The Never List

out of the box—canned goods, a loaf of bread, a gallon jug of water—and placed them along the wall in neat order.
    I was now crouching on the floor, clutching the thin mattresslike a child clutches its doll, staring at the box and wondering why Jennifer wouldn’t answer. Tracy continued, ignoring my state.
    “For the most part, we’re left to our own devices down here during the work week. It’s different in the summer and during holiday breaks. Those are tough times in Cellar Land. The weeks are short in any event. Four days of freedom—a term I am using very loosely, obviously—then three days back in the trenches. You see—get ready for this one—our man is a psychology professor at the University of Oregon, with an emphasis on the ‘psycho’ part. He has classes . He attends conferences . Meets with advisees . Presumably they have graduation ceremonies and parent visiting day and other special occasions. And during all those events we are spared his presence, and we live here in peace and harmony. As long as he has left us enough food and water, that is.”
    “How do you know all that?”
    “From Christine, of course.” She looked over at Christine, who seemed to have fallen back asleep, though it was hard to tell. At any rate, she was very still, her knees tucked under her body, her chains neatly coiled beside her. “Christine was his star student. Well, that was over two years ago. He may have a new star now, for all we know, right, Christine?” Christine opened one eye. It darted from me to Tracy as she whimpered quietly.
    All I could hear ringing in my ears were the words two years.
    “His name is Jack Derber.” Tracy said the name deliberately and clearly, but at the same time she scanned the room warily, as though afraid the very walls might reach out to grab her as punishment for saying it aloud.
    “And since we know that juicy little tidbit of information,” she continued, “we can rest assured that he will never, ever, ever set us free. We are supposed to die here when he’s finished with us. Christine and I speculate that that will be when we get too old for what he wants, or sooner if we are too much trouble. That is why webehave very, very well. We are such good little girls, aren’t we, Christine? He can, after all, replace us quite easily, can’t he?” She looked at me pointedly. “And he only has so much room down here, as you can see. It can’t be cheap to keep us all alive and kicking.”
    I could barely follow her drift, but it suddenly didn’t seem so friendly. Then something stirred in the box, and all three of us jerked our heads toward it. Silence again. Tracy went on.
    “I have developed a strategy down here, which I urge you to adopt. Christine, I’m afraid, has not been very adept at it, and as I think you will see, her failure to follow my advice has worked to her detriment. You must stay strong, physically and mentally, and learn whatever you can. We, my dear, are waiting for our miracle.”
    Miracle . I winced at the word, so contrary was it to everything I believed in. Tracy noticed.
    “Yes, I know, a miracle is not such a great thing to have as your only option, but I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and that’s all we have. All we can do is ready ourselves for it. I have a simple motto: ‘Eat whatever you’re fed, sleep whenever in bed, don’t let him fuck with your head.’” She laughed jaggedly at her own sad joke again before continuing.
    “The most important part of your body right now is your brain . As you will soon see, our enemy’s favorite—not only, but favorite—form of torture is psychological, so you need your mind to work . You have to keep him out of your head. Never tell him anything about your life before. Never.”
    “A Never List,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “And Jennifer? What will happen to her?” I was finally able to ask the question without becoming hysterical.
    Both of them looked away. Christine, her eyes cast to the floor, whispered something under her breath that I thought I could just make out.
    “Forget her as soon as you can.”

CHAPTER 5
    After I read the letter, I spent another three days alone in my apartment. I canceled my shrink visits and didn’t answer the phone. Dr. Simmons left three messages, and Agent McCordy four. I knew they were worried, but I could not explain to them that I was gearing myself up for a major break with my post-traumatic lifestyle, a break I