Always Watching

around, then grabs one of the old metal barrels that are stacked against the wall. With one hand, he pries the lid off. He lifts my body over the barrel.
    I catch a flicker out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moving by the door, blocking the crack of light. “Help!” I yell, thinking someone is there, someone will save me. But only a flurry of birds rushes up to the rafters.
    I bite at his arm, try to get my legs on the outside of the barrel, but he punches me hard in the temple. Stunned, I’m limp in his arms. He jams my legs into the barrel, uses his knee to press down on my back. I grasp at the metal rim. He raps my knuckles, bends my fingers back until I have to let go. He’s grunting with exertion, scrambling for something, then the lid is coming over my head, and he’s pushing down with all his weight. I’m screaming, loud, but it’s muffled.
    He hammers the lid in place with his fists.
    There are only a few inches of air between my body and the lid. I’m surrounded by metal, my knees up near my chin, no room to move, to breathe.
    The barrel is tipping. I land on my side. I stop screaming, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Now the barrel is rolling, the sensation of falling. I drop with a thud, my body slamming into the metal sides. I gasp for breath.
    For a second, everything’s silent. Then I get some air, scream again and again, but no one comes. I’m hot and sweaty. It drips down my face. I’m panting.
    I hear a thud, realize it’s dirt hitting the barrel. I yell, “Please, no, please let me out!”
    More dirt hits the barrel. I get one hand up by my ear, push at the lid, but it won’t budge. Thick heat presses in on me like a blanket, closing my throat up with each breath. I claw at the smooth walls, try to squirm my body around, and it makes the air thicker, even harder to breathe. I’m crying and gasping. I hear strangling sounds from my throat, more dirt falling, over and over. Then silence. I’m moaning, sobbing in broken whimpers.
    A soft thud, like someone jumped into the hole.
    “Please, please. Let me out!” I’m frantic, crying.
    Aaron’s voice, “Are you ready to surrender to the Light?”
    “Yes, yes. I’m ready.”
    Silence again. Then, “I don’t believe you.”
    Another thump as dirt hits the barrel. Shovelful after shovelful rains down. I scream, a frantic high-pitched screech, until I can’t get my breath and start hyperventilating, tears and snot mixing on my face.
    Finally, he stops, and calls down, faint through the dirt and metal, “Do you want to be released from your fear, Nadine?”
    “Yes,” I sob. “Yes. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
    A pause. He’s going to let me out. My body fills with relief.
    Then he starts throwing more dirt down. I can’t tell how much now, whether I’m almost buried, but the sound is getting softer. I’ve peed myself. I think of my mother, of Robbie, and my father. I’m going to die. I close my eyes, chanting in my mind, Please, please, please, please, please, please.
    The noise stops. There’s nothing but silence. Has he left? I’m dizzy, shuddering with sobs and panic. Seconds tick by. I’m sure now that he’s gone. I can’t last much longer. I gasp for air, but I can’t get my breath.
    Then a sound near me, something scrapes the top of the barrel. I tense. Another scrape, rhythmic, and I realize he’s shoveling away at the dirt. A surge of hope, followed by fear. Is it just another game? I push again at the lid, beg with the last of my strength, “Please. I don’t want to die.”
    Then the sound of metal against metal, the lid is being pried off. I blink up at the light, gasping and gagging for air. Half-blind, I can only see Aaron’s shape in the light from the doorway. He reaches down, lifts me out, setting me on my feet, but I’m disoriented and weak, and I fall to the ground.
    He crouches in front, clasps the back of my head, and looks into my eyes.
    “You can’t run away from me, Nadine. We’re family now.”
    I slur my words, my tongue and lips dry, my throat raw from screaming. “I’m sorry … I’m sorry. Don’t hurt me, please.”
    His hand on the back of my neck grips harder. He leans close, his body reeking of sweat. He’s about to say something. Then, in the distance, we hear the singing voices of the commune members, coming back from their walk.
    I open my mouth to scream.
    He slaps me. My head rocks back, hitting the barrel behind it, stunning me again. He puts his