Black Box: Part 5
By: Renae Nicole
Tags: Flash Fiction, Short Story, Fiction, Fantasy, Series

Image Via 123RF

“It’s 1903.” I state. “I turned sixteen on November 14, 1903.”

“Now, you’re lying!”

As I remembered the details, I closed my eyes, not that it changed what I saw. “Jarsmaa’s didn’t have a restaurant until 1904. They were building it when I celebrated my birthday.”

My eyes shot open. Wait, does that mean…

“You’re right.” Luka laughed. “It was so popular, only being open for a year. My friend had to steal someone’s reservation…”

Luka continued with his story, but my mind was on another planet. Was the last thing I remember my sixteenth birthday? Maybe I just had amnesia? What if Luka is pulling my leg?

“…when they did show up, it was a hoot!” Luka slapped his knee. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when the host kicked them out for impersonating…”

Hmm. I scratched my head. Probably not. Then what happened?

“Anouk?” Luka awoke me from deep thought. “You’re mumbling again.”

“What if I have been in this box for two years?” I blurted out.

I let the question linger. Feeling around the space, I apprehended the blanket from the bench and wrapped it around myself, like a cocoon. It provided only a small comfort, so I pulled my legs to my chest.

Luka inhaled and exhaled. Then his bare feet slapped the floor, and his hand brushes the wall. The sound of skin against tile spills into space. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.

“Luka!” I sit up straight. “What are you doing?”

SLAP. “Getting out of here.”

“What?”

SLAP. SLAP.

“How?”

“By breaking out.” He said it so casually like someone left the front door open. “What’s this?”

“I already — “

My bench jerks forward. The wall disappears from my back. Then one side raises, so suddenly I spill over the edge and onto the floor. I land on the hard ground in a blanket heap. The pillow hits my face, not a moment after.

“What the hell!?” I screamed. “Luka did you — “

Something substantial charges into my right shoulder, pushing me back against the wall. The object yanks my arm out of its socket, and my limb falls against my abdomen. Another hard item strikes my thigh. The pain of every injury crescendos at the same time and engulfs my whole body.

The object crashes against the wall, then lands with a clunk before coming to a rest next to me. Part of it is still resting on my leg. I let out a cross between a cough and a laugh. “Did. You. Throw. A. Bench. At Me.”

“Shit.” Luka’s feet spank the floor again. “I’m sorry! I was just trying to break out!”

A hand hits my leg a few times then the pressure on my lower extremity disappears. I use my left hand to push myself against the wall, then to hold my shoulder in place. I breathe heavily as the discomfort becomes immense.

After a thud and a scrap, Luka huffs a little. He shuffles around for a second; then, I heard his familiar breathing pattern on the floor next to me. “I’m sorry. How bad is it?”

“I…don’t…” I sniff. “know…” I adjusted my shoulder. “I think it’s dislocated.”

Something hits my thigh, then my arm. I gasp.

“Sorry!”

“What are you doing!” I screech through my teeth. “I don’t like your helping.”

I tip my head back until I feel the cold tile against my skin. Tears streamed down my face. After four or five breaths, my respiratory rate slows, and the pain dulls slightly — my hand tingles.

“I can pop it back in.” The voice seems farther away this time. “It will hurt, but afterward, it should feel better.”

I frown in his general direction, wishing he could see my death glare. “You owe me that much.”

He gulps, and I feel a hand gently grasp my wrist, while the other grabs my shoulder. Luka’s voice is small. “Sit up straight.”

I release my arm and scoot into a proper sitting position. More tears escape my tear ducts. My body tenses up.

Luka raises the arm to shoulder height and pulls it forward with just the right amount of force. My arm slides back into its socket like a scoop into ice cream. My shoulder whines for a moment, then the pain subsides into a dull throb. Luka lowers my arm and places it against my chest.

Without releasing my wrist, he lightly pats the floor then my leg until he finds the blanket. Luka pulls me forward and wraps the blanket around my upper body to hold my shoulder in place.

“That should do for now.” He releases the sling. “You should see a doctor if this is the first time you dislocated it.”

I sniffed and used my left hand to cradle the sling. After some labored breathing, I must ask. “How did you know what to do?”

“Let’s just say; I grew up in the streets.” He said. “The back streets.”

I flip this over in my head. The circumstances line up for him to be a bastard, but none of the rumors seem to fit his story. Most whispers contain younger children.

“Where was your mom?” My shoulder begins to tingle.

“Where wasn’t she.” Luka’s voice wasn’t as close anymore. “She hoped in and out of my life, usually coming back when things were going well so she could mess it up.”

Clang. Clang. Clang. Metal meets tile as the bench slides into the next wall.

The temperature in my shoulder rises, and I begin to sweat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Luka nudges my feet, then feels around until he finds my left arm. He helps me up. “I had lots of older brothers.”

I lean against him as he pulls me toward the bench. He guides me as I sit down and slide back until my back graces the wall — my shoulder aches.

“I’m assuming they weren’t blood.”

“Nope.” Luka’s voice moves until it is on the bench next to me. “Not a one.”

“Still — AH!” Pain shoots through my upper body, and I grab my shoulder.

“What’s wrong!?”

The pain ripens, and I start wailing. It surges through my shoulder, back and forth for what might be minutes, might be hours. I can feel a hand on my arm and hear Luka talking to me, but the stimulations don’t fully register.

As suddenly as the pain came, the problem disappears. I take in a big gulp of air as Luka’s voice floods my sense. “Anouk! Anouk!”

“Luka, what happened?” My heart rate decreases. “I thought the pain was done.”

“It is.” He lets go of my arm. “It should be. No one hurts much after the shoulder is relocated. How does it feel now?”

I take a moment to feel my shoulder. Gingerly at first, but then I prod the joint. It doesn’t hurt at all. Not in the slightest. I pull at the sling and loosen it enough to swing my arm in a quarter circle. It responds to my every command without a fuss.

“I think,” I wish I could see his face. “I think it’s healed.”

Image Via 123RF

Part 6 Coming: October 20