How in the hell did she know my real name?
No one's called me "Miles" since Dad was alive….
Why? Why would the stone give me what I want, only to then remove my voice, the one way Miles and I could connect again? What's the purpose of sending me back in time- or him forward in time- if there's no way for me tell him who I am and vice versa? This is more like a punishment than a wish being granted. But then again, perhaps I am being punished, either for being greedy and wanting more time with my boyfriend or something else I've done- who knows. My mind's spinning and I'm losing track of both time and myself. I'm still hopelessly in love with Miles, and that tyrant upstairs is my Miles….. But he's not "my" Miles, if that makes sense.
Then again, maybe I'm overthinking all of this. Perhaps this isn't a punishment; maybe in some strange, bizarre way, this is a good thing…. somehow. I can't tell Miles who I am, so he'll have to fall in love with me for "me" and only me again this time. It can be done; the exact same thing happened between him and I in my timeline, in fact. So all hope is not lost. But there's so many more complexities to consider, like for example I love my Miles, but I don't know if I'll also fall in love with "this" Miles. Judging by the way he spoke to and treated me back there, I'm not so sure….. On top of which, there's no guarantee that he'll fall for me again. He might already have a girlfriend or be in some other kind of situation. I never dreamt that I'd have to fall for him all over again…. But that might very well be the case.
And yet, this again might turn out to be a good turn of events. My Miles had the privilege of witnessing me learn to love him twice- something most men never get to experience…. Just like how I experienced that glorious way he used to look at me, which I'm sure most women on Earth will never know either. I've never known a man named Miles who wasn't already in love with me, so this is shocking- even jarring- but is also an opportunity for me to get to know him better; to see a brand-new side of him. I still have no proof as to whether this is a punishment or blessing-in-disguise; only time will tell. But I won't jump into the depths of despair just yet. To quote the opening line from the film, "The Girls Were Doing Nothing":
'While love and intimacy require closeness, passion and desire thrive on distance. And therein lies the rub.'
These two thugs brought me down to this dingy dungeon of a basement. There were literally no windows and the whole room was lit up by a single dim hanging lamp. There was also no furniture aside from one queen-sized grungy-looking bed. The place smelt horrible, but at least there was no traces of rats or other vermin about; something rare in warehouses if you've read The Jungle. And take my word for it, you do not want to read that book.
The men threw me onto the stained bed like a sack of potatoes. Then they felt, going back up the staircase and slamming the iron door shut behind them. Unsure how long I'd be alone down there for- or down there at all- I rolled onto my side and curled into the fetal position. My god, I don't know how things could get any worse. How'd I wind up in such a horrible position? One strike for the punishment side of things, and it just kept on going.
After an hour or so, where I just laid on the bed and did nothing, the top door reopened. Down the steps descended this fully-grown man, about mid-to-late twenties I'd say. More on the latter side of that age range. He appeared before me, standing under the only light source, enabling me to get a good look at him. He had what seemed to be a perpetual five o'clock shadow. He sported this mungy putrid green jacket with a red long-sleeve shirt underneath. His hair was short and brown; he looked like your traditional New Yorker- if that New Yorker existed in the 1920s. While I gazed at him somewhat ponderingly, he didn't show me the same interest. The exact opposite, in fact. Glaring insipidity down at me, he planted his wide hands on his also wide hips, slanting his stance a little in the process.
"Alright, let's get this over with. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. So whadda' say? You gonna play ball, kitten?" Feeling like a complete idiot, I just sat up, sadly staring back his way. This did not amuse him in any sense of the word. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "Who sent you? You workin' for another gang?" Very awkward silence ensued. He furrowed both his eyebrows this time, growing more irritated. He took a menacing step towards the bed. "I ain't in the mood for games. Now you're gonna tell me what I wanna know. You understand?" More silent staring back. His teeth grit together slightly. "I said you understand?!" I flinched, visibly alarmed and frightened, but he out this frustrated sigh when the silence went on. He rolled his eyes, leaning his posture back a tad.
"You're pushin' my buttons, girl. That's a very dangerous thing to do." He let a pregnant pause hang longer this time. Realizing that this was getting him nowhere, one of his hands lifted up off his hip to rub the back of his neck as he re-thought his interrogation technique. Eventually his gaze wandered back over to me, this clever, mocking smirk rolling across his lips. He rubbed his chin somewhat curious all of a sudden.
"You're brave; I'll give you that, kid. Brave….. or stupid." Quiet on my part, cause of course. He sneered. "That was pretty heedless of you, letting a rival gang convince you to infiltrate our den. Haven't you heard of us before, puddin'? You should know that you don't go messin' around with the Spidermen. We're the most feared mob in all New York. Didn't you know that?" I did not. I'd never heard of this prohibition gang before, though the name did ring a bell…
The man gave me a once over before snorting quietly to himself, cracking another contemptuous grin. "I've never seen a cross-dressing dame like you before. What kind of woman wears jeans? You look utterly ridiculous." Heh, he thinks this is cross-dressing? He should see what some other girls in my century wear. But then, I suppose that pink was a masculine colour for most of history…. Oh, how times change. It's kinda fascinating, seeing history on the other side like this- in a terrifying sort of way.
