seeing the vomit on her dress she passed the back of her hand over her chin and wiped away the dribbles that remained.

“Come with me, my dear. I’ll take care of you. See that sparkle of light over there? That’s where we’ll go.”

Cecelia saw a hazy looking blob of light floating down an alley, “You don’t look like you can take even care of yourself, how will you help me?”

The shriveled woman grasped her hand with what felt like a claw covered in sloppy skin, and pulled Cecelia up with surprising agility. They walked hand in hand toward the alley. Cecelia felt a soft wisp against her cheek, and swiped it away. The wisp caught on her hand and tickled. The alley became rounded cobble stones that caught her high heels and turned her ankles. She took to trying to walk on just her toes. Her next step crunched and slid a little.

“What was that?” Cecelia gasped.

“Probably just a snail. There’s a garden here that they love to munch on.  Ignore them, it’s nothing.”

But Cecelia kept crunching shells and slipping in the slimy innards of the snails, and her toes started to feel wet and sticky. Her gut tightened and pulled back, warning her not to go further. She thought she would wrech again, but was embarrassed by the thought that she might go back and then need her family’s help. No! She was going on, through the shadow, through the crunching, and through the curtain of wisps that hung before the two women.

“What’s this?” Cecelia balked and pulled back against the woman’s urging.

“Old shreds. They’re harmless.” The woman whispered, and turned her head away.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You must. You need to get cleaned up, and fed”

“I,” Cecelia choked on her words, “I don’t want to. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to go back. I can’t stay here,” she blubbed with spittle running down her chin, and her tears making the world look like a kaleidoscope. She noticed in that moment that there more more lights, little blobs of light swaying in the puff of breeze. There was one light further on ahead that fed these small lights. One blob of light blew into her and burst, a huge dew drop of viscous liquid that clung to her shoulder and arm.   

“Uh, ugh! What it is?” Cecelia said swiping at her shoulder, and wiping her hand across the skirt of her dress. She succeeded in wiping some of it away, as a tingling sensation started on her palm, but she also picked up some of her blood. It mixed with the thick dew and turned into a gelatinous mass that swished through her fingers. The reaction helped stop the tingling feeling, but Cecelia’s heart felt like it had stopped. (FOR FEAR, HER HEART FEELS THIS?)

The skeletal woman pulled her forward, and Cecelia saw her pull a long rope along behind her. This rope seemed to be attached to her ankle, and as it dragged through the snails and over the cobbles it had become heavy making the woman’s leg drag behind. The soft wisps that had hung before them now brushed against Cecelia’s face, leading her into a tangle of stickier threads that grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. She was yanked forward by the hand, painfully pulling clumps of hair, the strands that her moped ride had loosened into arched flops.   

A gauzy voice greeted the women, “My dear, you’ve returned with a friend.”

“Yes, sir,” the old woman replied, “she was lost and needed help. May I give her something to drink?”

It seemed strange to Cecelia that the woman asked permission to serve her, but she was thankful for the water, albeit warm. Cecelia looked into the darkness to see the man, what she thought was a man; all she could see was a bit of sparkle like a disco ball, and a swish of light reflected around the center of faint sparkles.

“Sit,” the woman said. “Sit here, where it’s soft and warm.”

Cecelia reached out her hand to feel a smooth velvety and yeilding surface, that she fell into like a hammock that was too stretchy. “Ahhh!” She exclaimed, no expecting to drop so far. But the velvet hammock was cozy and warm. Her heart had been racing in fear as she had entered the room through the hanging strands, but now it felt strangely quiet, even slow.

“That’s alright, my new friend, you may sleep. It’s obvious you’ve had a rough day,” crooned the voice. And with that, Cecelia laid her head back and was soon asleep. (NEED MORE DESCRIPTIONS OF FATIGUE TO MAKE HER FALLING ASLEEP WORK.)

Day light sparked in her eye, a quick slit of light through the drawn curtains. She startled awake, noticing that her legs had been pulled up into the hammock.  Her head was lolling and swaying, and she couldn’t quite feel her hands or feet. They were there, she saw, but moving them took great effort. Where was the woman?  She looked around, through the dim light it appeared white everywhere, with that same sparkle from the night before in the far corner. It was like a mirrored sun, with long rays thrown out in all directions. But these rays were just hints of lines or shapes, indistinguishable in the dim light. Only her hammock received any direct sunlight.

She awoke again with a start! She thought she heard the old thin woman scream, which shook her out of a dream. She had traveled far away, flying to a large city. Wandering through crowds of people, all pushing in the other directions, she had stumbled into a store. There was a group of people who pushed in against her, laughing, “You can’t come in, it’s for us,” and they stripped naked shutting a door in her face. Defiantly, she followed them in, half naked herself, in a dress tattered and torn from her body. There were clothes everywhere to try on. Naked people were dressing and undressing, and she wandered past looking at the beautiful iridescent clothing. She wanted to try them on, but they felt sticky and moist to her touch. There was a repulsive smell that grew as she went further in, but she refused to be told to stay out. As she undressed to try on her wedding gown duplicated in black, her hand reached out and she had woken up. (WHY IS SHE NAKED? FEELING VULNERABLE, EXPOSED???)

