When the bedroom door opened, Amy was ready for them.

She'd changed into the nightgown she liked the least.  Jamie said he couldn't understand how she had favorites when they all looked the same.  But she did.  There were subtle differences, and over time she'd learned what ones felt best.  Her most cherished one was softer than the others and the hem was torn at the bottom separating the lace trim.  When she curled up on the chair and let the nightie bunch around her feet, her fingers would be drawn to the hole in the fabric and the tips would run along the frayed threads brushing them gently.  The sensation relaxed her and almost sent her into a semi-trance, as she daydreamed about another life outside of the prison.

Back in July, Amy had made the mistake of stubbornly wearing her most comfortable jogging pants into the pen.  She'd never seen them again.  Nothing that went in with her ever came out again.

The door cracked open and there was a subtle woosh from the change in air pressure.  It was like an ancient tomb being opened in a movie.  But the two figures didn't look much like treasure hunters.  They were more like robots with their shapeless white suits and large face visors. 

They didn't talk.  They never did.  The only sounds were from the raspy chaffing of the suit's fabric against itself and the squeaky breathing sound of the air pump, which made them resemble machines even more.  Human breath was absent, along with a heartbeat.

A man stepped in first.  Beneath the visor, shadows blackened his cheeks.  Over his round, bulging eyes, his forehead continued up without end.  He didn't come into her cell often and it took Amy a moment to place him.  Jamie had told her his name some time ago.  It drifted like a leaf falling from a high branch until her mind finally caught it: Aikman.

Amy could tell that the second person was the redhead with glasses even before she saw her. This woman was no more familiar than the man, but the fear she carried on her was vividly distinct.  It was a stink that clung to her like a neon sign.

The suits seemed to block normal human odors just as it did sound.  But the stench of Emily's terror was there.  Somehow it slipped through.  Perhaps she spread it unwittingly over the suit's exterior while she was dressing.  Or perhaps, it was so strong that it fought its way through the barrier.  However the scent evaded the thick shielding, it wafted across the room like sour oranges with a hint of bile. 

Amy raised her head and tried to detect if anything was coming off of Aikman.  Faintly beneath Emily's scent, something was there.  It wasn't fear.  It wasn't anything she had smelled before.  It was almost like rotten meat.

Amy waited for them by the connecting door in silence.  She had shut off her music player when she heard the mechanical clangs of the outer portal.  She wouldn't fight them.  There was no point.  She'd just get dragged into the cage anyway and tossed onto the mat.  She'd be left with nothing to show for her defiance except some bruises.

Besides, Ylva didn't want her to struggle with them.

The woman's presence was always around her now.  Ever since the day in the clearing, she drifted through the prison like a phantom.  In the shadow of the eclipse, they had come to a strange truce and it had drawn them together.

Sometimes on nights when Jamie didn't come to see her, Amy would lie in bed with the covers over her face and talk to her.  She would mumble questions and listen for the reply as though she were a medium pulling answers from beyond the great divide.

"Where are the woods?"  That decayed ancient forest was often in her thoughts, along with the memory of running.  "How do I get there again?"

A shrill laugh stirred through the silent room like the last remnant of an echo.  "You are a stupid little girl.  Do not think about where you're not.  The only important place is this gray land."

"Why is this prison important?"

"Because it traps you."  A sensation of clawed fingers stroking her hair sent a shiver down Amy's back.  "Child, you must leave this place."

"How?"

"I will help.  Now, tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me all that you know.  Tell me everything about this cage and those that hold us here.  And if you lie, I will know."

"Why would I lie?"

"Exactly.  Why would you ever lie to me?  You will never do that."

So in the deep of night, alone in her cell, Amy recited everything she could think of.  She told Ylva about her room and the door that led to the pen.  About Jamie and Horus.  About the woman doctor she hated and all the people Jamie had told her about.  Everything she could think of until sleep threatened to drag her down beneath its surface and her thoughts were slow and murky.

In the last throws of consciousness, the woman repeated a phrase like a mantra and it sounded like a whisper on the wind: Be good.  Be strong.

Amy had always loved the name Ylva.  It had been her grandmother's and sounded so exotic.  Why couldn't her parents have called her that instead?

She only knew her grandmother from old photos, where the colors weren't quite right—the reds and blues were too bright and yellows and greens too dull.  The one she remembered best was of her mother's mother standing on a rocky coastline with the sea behind her and white mountains far in the distance.  She wore a heavy knit sweater, cream-colored with red snowflakes streaking lines down its front.  Her hair was loose and lifted off of her shoulders in the breeze.  She looked happy but her mouth was stern.  It was her eyes that hinted at joy and mischief.

Her sharp cheekbones and blonde, almost white, hair reminded Amy of the woman from the woods, so she had decided to call her Ylva.

As the two suited figures neared, the door opened and the bleak gray room began to yawn in front of her.  When the opening was wide enough, Amy walked in without being asked or coerced.  She showed them just how good she was like Ylva wanted.

Through each step, she fought the sickening dread that threatened to consume her strength and leave her trembling on the floor.  This cell always inspired a primal terror.  Hopelessness swelled inside of her at the sight of it.  The stark dungeon atmosphere was a reminder of what she would become.

Dragging her feet across the concrete, she was slow to take in her surroundings.  There was something different.

At first, the redhead woman's smell was too strong to detect the new aroma in the air.  It was also fearful but pleasant at the same time.

Her head whipped to the side and her eyes locked on the creature tied up in the corner of the room.  Her attention was fully consumed by it.  She didn't even notice the door sealing her in as she walked over to it.

It gave a high pitch squeal and strained against the rope.

It was a small pink pig.  Memories of petting zoos and children's films rose from the depths of her childhood.  A gentle tear filled her eye as the pen fell away, forgotten.  It was dreamlike how here in this dank hole there was suddenly another being—a cute little animal to shine a light on her dismal mood.

The poor thing was terrified.

"It's okay.  It's okay," she cooed as she drew closer.  "I'm not going to hurt you."

She reached out and gently patted its stubbly head.  It seemed to relax at the touch.  She kneeled on the ground and moved closer, stroking it with long gentle caresses.  It nuzzled her hand.

Its warmth soothed her to her soul.  She hadn't felt the touch of another living thing since she had been taken away from home.  Hands in rubber gloves didn't count—they didn't count for anything.

"You're scared, huh?  I am too.  At least we don't have to spend the night alone."     

Then it hit her.  Why did they put this little pig in here?

Amy's heart went cold.  She flung herself away from it, letting herself fall backward on the floor.  Sheer panic numbed her from the impact.  Her breathing was coming so quickly it shook her body.

No-no-no-no!

Amy pulled herself up and ran to the metal screen covering the glass.  She banged on it with the balls of both fists screaming.  "Get it out of here.  Get it out of here." 

They were in there watching her.  They had to listen to her.  They couldn't let this happen.

She kept it up until her strength failed and she collapsed.

"Don't make me kill it," she moaned between sobs.