Drowned in a Box for Saving My Brother

To punish me for losing my autistic younger brother, Ezra Clement, Mom locks me inside a custom-made steel box. The box is about 20 inches wide and is welded in place in the deepest corner in our basement. "There's a walkie-talkie inside. You'll stay in there until you admit that you deliberately left Ezra beside the human traffickers' van." She locks the lid, plunging me into darkness. For the first three days, I cry and beg through the walkie-talkie, trying to tell Mom that I only let go of Ezra's hand to lure the traffickers away from him. One of the traffickers has slashed me across the back, and the wound keeps bleeding and festering. But Mom refuses to listen to anything I have to say. All I hear are her furious accusations. "Evelyn, you're just jealous of Ezra. A vicious sister like you deserves to be locked in there until you die." On the fourth day, torrential rain floods the basement. Muddy water rises past my knees, soaking the knife wound on my back in filthy water. The pain is so unbearable that I claw at the metal walls until all ten of my fingernails tear and break. I desperately press the talk button. But all I hear from the other end is Mom's gentle voice coaxing Ezra to sleep. To prevent me from disturbing him, she powers it off. When the water that is mingled with the blood from my mangled fingers rises above my head and floods into my nose, I stop struggling. Mom has no idea that on the back of our family photo, I have written down my plan to work hard, earn money, and pay for Ezra's treatment. Helplessly, I think, "Mom, I confess. In my next life, I will never be your daughter again." Chapter 1 When the lid of the steel box closed, I was still calling out for Mom. I cried, "It wasn't me. Mom, please, just listen to me. They took Ezra away. I went after him." The sound of a key turning came from outside the iron lid. Mom stood at the entrance to the basement, still clutching Ezra Clement's blue comfort blanket in her hand. Her eyes were badly swollen, and her lips were pale. But when she looked at me, there was nothing left in her eyes but hatred. She said, "Evelyn, you've known how to put on an act since you were little. Ezra can't talk. He can't tell on you. So, you bully him." I shook my head. The wounds on my back stung from the sweat soaking into them. "No, I didn't. They gave Ezra candy, and he followed them. I couldn't hold on to him," I explained. "Then, why did you let go?" Mom suddenly screamed. "You're his older sister! How could you let go?" I opened my mouth, and the taste of blood filled my throat. Before I could say anything, Mom had opened the lid and tossed a walkie-talkie inside. "I don't want to hear your lies." She pointed inside the box. "Your dad used this box for safety testing at construction sites. It's very sturdy. Since you like to lie, then stay in there and think long and hard about what you've done." The lid closed again. The last sliver of light was swallowed up. I felt around for the walkie-talkie and held down the talk button. "Mom, my back really hurts." There was no response from outside. I spoke again, "Can you take me to the hospital first? I'll come back and reflect on what I did afterward." A long time later, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. "It hurts? Didn't it hurt for Ezra too when those people dragged him away? He's so afraid of strangers that he couldn't even cry out. Have you ever thought about that?" I pressed my forehead against the cold metal wall. "He came back, but I almost didn't." Mom laughed coldly. "Aren't you back home just fine?" I lowered my head and looked at my trembling hands. Blood dripped from my sleeve cuffs and fell onto the bottom of the box. Drop by drop, it was quickly swallowed by the darkness. I didn't dare cry loudly anymore, as Ezra was afraid of shrill noises. Whenever he had an episode in the past, I would cover my mouth and hide in the bathroom to cry. Mom said I was his older sister, so I had to tolerate him. Dad said Ezra was sick and I was healthy, so I should be more sensible. I had always been very sensible. So much so that I never dared tell them that I felt pain, too. On the night of the first day, Mom brought me a bottle of water and a piece of bread. She pushed them through the small hatch at the bottom without even bothering to take a look at me. I lunged forward and dug my fingers desperately into the gap. "Mom, look at my back. It's really bleeding." Her footsteps stopped, and I thought her hardened heart had finally softened. But in the next second, she crouched down and pried my fingers away one by one. "Don't try to scare me with this act. I'm not your dad, Evelyn. That won't work on me." The small hatch slammed shut. I clutched the piece of bread and cried until I couldn't breathe. The bread was very dry. I couldn't swallow it. Ezra's broken voice came through the walkie-talkie, "Evie… Evie…" I immediately sat up straight. "Ezra, it's me. I'm right here." Mom's anxious, soothing voice quickly came from the other end, "Be