Belonging

I don't know when I fall asleep, but when I wake up again it's pitch black and I can't feel my legs.

I peel my eyes open, feeling worse than I did before. Immediately my vision begins to blur and I feel like I'm going to be sick.

     I swallow the dryness in my throat, looking around the dark room. The lack of light only increases my fear, and I use the little movement available in my neck to turn my head side to side.

     My lips part, but no sound comes out. Panic fills me; I can't move. I can't move, and I can't speak, and I can't see anything. I can't do anything. What's wrong with me? What's happening to me? Why can't I do anything?

     It seems like hours go by before the door opens, and my father returns. He turns the light on, and when he sees that my eyes are open he smiles. "I know you might feel a little bit strange." He says. "But it's just temporary, okay? You'll get used to it soon. For now this is for your own safety, and for your own good."

     Confusion fills me. I look up at him with glassy eyes, which makes his expression soften.

"You don't have to be scared." He tells me. "Why don't we get you downstairs into the living room? I have something I'd like to show you."

I can't respond. He takes my forced silence as agreement and unfurls the covers from around me. Then he leans down and scoops me up into his arms. My eyes widen a little bit as my head falls to the side.

He takes me out of the room, into a dimly lit hallway, the walls of which are bare. He carries me down a set of spiral stairs, into a small living room. The fire beneath the television is roaring, with wooden chips crinkling and crackling.

He sets me down on the large couch, then covers me with a blanket. He sits next to me and leans forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table.

     Are we going to watch a movie? Is that what he wants to do?

     He wraps an arm around my shoulders as he turns it on. I expect a Home Screen to pop up, but instead it's a video. He looks down at me. "I want you to know that I'm not showing this to you to make you upset. I'm showing it to you so that you'll be able to see what your grandfather and brothers really are: monsters."

     He presses play, and the video begins rolling. For about half a minute, it's just an image recorded on what seems to be a security camera of a room. The walls and floor are concrete and seems to be entirely bare.

     I narrow my eyes a little bit just as the door to the room opens. Muffled screams protrude from the speakers as somebody who looks a lot like Petro drags a man into the room. The man is bound, with his wrists tied, along with his ankles. Petro pulls him into the room, and my eyes widen. He's being so rough, scraping the man's writhing body across the floor mercilessly.

     I want to look away. I try to, but before I can somebody else walks in just as Petro shoves the man into the corner of the room.

     My grandfather.

     My breath catches in my throat.

     What is that in his hand, which he holds so tightly? Why is he pointing it at the man? Why is the man backing up as far as he can? Why is he screaming through the gag wrapped around his head? Why is he making sounds that sound like pleads? Why? What are they doing? What are they—