Synopsis: Stiles wakes up in a cold, pitch black room and doesn't know where he is or how he got there; but slowly, things begin to come back to him, and nothing is what he expects to find.
Cautions: Themes of abduction, domestic violence, abuse and murder and mental health issues. But here we go...
Chapter 1: The Toolbox
Stiles takes a deep breath. He inhales, with a thirsty, painfully dry throat and he can taste the dust In the air. A dull ache stings his head and he runs a hand over a throbbing lump on the back of it.
He tries to think of where he could be, but knows only that there is a chilliness in the surrounding darkness and that muffled bird calls suggest the on-coming of dusk.
Stiles grasps at flashes of something - the morning sun on his face, kneeling to tie his shoe lace, a mother deer staring at him through trees, and his phone disappearing into tall grass...
...Was he talking to Scott on it? His phone? Where is it?
Stiles pats himself down; his hoodie and jeans, his shoes are missing. Nothing. There's nothing, but just the usual lump in his jeans pocket where his keys still are. The indents of loose change. Stiles kneels, feeling around on a dusty, cold, concrete floor, his hands hovering over clumps of soft wood, smalls stones and dry leaves. He crawls slowly, reaching out to touch a wall here or there - and five, maybe six metres ahead of him and three seconds later, there it is - Smooth bricks between ridges of grainy cement.
He follows along the wall, leaning against it for support.
"Come on, come on, come on..." He whispers to himself, careful not to make too much noise.
Finally, the wall dips as Stiles finds a doorframe.
"Yes!"
He fumbles at the handle, round, metallic, he twists, trying to turn it, pushing the door gently. Not that he's surprised, but the handle is stiff and unturnable.
He leans his ear against the surface of the door and listens intently.
Nothing. Nothing yet. He waits. Inhales deeply, tries to steady his breathing; listening more carefully.
He hears something faint. What is that? A dog panting maybe?
Stiles whistles.
"Here boy... or girl..." He smacks his lips together; tutt, tutt, tutt... "Come here buddy..."
It's silent for a long moment, and then, slowly, and finally, the sound of paws dragging across wooden panels grows closer accompanied by the closeness of heavy panting. As his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness Stiles notices the faintest of light from beneath the door as a shadow appears from behind it.
He notices he can now see very faintly the cracks between the bricks in the walls. The sun must be rising. Wherever he is, he is alone, with just this dog for company.
So, there are no windows. He turns around, scanning for another way out. He walks to the other side of the room, stumbles over some of the tiny scraps of wooden. But it's just brick and cement everywhere, except for a shelving unit to his right; where he feels and mentally notes what is likely to be a toolbox, and then moves on.
Suddenly, the fear and anxiety weaken his legs. He leans on the wall, but he can feel himself kneeling to the ground. Then his head is in his hands, and he tries desperately to focus on finding a way out, to think straight. And then, he is aware of how cold he is and hungry - his belly gives out a quiet grown that builds into a slow outstretched rumble. He exhales.
"This isn't the time to think of your appetite Stiles" he whispers aloud.
He pushes himself up and turns towards the shelving unit. Runs his fingers over each plank of wood; anticipating sharp objects, and yet finding nothing but the toolbox again. He grips hold of it - just as a shift of movement alerts him to the door; and with his heart pounding, the toolbox falls, landing with a painful clanging on both the cement and his feet below.
"Fuck!" he yells, then quickly reigns his voice in and holds his breath.
Stiles feels like throwing up. He lets himself breathe again, listens for a long time. When nothing else happens, the whining of the dog's yawn, brings with it, the realisation that the sound had been the slumping down of it's heavy canine body outside the door. And the panting was now louder than ever.
Stiles, though always fond of dogs, finds that right now, this dog in particular means the world to him. Means he isn't alone in the darkness. Kneeling again, and gripping the steely toolbox close to his chest, he finds himself crawling over and lying down beside the door, as close to the dog as possible. As light slowly brings more and more clarity to the bare walled room, Stiles shivers, hugs the cold metal box tighter, and imagines it is his mother; for after all these years of pretending he still didn't yearn for her lost touch, now is the time he can no longer pretend anymore. And as his eyes become heavy and his breathing calmer, he can no longer hold them open and the toolbox slides from his limp arms.
I know it's short, but it's just the beginning - Of course, I appreciate any thoughts or feedback, but I realise it's early days and there's not a great deal to discuss yet. Mainly, I hope you enjoyed this opening chapter and stick around for more. Until then...
Catch you next time,
Harper_Leaps