good, Ezra. Your sister is reflecting on what she did. She did something wrong." Ezra repeated, "Evie… Evie… Red..." Mom fell silent for a moment. Then, the walkie-talkie was cut off. I hugged my knees and whispered into the darkness, "Ezra, I don't blame you." But I wanted Mom to hear me, too. Chapter 2 On the second day, I started running a fever. The box was too narrow for me to lie down flat, so I could only sit and hug my knees to my chest. Whenever my back touched the metal wall, the friction would cause my wound to reopen. The pain left me covered in cold sweat. I held down the button on the walkie-talkie and called out, "Mom, I really can't take it anymore. Please let me out so I can see a doctor. I'll come back. I promise I'll come back." The clinking of plates and utensils came from the other end of the walkie-talkie. Mom was feeding Ezra. She used to feed me like that, too. She would chop vegetables into tiny pieces and mix them into my soup, telling me they were green stars. I heard Ezra slapping the table. Mom said gently, "You don't want this? I'll make you an omelet instead." I endured the pain and called out, "Mom." The other end went quiet for a few seconds. Finally, she spoke, asking, "Are you ready to admit what you did?" I bit my lip and replied, "I didn't lose Ezra on purpose." "You're still being stubborn." Mom slammed the plate down. "Evelyn, I gave you a chance. All you have to do is admit you were wrong. Say you did it on purpose, and I'll let you out." I stared into the darkness as tears rolled down my face. "But I didn't do it on purpose." "You did," Mom insisted. Her breathing grew rapid as she went on, "You're jealous of him. You're jealous that I take care of him. You're jealous that everyone in the family revolves around him. Just last month, you said you wished Ezra wouldn't scream all the time." I froze upon hearing that. That day, I had been doing homework until the early hours of the morning while Ezra slapped the walls in the living room. All I had done was cover my ears and say, "Can you please be quiet for a little while?" Mom had stormed in and slapped me hard across the face. She said I had no compassion. Even after that slap, I still warmed Ezra's milk as usual the next day and took him to the therapy center. I thought that as family, I could express to them that I felt tired. Apparently, I wasn't allowed to. Dad's voice came through the walkie-talkie, "Hannah, that's enough." My head snapped up. "Dad!" Dad was back. I pounded on the sides of the box with all my strength and shouted, "Dad, I'm hurt! Let me out!" Footsteps drew closer outside the basement door. Dad's voice came through from the other side, "Evie, just apologize to your mom first. She's been on the verge of breaking down these past few days." My hands stopped pounding on the door. "Dad, do you think I did it on purpose, too?" He fell silent. That silence hurt more than Mom's scolding. Mom said coldly, "Michael, don't go soft on her. If she's willing to abandon her brother today, she'll be willing to get him killed tomorrow." Dad lowered his voice. "We should let her out first. We can't leave her wounds untreated." Mom laughed and mocked, "She's putting on another act. Have you forgotten what Ezra looked like when they brought him back? He was missing a shoe, and his arms were covered in scrapes." Dad said nothing more. I heard him walk away. At that moment, I knew this door wasn't going to open. That night, Ezra cried for a long time. He kept repeating, "Red… Evie… Red…" Mom finally lost patience with his crying. She turned on the walkie-talkie and shouted at me, "Are you happy now? You've already scared him so badly, and now you want him to cry for you!" I pressed myself against the crack in the lid and whispered, "Ezra saw my blood. He isn't scared because of me. He's trying to tell you I'm hurt." Mom fell silent for a moment. Then, she said, "Shut up." The walkie-talkie went dead again. I leaned back. The pain made my vision turn white. In the darkness, I felt around in my pocket and found our family photo. The corners of the photo were damp with blood. We had taken it last month before my school's spring field trip. I stood at the very edge. Ezra was holding my arm, Mom had one hand on his shoulder, and Dad was looking at the camera. On the back of the photo was a plan I had written in black ink. I wrote, "Get a part-time job at a bookstore during summer vacation. Apply for a scholarship when school starts. Save money to buy Ezra better speech-training cards." The last line read, "Someday, Ezra will be able to address Mom as "Mom" and call me by my name." I ran my fingers over that line and smiled faintly. I still hadn't gotten to hear him call my name properly. Chapter 3 On the third day, the basement light stopped working. I couldn't tell day from night and could only judge the time by how often food was brought to me. Mom didn't bring me bread anymore. She pushed in a bowl of cold oatmeal porridge. Half of it spilled, and what remained tasted of rust. I lifted the bowl and