Whitney strained her eyes to see through the darkness. Still chained and left on the mattress in the mine shaft. Her wrists were bleeding and aching from trying to break free of her chains. Her throat was sore, her voice raspy. She'd called out so many times for help over the last month she could scarcely whisper. She didn't know what was going to happen. Jason... every time she saw him her blood ran cold. After the first week though, she stopped worrying that she would die beneath his cold frigid grasp. For 6 weeks Whitney sat in the dank dungeons of the mine shaft, Jason coming and going daily, always carrying over his shoulder a long bag, and she just knew there was a body inside. He'd come, stop to look at her, and he'd continue on his way, every time she'd flinch, look away, or look directly at him waiting. Waiting for him to come back and fill her food dish, and her water jar. She felt like a dog, a prisoned useless dog chained and waiting to die. She understood now why dogs needed dog houses – those left outside alone become crazy – already the world around her was fading from reality into hallucinations.
He'd killed all her friends, he'd killed many others, but not her, she knew why. The locket – the lady in the locket looked just like her, his mother. Perhaps Jason thought Whitney was his mother. The whole story made her want to cry.
Suddenly a loud thump came echoing through the shaft, a female shriek, blood curdling and desperate. It was the last shriek that woman would ever make again, Whitney knew Jason had quickly murdered the woman. Whitney's sobs were violent, her would-be rescuer murdered. She knew one thing though, as long as she held onto that locket she had some power over him, her one bargaining tool. She'd never escape. She knew his strength, she knew he'd never let her go, she looked like his mother.
Slow, powerful footsteps continued her way, she saw his shadow enter, it was Jason. One body over his shoulder, one body dragging behind him, a rope around its neck, the other end in Jason's left hand. She peered over the old broken 1950s radio, but the darkness enshrouded the corpses. "Oh Jason" she whispered, her voice riddled with disgust, disappointment wonder, questions, her head droped, her eyes hit the hallow between her crossed legs, More victims? Why? Why was he murdering? Why was she stuck there, oh it was horrible.
She was filthy. She hadn't washed in six weeks, or brushed her hair, or changed her clothes. She hadn't menstruated, she was too starved, too stressed and afriad. She must have lost 20 pounds. He continued down the shaft, and she heard nothing more. I'm going to die in here, she thought to herself. Did he eat? Did he sleep? Was he truly alive? Horrendous thoughts of zombies filled her mind. She was fading further from reality into a constant state of hallucination, images of blood, death, and distortion flashed before her eyes. She laid down on her mattress, her sighs were shaky, in fact her whole body was shaking. Jason wasn't coming back for a long time again. Her bowl and cup which lay in the dirt beside her mattress was still empty. He filled it with water and soup – no, not soup – more like stew, she didn't know what it was, it was flavorless, disgusting – but every day he filled it, she felt like a dog, a prisoned dog. He never said a word to her, never. 6 weeks she sat on that mattress, chained. Everyday she moved the chains to a different spot on her wrists, hoping she would not become wounded or infected, though the chains had begun to cut her several weeks ago, and she was in incredible pain, and infection was inevitable.
Jason wasn't going to kill her. He would have killed her already.
Her water had been empty all day, today he hadn't come to refill it. She was so afraid. Then she really cried – her thoughts, for a brief moment, had turned to horror when she for one brief second feared the thought that he would not return. It was then she realized she had become completely domesticated, she was completely and absolutely vulnerable to him. She belonged to him. She hit her head against the dirt wall beside her, hoping to end it – the thoughts, the pain, the suffering. She cursed this day – for this was the first day she knew that she needed him to return to her.