I had met this girl, Salome, in a coffeehouse some weeks previously. Only several days ago had we begun to interact, as you would say friends do. We spent time together, but never outside of the walls of her house- she advised me that, except under the all-seeing eyes of her uncle John, she was forbidden to set foot outside of her house.

         “How dreadful,” thought I, “that she is unnecessarily confined to her house! How atrocious- monstrous, even! – that her uncle forced her to spend time with him and solely him!”

            I asked her one day, “Does it not bother you to be under such oppressive rule?”

            She answered me, “Of course it does- but there is nothing I can do about it. I can never escape his sight.”

“Do you mean to say that he never gives you any privacy?”

            Salome shook her head solemnly and replied, “I do not even get privacy to shower. He waits for me beside the shower curtain.” She then changed the subject, as if nothing was amiss in her life.

         I decided to plan another visit to her the next day. I sought answers to the countless questions that sped through my ever-seeking mind- day after exhausting day- month after menacing month- because I had found that Salome reminded me of someone I knew- yet someone to whom I could not place a name.

         Every time I visited Salome at her mansion, her uncle John acted as if I was invisible- he would spin to face away from me and speak to Salome as if she were a dog that had peed on the rug. Several times, he had even raised his fist to her as if he would strike her into a comatose existence. He screamed at her constantly, for no obvious reason sometimes. It seemed as if he would yell at her if she were to breathe in a fashion that failed to appease his preferences. She was constantly in trouble, because John had such high standards for Salome’s performance around the house that she could never achieve those standards no matter how hard she tried. She was only allowed to speak to him in a certain tone- a military private’s submissive tone, I thought- and John struck her if he did not hear that tone- those certain notes of her musical voice- when she spoke to him.

         I planned to emancipate her on this visit by waiting until John had his back to me to press a handkerchief to his mouth and nose until he passed out. Then I would help Salome pack all of her belongings and I would take her to my apartment until we could find another city in which to live, far away from John.

            I began to pack my belongings, in case she wanted me to go with her to her new residence. I had a very elaborate plan built up in my mind of how we would execute the plan (and possibly John if he got in the way).

         As my two-thousand-six Chrysler Crossfire approached Salome’s menacing mansion, I saw it as I had never seen it before- unlike the other times I had witnessed both its exterior and interior, I seemed to see the mansion for the first time! As Anthony Hopkins said as Dr. Hannibal Lecter in Red Dragon, “(I) looked but didn’t see.”

         The front yard was overgrown with stickers, weeds, and thorny roses which intertwined among themselves and upon the mansion and wrought-iron fence- black roses that carried blood-red thorns as if some passer-by had fallen into the yard and had been boundlessly scored by the short, stubby daggers.

            I approached the ornate front door and rang the doorbell. Luckily for me, Salome answered the door and she waved me inside as if we were two drug-addicted dealers looking out for the FBI or the CIA.

            “Salome! What are you doing! Where did you go?” John’s high tenor voice echoed against the mansion walls.

            “John, I had to answer the door. I have a friend over. She is staying the night.”

            “She better keep to herself! You have chores to do!”

            “I finished them, John! Go look for yourself!” She yelled to John, then turned to me, and whispered, “Let’s go to my hideout before he finishes checking the house to see if I did my chores correctly.”

            She took my hand and led me down a long hallway, set my sleepover things in her room, then led me into a smaller hallway, through a sliding door that seemed to appear out of nowhere when she opened it and I followed her through a long maze of small paths that seemed to be descending into the earth.

            I faintly heard John’s voice echoing off the walls again, “Salome! Where did you go?” He continued to yell out Salome’s name as we descended into the earth.

            “What do you do down here? You have never shown me this place before,” I said in amazement as I let my eyes drown in the wonderful colors of the stained glass pieces of art that Salome had hung on all the walls, lit up by spotlights.

            “I make these,” she replied, pointing to one of the more elaborate pieces. “I take old bottles that John means to throw out, break them, and use the pieces to make these ‘paintings.’”

            “These are beautiful! How do you keep the pieces of glass together?”

            “I take glue from John. He thinks he is an artist, but he just gets the glue all over his studio.”

            “Does he not notice that he is forced to buy more glue than he is actually using?”

            “There is so much glue layered on the floor of his studio that he never knows how much or how little he has used...”

            We began our sleepover with a bright conversation and she produced an electric bass from yet another hidden door and she plugged the amplifier into a wall outlet- no doubt that she had installed it herself under the cover of night- and she began to play a lovely lullaby as she plucked the strings back and forth.

            I asked her to teach me how to play and she was very patient with me- showing me what notes to play at what time to form the lullaby she had been playing.

            The night was spent singing and dancing to music Salome played on a boom box that she had plugged in to the same wall outlet into which she had plugged the bass- upbeat music and some slow music- and we had a bit of a singing contest.

            The hours seemed to fly by and we finally decided to go to sleep. We changed into  pajamas and, while she had her back turned to me, I noticed that she had numerous welts on her back- streaking her back were the scars of multiple lashes of a leather whip- making her look like she had been a slave to a cruel overseer. She covered her body- as well would anyone while changing clothes- but she covered herself as if hungry eyes watched her from every angle.

