So I know I've got two other stories going right now, but I'm drawing a blank on how I want to continue those. However, I cannot stop writing, so I'm just going to publish whatever comes to mind. This one is a Criminal Minds FF with my original character. It's rated M for several reasons.
TRIGGER WARNING! If you really don't like reading about rape, assault, attempted suicide, or murder, don't read this! I mean, those topics cover a lot of Criminal Minds episodes, but I know it still bugs me every time I see it. Just giving you all fair warning that there's sensitive material in here.
Well, I appreciate you all for sticking with me. I'm really bad at updating so I make no promises with this one, or with any of my currently in-progress FFs. I'll update them as I finish each chapter. For now, enjoy reading and leave lots of feedback! :)
There was just a little crevice of light shining through under the door. Just a sliver stood between her and the darkness. Alice crouched in the farthest corner of the room, knees scrunched up to her chest, becoming as small as possible. Maybe he wouldn't notice her this time. Maybe he'll think she escaped and just leave, with the door open. If she could get away, run away from the horror, perhaps she might have a chance of seeing another day. Maybe she could get a second chance at life.
But it was a stupid plan, after all. It relied on that man to overlook her presence, ignore her existence. And that he would never allow. He counted on her humanity, her life itself. He would never let her die physically, but each night that passed she died all over again.
Alice's head snapped up as the bolt on the outside slide back and the chain was unhooked, clattering to the floor. The door swung open and she was suddenly blinded by the intensity of light surrounding her. She tried to hide, scrambled and flailed against the paint-chipped wall. Death was creeping closer and closer by the second. Alice could never acknowledge his full name, no matter how much he beat and degraded her. The tattered white sun dress she wore to church that day, (How many days ago?) was hanging from her body in shreds, crusting with dried blood and sticking to her skin.
"Come on now, little lady. I ain't gonna bite no more." His voice was similar to raking nails across a chalkboard, scratchy and uneducated. As the light from the adjourning room was covered by his body, she could see a ball cap with a Steelers football logo and a black and gold shirt to match. Was she really that far east? Alice could barely remember her Colorado ranch. Deep inside, she knew all she'd ever have left of home was memories.
"I said come on!" He screamed. Alice cringed back, wanting nothing more than to just get it over with, just let her die already! But instead, he forcefully grabs her arm, surely leaving fresh bruises, and nearly drags her through the shanty cabin and outside. Alice recognizes the other two girls, bloodied in their Sunday best just like her. How idiotic to suppose nothing bad could happen to good-hearted, church-going, small town girls. Their naivety betrayed them. Alice fell in line alongside a young African-American girl, Cynthia, from a small town in Montana. Her hair was still in braids, but they were stuck together and mangled, looking less and less pretty as the days, weeks, passed by.
The two men in front of them, her captor and his "business partner," looked each of them up and down.
"What do ya think, Tim? Huh? I reckon the red head on the end could fetch a decent price. Red is rare. Paired with pretty green eyes and a some curves there ain't nothin better." Alice's captor grinned at the girl on the far end of the line. Alice couldn't see her, but heard her muffled cries. Clearly she hadn't been here long- Alice gave up crying a while ago.
"I like this one." Tim pointed at Alice. "She's ordinary. Don't draw much attention to herself. Nobody'd suspect a thing."
Alice's heart raced. Her breath came in heavy gasps. They were match-makers, these brutal savage men who'd already raped and killed at least two girls, but she knew there were more before she came here. But in their sick and twisted minds they truly believe they were doing the right thing, finding wives for all their friends, all the assholes too depraved to date or even like.
"Ya sure?"
"I reckon Henry might not like a girl lookin like she's from Vegas."
Her captor nodded his head in understanding, then headed back inside to make the call, the dreaded call Alice and every girl beside her feared. Now all her hope of ever being rescued was disintegrating with each button that bastard pressed. She could feel the fear pumping through her veins, realized she was shaking.
Suddenly her captor was in front of her, sawing through the rope that held her prisoner. "His name's Henry." Then her grabbed her chin and force her to look up at him. "You're gonna be his wife. And you're gonna be a nice woman for him. YA GOT THAT, GIRL?" He released her, and Alice crumpled to the ground. She barely had the strength to stand. Again, she just wanted it all to end.
She stayed that way, everyone did, until a large, beat-up, Chevy pulled up behind her. So this was her fate? Alice read of miracles in the Bible. She'd prayed to God every night since her abduction that a miracle might come her way. No such luck. Was God even listening anymore? Her faith was slowly slipping away with her hope.
Alice's captor and his partner each took an arm and stood her in front of a larger, older man. Henry. This man, they said, would be her husband, and she should show respect and obedience towards him, like a good Christian woman. Her faith, her innocence, her quiet shyness had all been her downfall. Everything she had going for her in life, (or so society said) had made her and all these women perfect targets for slave wives. And this was the end. The. End.
She was shoved forward into the large and obnoxious, sweaty arms of a man probably three times her age, and missing half his teeth as he smiled down at her greedily. Alice was...numb. She couldn't feel anything, not her feet underneath her as they mindlessly carried her body to the truck and climbed into the cab. She had no desire to keep going, yet somehow she still managed to breathe, to live, (Well, not that any civilized human being could call her experience "living.").