Finding her arm stretched out as she awoke, she clenched her fist and turned her wrist. Her hands moved more freely this time, and she felt her shoulders and breasts, running her hands down her abdomen and along her scraped elbow.  Her dress had been changed, she was in a ……. Her elbow felt bruised and raw, but it was covered with a soft stretchy bandage. And around her ankle was what appeared to be another bandage, tight and unyielding. It wasn’t stretchy like around her elbow, but tough like kevlar, form fitting yet flexible.  She shot up to sitting and grabbed it, realizing that it looked the the old woman’s tether. It was. She was wrapped, and a thin long rope proceeded from her ankle.

“No, worries, dear,” said the voice from the corner. “It won’t come off, you are my guest now.”

“Where is the woman?” Cecelia asked.

“She is, well, she is resting.”

“I want to go, let me go”

“I cannot do that. I need you.” (NEEDS TO BE MORE ENIGMATIC AND CONFUSING OF AN ANSWER–LIKE SHE NEEDS HIM.)

“Need me for what?”

“Nothing right now, you may rest. I have all I need for a while.  You may rest, and eat. Your food will come to the door each day. You may go get it when there is a knock.  But you must wait till the footsteps fade away before opening the door.”

Cecelia’s head was still foggy from sleep, from such a deep sleep. She felt her normal defiance slipping, and compliance welcomed her. Defiance hurt, it felt too difficult, and giving up felt like laying in the hammock. Why couldn’t she be herself? Why couldn’t she fight?

The next day she felt a little clearer in the head, a little braver, so she got up from her hammock to find where she was. The sparked presence was gone, so she padded around on the soft smooth floor. There was a large bundle hanging from the ceiling; she approached  and poked it lightly. It moved, it grunted. There was a small flap that she pulled back, and found the old thin woman inside.

“Girl,” painfully whispered the woman, “I am sorry. I am sorry”

“Where am I,” she begged.

“The mirror. The mirrored web.”

“I don’t know what that is? I don’t even know where in the city I am!”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated gasping for breath, “ he told me I was too old. He said he’d let me go if I brought another. You were perfect, you’re beautiful and young, you’re strong, maybe stronger than me. You can get away.”

Cecelia didn’t feel strong, or hopeful in this moment.

The woman slowly pulled in another breath, fighting against the tight wrappings, “he said I could go after I found another, but he lied.  He will eat me soon. Take my bones with you.” The woman gasped and passed out again from the effort of talking.

Cecelia slumped down, unaware that her hand was still clasping at the flap in the web.  She half hung, half sat on the floor, her vision blurred again. Was it from her tears that she saw a sparkle, or hand that voice returned. She heard a melody, a sweet soft song, and she fully slumped back into nothingness and sleep.

Was it the next day that she woke again? Or had it been days, weeks? Cecelia cautiously reached out her hand, furtively touching the ground near her. All she felt was a soft silky smoothness, slightly springy with a hint of stickiness where there were rough areas, no slight gaps in the smooth fabric that she felt. The light was coming in through the high window at a sharp angle, reflecting off of the beams and the ceiling. Through the amber glow of the evening, Cecilia could see a meal waiting for her sitting next to emerald other plates that had been pushed to the side with old meals growing a carpet of abstract fuzz. She counted the plates, and concluded that she had been asleep or unconscious for two and a half days.

The hanging sack of the old woman was still there in the room, but Cecelia was afraid to go near it, not being sure of what she might find.  Her imagination filled with dripping zombies, skulls with flaps of skin, or worse yet the woman still alive with sputtering and gasping breaths.

“Have you rested well, my dear?” asked smooth voice from the corner. “I hope you have found your rest to be refreshing. Please enjoy your meal; it was just delivered.”

Cecelia was famished, and without thinking she quickly gulped down the bottle of water and ate the paella. It wasn’t hot, but still warm in the center. Taking a deep breath after finding her dish, she ran her hand from her forehead and smoothed back her hair. Her hand jerked back in surprise at the web that she felt. “What!?!!” she gasped, “What’s on me?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear, I wet your head to wake you up. Your dinner was hot, and Paella is no good cold. And I was growing concerned that you might sleep forever. A beauty you are for sure, but even I know that a sleeping beauty does not maintain her looks for long.”

“A sleeping….? I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t know where I am.  Where is the woman? Where is my husband?”

“Oh, my dear,” syruped the voice, “You have no husband. Your dreaming told me that, all your word, ‘I wil not!’, ‘A kiss does not consummate..’, ‘I am not yours!’” (CONFUSING)

Cecelia cried, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of regret or self pity.

“As for the old woman, she died in your arms. She couldn’t bare to be parted from me, and you consoled her and asked her to stay. She was too weak to go anywhere.”

“But I remember seeing her wrapped up in that sack.” She shuttered as she looked over at the limply dangling sack. It seemed thinned and the web was hanging loosely. “She said you lied.”