            I planned to search the house for any evidence of this beating that Salome had endured many times- for a whip, a cane, or anything else- that might give me an answer to the new questions that had come to my mind.

            Salome fell asleep quickly- almost instantly after she lay down on her blanket- and I took this time to explore the house.

            I wandered the halls discreetly, feeling my way along the walls, searching for any hidden doors that might lead to the room in which those terrible beatings might have taken place.

            I found a hidden door after an hour and a half of searching and followed it through a long, very narrow hallway and found exactly what I was looking for- rows upon rows of instruments of torture- whips of all different lengths, bamboo canes of different diameters, cats-of-nine-tails, and many other chains and instruments of torture that I could not identify. The main attraction, so to speak, in the room was the great marble table- with restraints for one’s arms and legs on each corner to hold one steady during unspeakable acts.

            I stood there, speechless, for long minutes until I finally decided to run away, back to Salome’s hiding place to speak to her about this newly discovered room and to try to mend the pieces of her inevitably broken spirit- only to find the room empty.

            I wandered the halls again, searching for Salome, whispering her name in hopes of hearing her reply, but there was none. I thought, “Perhaps she is in the restraint room…” I headed to that room quickly, and I found Salome.

            She was lain on the marble table with limp chains restraining her wrists and ankles. She was lain in such a way that, had she been lying on the snow-blanketed lawn in the front yard, she could have been forming the largest part of a snow angel’s sleeves and skirt. Two whips and a bamboo cane had been taken off one of the wall racks and were now lying beside the marble table, all splattered with fresh blood. The table on which Salome lay was also splattered with fresh blood, and I could see small trickles of blood seeping from her back.

            I looked on, bewildered, at this sight, wondering why she had been lain this way. Then the realization struck me- she was fully unclothed! I struggled to move- to help her! – but I found that I was unable to move even the smallest of my muscles!

            A thought transpired in my mind- a vague recognition of this scene, but from where, I did not know. I recognized the situation, but I could not recall whether I had seen this in a movie or heard about it from a friend… I saw that she had lines down from her eyes to her cheeks and throat and into her ears. Some of the lines materialized as white- dried salty tears- and then some were erased by new, fresh tears.

            John came into view then, he also fully unclothed. At first, I was completely oblivious to his intentions for Salome, because my brain had ceased working. Then he lifted himself up onto the table… I tried and tried to move- to stop him! – to take the crowbar that I held in my left hand and beat him! – but only my spirit and my thoughts were able to move, and Salome remained on the table to be used.

            She swiveled her head and looked intently upon me with empty eyes- lifeless, white eyes- as if the color of her irises had drained from her eyes with the tears she shed as John used her. The only definition was the inky black pupils in the centers of her eyes. She looked at me, but she did not see me. She moved her hands as if to push John away from her, but the restraints held her hands above her head.

            My brain failed to toil itself with thoughts again. “Her arms must be falling asleep! How could he force her to stay in that position for so long?” I thought stupidly, as if she was not being perversely used by her sick-minded uncle.

            Finally, Salome’s eyes came into focus upon my eyes- “Help me,” she mouthed- and finally I could move- I could think! That vague memory became all too clear to me: I was Salome! My uncle had used me, and I had tried my hardest to deny the fact. I saw a mirror reflection in Salome… I was Salome. Salome was me. This must have been one of those out-of-body experiences. Anger shot through me as a bullet shoots out of a gun.

             I snuck into the chamber as John closed his eyes and became lost in his sick pleasure. Quickly and quietly, I walked into the room and stood behind John- lifted the crowbar high above my head- and brought it down with animal-like strength upon John’s graying hair. Instantly, blood trickled from his ears and he stopped moving- just kneeled there with Salome.

            I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck- dug my fingernails into his flesh- pulled him off Salome (and therefore off of me)! I turned him around and let him stand there to look at me like an imbecile.

            “For all the years you used me this way, I give you my thanks…” I replied, raising the crowbar to hit him again.

            I became like Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the Silence of the Lambs- I hit John across the face with the crowbar, not bothering to wipe the blood off my face and my clothes. I struck John again and again and again, sweeping from the right side to the left and back again, just as Dr. Lecter did in the movie. His blood spattered all over my face, my clothes, and onto the marble table- the marble table! Salome was gone! I looked to examine the room and the floor- where were my clothes? I appeared as Salome had on the table- fully unclothed- but now I had scrapes and burns on my wrists and ankles as if I had been bound recently and often. I felt dirty, as if I had been used.

            My out-of-body experience had ended. My spirit had returned to my body. I was once again one girl. John was laying there on the floor in a thick red puddle of his blood. I dropped the crowbar and returned to my place on the marble table. My life had been solved. There was no longer a reason for me to remain alive. I had avenged myself. It took an out-of-body experience to do it, but I avenged myself. I was Salome, and no one else. I had no one else for whom to live. With this realization, I died.