It was about...SURVIVAL. Alice kept repeating that word, survival, over and over again until it seemed so commonplace. That's what she was doing, wasn't it? Surviving? For what? The hope that someone might come and rescue her? All hope was extinguished.
Henry pulled up to a run-down, formerly white house. It wasn't far from her captor's cabin, only a thirty minute drive down the same stretch of road. But Alice could care less. She didn't care about anything anymore. When Henry drug her out of the truck into the house she moved without resisting. When he threw her on the bed and she heard the sound of a belt unbuckling she didn't bother to plead for mercy. And when he was on top of her, hiking her dress hem above her waist, she didn't struggle or scream. Numb. Alice was sure the most insignificant creature on the planet felt more than she did in that moment. How many hours, minutes, seconds passed? It was endless, and she was broken.
"Here," Henry grunted tossing her a fresh dress. "Clean up. Then dinner." He stormed out the slanting door without another word. Alice acted on instinct, obeying her husband. She walked into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door. She wasn't thinking, just moving, as if on autopilot. She drew a bath, the water orange from iron and rust in the pipes. The bathroom looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, if ever. The water stung the rips and tears between her legs. Alice was glad for the pain, because pain indicated life. On some level, she was still alive.
Is this surviving? Alice couldn't imagine surviving was anything except this. It'd been too long since she'd known anything else.
Then, out of the corner of her eye as she soaked in the gross water, she saw the dim light above the sink glimmer against a shiny object in the corner of the tub. Alice reached for it, as if compelled to do so by some invisible force. It was a straight edge razor, an archaic way of shaving. And Alice knew it was sharp... sharp enough to kill. Maybe this was the way out? A way to simply leave all this behind? A former version of Alice might have called it a mortal sin to take one's life, but that Alice didn't understand what this Alice felt. She could never understand. She'd been too innocent and ignorant. Still, a piece of her old self still lingered, and she replaced the blade, reaching for the towel instead.
The Alice staring back at her in the mirror wasn't the same Alice who attended every sermon, did all her chores, and tried to see the good in everyone. That Alice believe God protected his followers from evil, and she naively wandered those small town streets with two strange men she just met at church that morning. No, she was different, a different person altogether. She had scars, both physical and mental. Unwrapping the towel slightly, she was covered in bruises, head-to-toe. She was probably 20 pounds lighter since she left home, and definitely weaker. There was still blood trickling down her legs, and she frantically stuck a towel between them.
There was that glimmer again, the light catching the shine of the razor blade on the edge of the tub. There it was again, this compelling tug in her chest. She was moving, but without feeling. Instinct, maybe. Survival, maybe. Alice saw her reflection, wonder how it all came down to this- One decision, to live in Hell the rest of her life or leave it all right now. Two vertical cuts down the inside of her wrists would be more than enough, and it'd be quick.
And just as Alice was about to choose, just when she thought she'd regained control of her own demise, the bathroom door swung open. "Hey! Get up, woman! What you doing?" Henry was coming up behind her, Alice could hear it.
In those precious seconds of life, a new thought began to grow inside her chest. It started as a simple spark, fueled by anger and hate and fear and sadness. Alice gripped the blade handle a little harder. Henry's footsteps pounded in her ears, as if time had slowed and only Alice had control of it.
There was another choice, another mortal sin… But it didn't seem so sinful now. Yes. She could do it. She was going to do it. Any other choice seemed like a coward's way out. And Alice would not leave this world a coward. This was a second chance, a chance to start over and perhaps live!
Her movements appeared to be in slow motion. She had a death grip on the handle, blade now turned to the outside. Alice turned clockwise, as fast as she could, though it still seemed so slow. When she saw Henry's face, it was disgusting, not human. Because he wasn't- He was the devil and Alice extinguished the devil, her enemy, with one fatal blow across his protruding gut. Henry staggered backwards, pupils blown with a combination of shock and fear. He knew he was going to die now and Alice liked that. It meant he understood her fear, her pain. He would suffer until the life bled out of him.
Henry was slumped against the door frame, struggling to breath, and Alice loomed over him, wielding the blade like she'd known it all her life. "I hate you...I HATE YOU!" Alice screamed, pouring out all her fury and once again bringing the blade down to slice Henry's face, and neck, and arms...until Alice was just blindly swinging the blade at a heap of flesh and blood. Henry was dead. Her life of hell was over.
The adrenaline was beginning to leave her body. Alice's breathing slowed. She blinked a few times, realizing she'd completely covered the bathroom in blood spatter. Shouldn't she feel bad for taking a life? Shouldn't she feel something? No. Alice felt...relieved. She was free again.
She pushed herself away from the body and once again looked in the bloodied mirror. This was a different Alice altogether, a stronger, independent Alice who no longer feared death. She'd sinned and, amazingly, that was okay with her. If she got the chance to live, she'd have killed a thousand devils like Henry.
She smiled.
Not long after, she stood just inside the treeline, against the setting sun, watching flames dance higher and higher in the sky. She doubted anyone saw the fire, or that anyone knew Henry existed. No one knew Alice was alive. No one knew she was in Pennsylvania or that she'd escaped from bondage. As far as she was concerned, Alice Chapel died months ago.
With that, she walked away, putting any thoughts of rape, murder, and home in the deepest, darkest recesses of her subconscious.