took a few sips, but my stomach churned violently. The walkie-talkie grew hot in my hand from how tightly I held it. I pressed the button over and over again. "Mom, I have a fever." "Mom, please." "Dad, are you there?" No one answered. Later, I heard a stranger's voice outside the lid. It was someone from property management. Jared Mosby said, "Mrs. Clement, the basement drainage pump is scheduled for maintenance over the next couple of days. There's a heavy rain warning, so it's best not to keep any valuables down here." Mom's voice was indifferent as she replied, "Got it." Jared spoke again, "What's that steel box at the very back of your basement for? Make sure it isn't blocking the drain." My heart suddenly started pounding. I used every ounce of strength I had to pound on the lid. I cried, "Sir! Help me! I'm in here!" Jared paused for a moment before asking, "What's that sound?" I pounded desperately. I kept hitting the lid until my palms went numb. My fingernails scraped against the metal with a piercing screech. Mom immediately raised her voice. "My son is upstairs banging his toys around. He has autism and can't handle strangers. Please don't ask too many questions." Jared hesitated and said, "But it sounds like it's coming from inside." Mom opened the basement door, and her footsteps approached. She stood outside the box and spoke to me in a low voice through the lid, "If you make any more trouble, I'll take away the walkie-talkie." I froze. She turned around and smiled at Jared. "His sister did something wrong. She's in there writing a reflection essay. We don't need to report to property management about how we discipline our own child, do we?" Jared gave a couple of awkward laughs. "Alright, then. Take care, Mrs. Clement." The footsteps receded, and the door closed. I lunged for the walkie-talkie and cried out, "Mom, you know I'm going to die." Mom was silent for a long time. Then, she said, "So, admit it." I clutched the walkie-talkie, my throat hurting so badly that I could barely make a sound. "If I admit it, will you believe me?" "Yes," she said. "Then, I admit it," I said tiredly, closing my eyes. "I was wrong. I didn't take good enough care of Ezra." Mom immediately cut me off, "Not that. Say you deliberately handed him over to human traffickers." My whole body went cold. Those words were stuck in my throat. I couldn't say them. Because if I did, and Ezra heard about it someday, he would think I had really planned to abandon him. I could be locked up. I could be yelled at. I could endure the pain. However, I couldn't let Ezra think I didn't love him. I whispered, "Mom, I can't tell that lie." Mom kicked the lid of the box. The metal shook so violently that my ears rang. She sneered. "Then, you can stay in there!" … That night, Dad came again. He stood outside the box, his voice exhausted. "Evie, your mom is asleep. Tell me the truth. Did you do it on purpose or not?" I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Dad, do you remember when I was eight years old? Ezra ran into the street, and I rushed over to grab him. A car hit me and broke my arm. That time, you said I was the best sister in the whole world." Dad's breathing grew uneven. I continued, "I ran after him this time, too. I just couldn't protect either him or myself." There was no sound from outside the box for a long time. I thought Dad was going to open it. I heard the jingle of keys. Then, Mom's voice came from the stairway, "Michael, what are you doing?" The sound of the jingling keys stopped. Mom rushed over and snatched them away. "You believe her?" Dad suppressed his anger. "She's our child, too." Mom started crying. "What about Ezra? We almost lost Ezra! Are you going to drive me insane all over again because of her?" Dad said nothing. Meanwhile, Mom took the keys away. I heard Dad whisper from outside the box. "Evie, just hang in there a little longer." I smiled. So, when it came to my life, all I could do was hang in there. Chapter 4 On the fourth day, the sound of rain seeped in through the walls. At first, it was only a steady dripping. Later, it became the continuous sound of running water. The bottom of the box started to feel cold. I reached down and felt muddy water. The basement was flooding! I immediately pressed the button on the walkie-talkie. "Mom, water's getting in. There's water coming into the box!" The walkie-talkie crackled with static. It was noisy on Mom's end. Ezra was screaming. Mom was busy soothing him. "Be good, Ezra. Don't be scared of the rain. Mommy's here. I'll hold you." I raised my voice. "Mom, please check the basement! The water's already coming in!" She finally answered me, "Evelyn, can you stop making trouble at a time like this? Ezra is scared of the thunder." I looked down at the water rising over the soles of my shoes. "I'm not making trouble. Mom, it's really flooding." She laughed coldly. "Yesterday, you said you had a fever. The day before that, you said you were bleeding. Today, you're saying it's flooding. Are you going to tell me you're dead tomorrow?" I