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5
The Dark
Juliana
Iwakeupcold.
At some point, someone took my clothes, leaving me in only my thin undergarments. I’ve been tossed into a dark room, which feels much like I’d imagine a cell would feel. It’s dank and dark. Only a hazy light creates shadows through the room. It’s cold. So cold. The sounds around me are the perfect soundtrack for a horror movie. Every creak and groan send chills through my bones.
“Where am I?” I whisper to myself.
I hear shuffling, and then a small voice says, “You’re awake. For a while there, we were worried you wouldn’t wake up.”
“What? Who’s there?” I slur. New questions arising with every word uttered.
“Shhh. You need to stay quiet. Otherwise they’ll hear.” The voice is soothing despite its dry, rough texture.
“Who will hear?”
A loud creak comes from down the hall, and more voices filter in.
“Yeah, that’s her at the end. Bring her.”
The door to my cell jerks open, and I’m hauled to my feet. Someone tugs at my arm and tightens their hold into a death grip. I realize I’m being prompted to move.
I have no sense of direction, and vertigo threatens to send me careening off an invisible edge. Still, I continue to make my way forward. It takes all of my energy to keep up.
Beyond the cold, the only sensations I feel are the bruising grip my captor has on my arm and the dull throb of scrapes and cuts accumulating on my feet and legs. I know I should be in pain, but my mind is trying to distance me from the feeling. It’s trying to protect me in the only way it knows how—by numbing the sensations I should be experiencing. I wonder how long my body will be able to maintain this cover of protection before it all comes crashing back.
Lights in the hallway flicker. It feels like we wander endlessly through a maze of corridors and hallways before reaching our destination. A door swings wide, and bright lights blind me momentarily. As my eyes adjust, I take in the room.
It’s a cavernous space that makes no attempt at feeling warm or inviting. A desk and chair sit across from the doorway where we enter, but it’s more like a work room than an office. Tools and weaponry hang on the far wall with more crates scattered about. Large pillars support the roof above, and there’s a drain at the center of the room surrounded by stained concrete.
Standing behind a desk is a man of impressive stature. In any other circumstance, one might consider him attractive with his dark complexion, but his eyes mask a hidden danger. He’s fit. Only his graying hair gives away his age.
This man is a predator. He will kill me. Or at least he’ll get close. There’s no doubt in my mind. The moment his eyes connect with mine, I know it to be true.
His perusal of my near-naked body is hot. There is a flash of recognition in his eyes, though I know I’ve never met him before. The way he looks at me is like I’m something to toy with. To him, I am dinner, and this man likes to play with his food. The hunger in his eyes simmers with psychopathic violence.
There are different types of fear, those of the unknown or imminent danger being the most common. But the fear seizing my body is of another variety. I’ve never experienced this before. This feeling of being afraid of what it would mean to live through the next moments of your life.
The fear of surviving.
“So, Little John, this is what you bring to the table?” There are razors in his voice, and his tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention.
Internally I huff.
Little John. How ironically fitting.
Well, I guess at least I know his real name.
“Um… Yes, boss?” The man I know as Chad replies from behind me.
Prowling towards me, the man stops only a foot away. The guard who dragged me here still has a firm grip on my arm, but I feel him flinch when the man stops. It doesn’t speak well of a man when even his men are afraid of him.
“Good. Very good.”
I don’t hear any movement, and the man before me grows visibly aggravated.
