Please Note I do not own Criminal Minds, any of the characters, or any other copyrighted content that appears in this story. This is just based off my own personal musings after a vivid dream after watching the show. Rated T for Language and Intense Content.
Adrenaline surged through my veins as I scrambled back to my feet in an effort to take advantage of this opportunity to get away. To escape his hold. I had been there for so long I had forgotten what the grass smelled like and what it felt like to have the sun's warmth wash over you. I had been there long enough to lose hope about ever being free again. The bastard would sit us down in our cage and play the new for us; taunting us with the media releases from the BAU about their progress on the case.
Every day is was something new, some different lead, but every day it was wrong. Not by much, but enough to make a difference. Enough to kindle that small flicker of hope while extinguishing the fire. For three months I sat in that dank basement in the middle of the Southern California valley, praying and hoping that one of these brave people I saw taunting me on the television would come busting through that bolted door that only one man came through. Every week I would watch as he collected another girl from the basement for her to never return and every week I would sit there, wondering when it would be my turn.
I still remember how he smelled, how he breathed, how he moved, how his skin felt brushing against mine. He reeked of beer and ash, breathed heavily and hotly, moved slowly and lazily, and his skin felt like sandpaper against mine as he forced me to move with him.
I still kick myself for not reacting sooner as soon as I heard the breathing and smelled the booze while walking home that night. For not screaming louder or kicking harder as his rough hands closed over my mouth and nose. For not being able to hold my breath longer before passing out. For being a damned damsel in distress. The counselors tell me not to take it to heart, that there was nothing I could do, that this wasn't my fault, but I know they're full of shit. They all blame me for what happened to those other girls; for not finding a way out sooner.
But anyway, I digress. Back to escaping.
The light burned into my retinas as the door swung open. The last of the girls was taken up there – last except for me. We had agreed that whoever went first would fight and struggle against him to give the other the window of opportunity we needed. The news had said that the FBI agents were finally coming closer to figuring out where we were. They were actually within a ten mile radius, if our own approximations of our location were correct, which meant this was our one and only chance.
I still remember her name – Rebecca – and how her dark brown hair still seemed to glimmer despite our less than favorable conditions. She had been there longer than I had and was a few years older than me. Every time we heard the door rattle she would say a quick prayer that it would be someone to save us and not him.
It seemed, however, that her prayers would be unanswered. The last time I saw her alive she was praying amidst her flailing and screaming. She was praying that I would get out safe, praying for the strength to hold him off, praying that I would be found by someone who was willing to help me. Someone was apparently listening to her because it didn't take me that long to be found.
Rebecca bucked and struggled against our captor the moment he had the door open, sending them both toppling back down the stairs and giving me the opening to make my way out. Tears streamed down my face as I left her there to die. I still hear her blood curdling screams as he cut her throat in the stillness of the night on occasion. But in that moment I knew I had to keep pushing, keep running, keep fighting because if I didn't… well, I'll leave what would have happened up to your imagination. Trust me, I've played it out in my mind hundreds of thousands of times and none of it turned out well for me.
It was hard to run after sitting in that dank basement for months without proper sustenance, but I kept running until I collapsed and rolled off the dirt road. I'm not proud of the fact that I drank greedily from the muddy puddle I landed in, but it kept me going for those few extra feet I needed to wander in order to be saved.
And in case you're wondering, I do still remember the way the sun glinted of the black finish of that large SUV as it sped towards me. I remember the dread building in my chest as I realized I had no way of knowing if this was someone there to help me or someone to take me back to hell, but I found my legs unresponsive as I simply dropped to my knees and surrendered to my fate.
I'm not sure if I was crying or not; I was too dehydrated for actual tears, but my body was shaking either out of overwhelming fear, hysterical laughter, or gross sobbing. It doesn't really matter because the next thing I remember is a tall, dark haired figure approaching me, pulling his jacket from his shoulders as he crouched down in front of me and wrapping it around my weakened frame.
His voice cut through the air like gravel, startling me out of my fatigued stupor as my eyes drifted upward towards him. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but his piercing eyes and the ferocity in his face told me that I was safe. That the bastard wasn't going to get me again. Before I knew what was happening, I was clinging to him and sobbing heavily as he called for backup and informed someone on the other end of a phone line that I was safe, that they needed paramedics and hospital transport.
I didn't have the strength – or maybe it was the heart – to tell him that he needed to call for the coroner, too. I just sat there in his arms, clinging to him for dear life, trying to erase the last three months from my mind in a desperate attempt to escape the sorrow and pain. I could have sworn I was close to succeeding until the sirens wail echoed and intruded on my mental process.
Every time I try to forget I hear those damned sirens, ruining everything.
The moments ensuing were a blur. You would think I would remember every detail of my rescue as well as I do of my captivity, but I couldn't resist the welcome arms of peaceful sleep now that I was safe in the back of the ambulance with my rescuer next to me, his jacket still wrapped around my lithe form. I won't pretend it was a restful sleep, but it was sleep, so I didn't complain.
By the time the backup arrived, he was long gone. My captor was on the loose and I didn't even know his name or his face. Knowing how he smelled, breathed, moved, and felt did no good in helping them identify him and it certainly didn't do anything to assuage my own demons and allow me to have peace, but it was all I could do.
The protective custody did no good. Sleeping in my parents' house didn't help. Having my mother and father holding my hand every night as I fought through my nightmares did nothing to make me feel safe. Even my rescuer couldn't make me feel safe. No one could erase the images of the girls who had been thrown into that basement with me, who had been taken away so abruptly, who had died so that only I could get away.
So, I need to apologize for lying earlier. This isn't a story about my escape.
This is a story of me escaping one nightmare just to end up in another.
This is a story about condemnation; swift and unwarranted.
This is a story about hell.