“That was one of your dreams. I heard you talking to someone, and now I understand your side of the conversation. Don’t you remember holding her in your arms until she breathed her last? The I gently wrapped her up. You gave me flowers to wrap her with. See, some of them are still there.”

Cecelia could see some stems with dried buds pushed to the wall beyond the old dinners, there were a few bare stems piled next to them. “I don’t remember,” she mumbled. “I thought that she was alive in the web”

“No, no, my dear, indeed NO! How could anyone do such a thing? She was my friend. Will you be my friend? I have brought you your favorite dinner, at least the one from your talking dreams. I will take care of you and watch over you. You are safe here, and will never have to go back to that awful man again.”

“Never go back,” she crooned like a soulful backup singer that had sung til she was hoarse. I can stay? Can I go?”

“Why would you want to go? Can’t you stay and keep my secret? I am so afraid that someone will find me and hurt me. Please keep me safe from the terrible world. You can help me, you know! You can help me keep safe when they come to attack.”

“Attack? Who would attack?”

“The men. They come searching me out. I am so misunderstood. I reflect the beauty of the world, but they call me a monster.”

“I can’t see you, how would I know if you’re a beauty or a monster.”

“I will show you only a little bit. I am too dazzling, it would hurt your eyes if you way all of me.  Look closely.”

Cecelia turner her eyes toward the dark corner where the voice had come from, but the first thing she saw the stars of light playing on the ceiling, little speckles that swept across the expanse. Her eye rolled them back to the source, where she saw the smallest sliver of a large globe that had emerged into the edge of the light. She could see that the amber light had darkened into deep rose and jeweled amethyst. Was that really the color of the sky now, she had never seen it so brilliant, or was it how it reflected from this monster that made it so beautiful.  How could something so beautiful really be a monster after all. Her heart beat with a thrill, while a shudder ran her spine. Which was it? Something to be loved or feared? She hugged her knees to her chest, and found that noose around her ankle.

Hiding her fear, she asked, “Why am I chained?”

“Chained? Oh no, my dear, not a chain, not even a leash, it’s. Safety rope. There are holes here, dangers in which you might fall and never be found again. This keeps you safe and from harm. I will always be able to pull you back.”

Her memory flashed. Cecelia had once snuck into one of the ghost stations of Barcelona, in her more willful youth. ‘More willful?,’ she mocked herself. A dark grey hole, the ceiling had caved in creating a surreal cracked label like surface that rocked unsteadily with each step. The stairs descended to a hole that evened immense and bottomless in the darkness. Maybe only a story down, but she was afraid to descend with her friends. Her adrenaline had rushed, banging her heart in her ears, as she watched in shame and fear as her friends had gone into the abyss with just their cellphones for light. When this new voice told her of the holes, her old fear of unseen crevasses breaking apart the platform and tracks lifted up from her gut and made her pull back. But as she pulled back, she also gripped the rope tightly. To her disappointment, it didn’t pull taught–she didn’t know how long it was, or how far she had to fall to discover it’s length.

It was then that he knew that he had here. He had touched one of her deepest fears, and with that he could not only hold her physically captive, but also emotionally. He would bond himself to her, and make her afraid to leave. And even if he was brave enough, he had a good reason to keep their fetters on. She was now his and he revelled in that. He could tall her of is care and concern, for his bonds were soft to the touch, but still he would keep them too tight to pull out of. Certainly, he mused, if they were too loose she might fall into the caverns a she slipped from the bonds. He couldn’t let that happen to someone he cared so much for.

Cecelia woke, not knowing what day it was. She raked her fingers through her hair, but only about a hand’s width until her fingers were stopped by snarles. Her hair felt thick with grime, and her face felt rough to her touch. Did she still have wedding makeup on? Maybe some stuck in the creases, she thought.

    “My friend,” purred Aurelio, “You look distraught.”

    The word friend startled her; why did he keep calling her that. But wanting to hide her feelings, quickly replied, “Distraught? Dirty! I’m dirty, and I don’t know what day it is.”

    “Day? Does that matter?”

    She frowned.

    “Of course it matters,” he paused, “It’s never mattered to me, but lets see….. we’ll just have to ask the delivery boy.”

    “You’ll let me do that?”

    “Of course!  We’re friends aren’t we?”

    This time she couldn’t hide her reaction, “Friend? How do you call me friend? I’m trapped here and tied up, and don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

    “Just a few days, my dear. You were so upset and discombobulated when you arrived. Do you remember that day, how lost you were, how you needed a safe place. The old woman gave you a place to rest. And I’m keeping you safe from the crags and pits; it’s a safety line”

    “You want the boy to see me like this?”

    “Come into the light.” He looked at her face lit sharply from the side. Her sharp jawline was highlighted, the tip of her straight nose caught a sliver of light. “Mmmmm. You could look a little fresher, I suppose.”

    In actuality, Cecelia was a smuged mess of mascara, road dust crusted into worry lines, and some old caked blood. “May I wash?”

    “There,” Aurelio pointed exposing just the tip of his