stared blankly at the walkie-talkie in my hand. Ezra's crying drew closer. He seemed to have grabbed the walkie-talkie and cried out indistinctly, "Ev… Evie… Wa… ter..." Mom immediately took the walkie-talkie back. "Ezra, don't copy her. Evelyn did something wrong. She has to be punished." Ezra cried even harder. "O-Open…" It was one of the rare times he had pronounced a word clearly. I pressed my face against the walkie-talkie. "Ezra, don't cry. I'm fine." Mom suddenly raised her voice. "How dare you still talk to him? You've already done this to him, and now you want him to feel sorry for you?" The walkie-talkie was slammed against something. Then, the speaker was turned off. All I could hear was the faint hiss of static. The water quickly rose above my ankles. I tried to stand, but the box was too low, so I could only crouch. My clothes had stuck to the wounds on my back, and every movement tore them open again. I rammed my shoulder into the lid. Once. Twice. Thrice. The iron box didn't budge. When the water reached my calves, I heard footsteps outside the lid. I cried out in delight, "Dad!" The footsteps stopped outside. Alas, it was Grandma. She rarely involved herself in family matters. The only person she doted on was Ezra. She asked through the lid, "Evelyn, have you admitted you were wrong yet?" I hurriedly said, "Grandma, water's getting into the box. Please get Dad for me. Please." Grandma sighed. "You headstrong child… Why are you as stubborn as your mother? Ezra's been refusing to eat anything ever since he was found. Your mother nearly cried her eyes out. Just give in a little, and the whole family can put this behind us." I clutched at the crack in the lid. "Grandma, I'm going to die." She was silent for a moment. "Don't say such preposterous things. Your mother knows what she's doing." I listened to her footsteps fade away, my hand slowly sliding down the lid. The water rose to my knees. It was freezing. I lifted the family photo and tucked it deep inside my clothes. I couldn't let it get wet. It was the last thing I could take with me. Late that night, the water rose to my waist. I held down the talk button on the walkie-talkie, but there was barely any strength left in my fingers. I said, "Mom, I confess. Please let me out." There was no response from the other end. I spoke again, "I did it on purpose. I was jealous of Ezra. I'm bad." Finally, the walkie-talkie crackled to life. Mom's voice was very soft. "It's too late to admit it now." I froze. She said, "I'll let you out tomorrow morning. Remember how scared you feel tonight. That way, you'll truly learn your lesson." I looked at the water that had already risen to my chest and opened my mouth. "Mom, I won't make it until tomorrow." The walkie-talkie went silent again. Suddenly, I heard her singing. "Sleep, sleep, my darling baby." It was the song she sang to lull Ezra to sleep. It was also my favorite song when I was little. When the water rose past my neck, I stopped calling out. I simply used my broken, upturned fingernail to slowly carve words into the metal. "Ezra, don't be afraid." When the water rose over my head, I instinctively struggled. My feet kicked against the metal, and my knees slammed into it until they went numb. I opened my mouth, and muddy water rushed in. A foul, metallic smell filled my nose. I pressed the button on the walkie-talkie one last time, yet no one answered on the other end. I heard my heartbeat getting slower and slower. Then, all the pain stopped. I stood inside the steel box and saw myself curled up beneath the water. My hair floated around me, and I was still clutching the family photo in my hand. I reached out to pull myself up, but my hand passed straight through my own arm. I didn't cry. I just felt very tired. Outside the steel box, the rain was still falling. I passed through the lid and saw the basement clearly for the first time. The water was waist-deep, and several cardboard boxes floated on the surface. Dad's old toolbox had tipped over, and the keys were hanging on the wall. It turned out that the keys had been close to me all along. It was just that no one had been willing to pick them up. Upstairs, Mom sat by the bed with Ezra in her arms. Ezra wasn't asleep. He stared fixedly in the direction of the basement, repeating the same phrase over and over. "Evie… Water. "Evie… Water." Driven to the breaking point by his repetition, Mom covered his mouth. "Stop saying that!" Ezra screamed and scratched the back of her hand until it bled. Mom gasped from the pain. She raised her hand, then stopped in midair. In the end, she pulled him tightly into her arms again. "Ezra, you're all Mommy has left. Evelyn is bad. She wants to take Mommy away from you." Ezra shook his head hard. "Evie red. Evie block." Mom froze. "What did you say?" Growing frantic, Ezra hit his own head. "Evie block. Knife." Mom's face fell. Just as she was about to question him further, Dad rushed in, shouting, "The basement drainage pump is broken! The water's backing up!" Mom shot to her feet. "The box!"