He took yet another step in my direction, deliberately intensifying his stare. "So who else knows that you're here? Did that Miles fellow send you? Speaking of which, who's this "Miles"? Friend of yours…. Or something else?" He just had to add a mocking smirk at these last three words, knowing I'd understand their implication. I frowned, lowering my head a bit but keeping my eyes firmly locked onto his. When I didn't reply, he reached over to grab hold of my chin, forcing my head upward against my will.
"Oh, seems I struck a nerve. And what about that key? M.M. One of those Miles's initials? Is he the one who gave you this?" His other hand took hold of the bottom of my necklace, dangling the key on its chain in front of me. I nodded meekly, keeping my eyes up in a submissive position; I learned this from a body language video on YouTube. He looked somewhat amused by this, but still had an obvious potent aura of irritation. This guy was doing everything he could think of in the moment to get me talking. His face lowered in closer to mine, squeezing my chin a tad. "Maybe we should find this Miles guy and drag him in, hmmmmmm? Would roughin' him up loosen your tongue?"
I winced, more out of the soreness my chin was now incurring. I wasn't really concerned about the whole Miles situation; heh, mostly because he didn't realize that he was speaking about his boss. Strange that Miles never told his followers his real name, but perhaps things were different in this era. I thought they would have found out by now, but clearly not. He must be hiding his true identity for some reason…..
He let out this frustrated growl when this didn't work, forcefully releasing my chin and pushing me back a little. My fingers reached up to rub the red skin while he turned his back on me, taking some paces away. His hands were balled up into angry fists and he was quietly cursing under his breath. "Dammit all. What am I supposed to do now?" I heard him whisper more to himself than me; he wasn't even looking my way as he said it. I admit, I was a tiny bit curious to see what he would do next, but both our heads turned to the staircase when the door opened again. We looked to see this second man take his time coming downstairs.
This other guy was totally different than the man down here with me. Unlike my interrogator, he was clad in all black- and I do mean all black. From his head to his toes all his clothes were this jet-black colour. His shoes and shoe-laces were black leather, his gangster-style hat was black, even his gloves were black. He was thinner and shorter than the first man and had a frailer frame. His hands were buried in his pockets as he approached both of us. He looked at me for a minute, then at the other guy.
"Well?" Black-clad guy questioned my interrogator, who lifted an eyebrow in his direction. "Well what?" "Did you find out who she is and what she's doing here?" "Obviously not! It's only been ten minutes; I told you to give me more time," my interrogator raised his voice. Black-clad guy was totally unfazed, like this was their usual mode of communication. He simply slanted his posture nonchalantly. "How much time do you need? She's just one little girl. You mean to say that you can't control a little girl?"
My interrogator grit his jaw again irate. "If you think it's so easy, you do it! This isn't my expertise or usual line of work!" "Oh, come on. You ferry illicit alcohol across the border without once getting caught, and you're saying "this" is hard? It seems you and I have a different definition of the word "hard", my friend." My interrogator threw up his arms, already over the conversation. The continued on like this as if they'd forgotten that I was still in the room….. and listening.
"I'm tellin' you, she won't talk! No matter what I say, she yap stays buttoned." "And you've tried everything you can think of with that limited imagine of yours?" Black-clad guy pushed his buttons. My interrogator's finger twitched angrily as he shot the other man a lurid glare. "Well, everything I've been briefed to do," his voice was low and threatening. Black-clad guy, clearly not afraid at all, sighed and ran his hand across his hat, finally glancing my way once more in a pondering fashion.
"So what'd we do now? The boss said not to use any physical coercion." "Shhhhhh, not so loud! She'll hear you," my interrogator hushed his fellow mobster, who again rolled his eyes. "Well how else are we supposed to intimidate her? Deny her food and water until she talks?" "We've gotta pretend we'll resort to violence, otherwise she might never open her trap." My eyes lowered unimpressed. Oh my god, this was embarrassing; these losers still didn't know that I could hear their very loud whispering. I almost felt sorry for them, but thought it best to play along. If they wanna act all tough and mean, I'll react appropriately….. Minus the speaking part. At least I know now that Miles doesn't want them to hurt me…
Wait, did he just say "no food and water"?
Both men eyed me for a moment, obviously thinking through the scenario in their heads. My interrogator finally gazed back towards his friend, if they were friends. "Look, why don't I just whip her? That'll get her talkin' a lot faster." "I don't think that's a good idea; the boss wouldn't like it. We've got to get the dirt outta her without resorting to torture." "Easier said than done. No matter what I try, she still refuses to make a sound." "Then let's just leave her down here until she does. Sooner or later, she'll get hungry enough and start speaking," black-clad guy reasoned. My interrogator nodded in agreement. "Fine then. That ought'a do it." Then both men straightened their back while looking straight at me one final time. My interrogator's head lowered slightly.
"Alright, duckie. You're gonna have a little stay down here by yourself. We'll see if you're ready to talk in a couple of days." "You might want to turn the light off on occasion, lest the lightbulb burn out," black-clad guy added. I just sat there, watching them as they stared at me for another second; I think they were half-expecting me to start speaking right then and there so to avoid the circumstance. But when I failed to do so, they spun around, going back up the stairs without saying another word. The heavy iron door closed and locked behind them.
And I found myself alone once again in that grimy basement they called a "pit".