Small, timed breaths filled the endless silence of the small wooden crate. Her ragged breathing echoed slightly against the lumber, but was quickly absorbed by the pale wood. An uncomfortable stillness had long descended, unable to be quenched by even the most pained inhale.
Her heart beat slowly, but violently, against her rib cage, still too fast to survive the scarce oxygen. The rhythmic tempo sounded quietly over her laboured breathing, but remained a pleasant reminder of the hope to which she desperately clung.
The air hung heavy with a thick layer of rot and the quickly dissipating scent of fresh lumber. It fell like lead upon her chest, pushing painfully into her ribs and limiting her lungs to only the smallest of breaths.
It filled the small space, and seeped into the fabric of her clothes, filling them with the smell of death and foreshadowing her dwindling chances. Splinters of wood grated painfully against the bare skin of her hands as the lay prone to her side.
Dust and fallen silt matted the crate in a fine layer, which gathered under her fingernails as they had struggled to escape. Her blonde curls were dark with soil as she swallowed deeply, tears springing to her eyes. The taste of decomposition lay heavy against her tongue as the frigid air crept into her lungs. It left behind a fuzzy, and overall unpleasant, taste in her mouth, which only fresh air would relieve.
The last glow stick filled the crate with dwindling light, soft like the beacon of a far away lighthouse. It painted the wood with an eerie florescent pink, so distant from the childhood sunsets of Mount Pearl. A lone tears escaped down her cheek, falling against the damp wood.
Despite the warmth of the fall evening, her numb limbs were heavy against her. Their once violent movement had long ceased, replaced by a persistent ache and quickly covered by a blissful loss of feeling. She could hardly feel the blood which supposedly pumped through their veins, forced to flow by her dying heart.
Stale breaths were drawn from the air, void of the oxygen her body needed. Carbon dioxide spilled out to take its place, poisoning the air and burning her lungs with every pained breath. The oxygen tank was long empty and she chided herself for overusing the precious contents.
Her weak voice called out in a final attempt, barely audible against the drum of her heart. The plea was swallowed up by the wood, and she could feel the last glimmer of hope slipping away, like a lantern hungry for its last drop of oil.
Her vision was fuzzy, and she knew she was fading. She blinked lazily and when they reopened, she could barely register the soft outline of her phone as it lay a few inches away, dead and useless without signal.
Holding on was a struggle. The braided rope which tethered her to life had been worn down by her underground prison, and now she grasped at the thin thread which remained. The fine strand was tied loosely around her finger, and with each moment, the small knot seemed to come loose.
Her thoughts were still active, screaming at her in tense whispers. They had long stopped giving her comfort and now they weighed her down like stones in her pocket. They dug into her sides at odd angles, their abrasive surfaces scraping her delicate skin. She considered shifting her worn body to accommodate their painful edges, but with the thought of moving, her limbs seemed to become heavier.
She understood the feeling well, although it was more familiar within the lit compounds of the police station. After a long case, the team would appear haggard, with the smell of caffeine engrained into the fabric of constable's uniforms. Their dim eyes and small smiles of relief revealed the overwhelming drowsiness which clouded their heads.
She wanted desperately to embrace that sleep, to simply close her eyes and let the ground swallow her. The inevitable fatigue weighed down her eyelids, drawing them closed with a natural ease. Her worries seemed to melt away as once again her limbs began to fade. She could no longer feel the uncomfortable texture against her palms or the dirt which lay under her blonde curls, only the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Now the pink light looked like a beacon calling her away from this world, an into another unknown realm. Leslie was reminded of the morning sun, which used to seep into the offices of Doyle and Doyle, as she and Jake lay together in the pull out bed, his arms secure around her waist. Its warming rays were comfortable against her skin as she snuggled deeper into the soft sheets. Her eyes would close on their own accord, comforted by the new, orange light.
This, however, was no such morning, the rich smell of soil reminded her. The spark of hope was slowly fading, shimmered like a mirage at the end of a dark tunnel. The lantern which held it swung widely against the wooden timbers which supported the crumbling rock. Soon, she feared, it would be extinguished for good.
Around her the darkness seemed to cave in, desperate and insatiable. She felt as if she was in a tunnel, with tall supports which creaked in the strong wind that barreled through the rock. The proud wood bent and twisted, creaking and colliding under the dim light of the moon, barely visible under dark clouds. The air was frigid, and under the heavy weight, the oxygen was absorbed by the rough stone, suffocating her struggling lungs.
Suddenly, a river burst free, sending frozen waters into the passageway from both directions. It pulled at her limbs, spinning her in a powerful current. Cold pushed past her lips as she tried to scream, quickly followed by a burning sensation. Fire flowed into her lungs and pain invaded her senses, smothering the spark of hope which was instantly washed out. Overwhelming agony paralyzed her tired body as she shut her eyes in pain. Her fists slowly came together, gorging half-moons into her soft palms. Powerful undertows dragged her under, sending her spiraling into the worn rock.
The water drained as quickly as it had arrived, but Leslie felt none of it, only the cold spot where the flicker of hope had previously resided. It sat like a stone in her heart, making it that much harder for her heart to pump the precious blood. Every beat was reduced to muscle straining against the rough surface, leaving behind painful scrapes and causing her battered form to curl in on itself.
Coughing soon followed, and each painful jerk caused lines of fire to spread throughout her veins and arteries, draining her of vital energy. No matter how much heat the flames created, the warmth did nothing to satisfy the ice which was slowly enveloping her. It consumed little by little, starting down her arms and making its way down her torso.
The cold air had taken very much the same approach, seeping away the heat from her tired limbs and into the surrounding wood. Her last thoughts were a blank screen, as even her brain ceased to function.
With a final look at the pale pink wood, Sergeant Leslie did something that she never expected- she gave up.