(Sorry everyone, I know that we're not supposed to write messages here, but I'm new to this and I can't work out how to add an Author's note or whatever it is, if anyone can help please do! Also, to answer a couple of queries, I will be updating as often, and as soon as possible. And I have a pretty good idea of where I'm taking this story, but yes, it will be quite dark at some points, and it's rated M for future chapters! Always happy to hear your thoughts!)
Drip.
Drip.
Drip drip drip.
Detective Jane Rizzoli groaned under her breath, wriggling around in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that had built up in her arms. 'Must have fallen asleep on the couch again,' she mused. And goddamn it. She had to get that freakin' leaky faucet fixed or she was gonna go out of her mind. However, it soon became clear to the drowsy Detective that wherever she was, it most certainly was not her apartment, nor was she resting upon her comfortable couch. It was cold. Cold and damp. Jane tried to force open her eyes and subsequently started to panic. She couldn't open them. Her eyelids felt heavy and almost... Glued. Glued together. And then she felt the chains. She was chained to the wall like... Like some fucking animal. Her heartbeat rocketed as she fought to prise the stubborn lids apart, muttering a string of curses in a low growl. A bolt of terror shot through her. She recognised these sensations, this feeling of being utterly and completely disconnected from one's body. She had been drugged. And judging by the throbbing inside her skull, she had probably been knocked out with one heavy blow. Jane's mind immediately screamed HOYT. 'But', she reminded herself, trying to remain calm even as the horror of her situation became increasingly apparent, 'I killed that bastard.' So, unless Hoyt had somehow managed to bring himself back from the dead, someone else had her this time. Some other psycho. Someone fucking else who wanted her dead. A name and an achingly familiar face drifted into her mind's eye whilst she fought against the sluggishness her body was suffering at the hands of whatever the hell he had doped her up with. Maura. Her stomach clenched, 'I was alone when he grabbed me,' she thought to herself desperately, 'Maura's okay.' Her pathetic reassurances rang mockingly false. How the heck could she know for sure that Maura was safe? For all she knew this guy could be another Hoyt. Another sick sonuvabitch who might make her watch as he forced himself on her friend. That thought brought her closer to the edge of losing her sanity more than this cell, more than her physical pain, more than the stark terror of what could lay in store. If anything happened to Maura she knew that it would ruin her. It would kill her.
The cage was small. It was large enough to accommodate Jane, a rancid blanket that was stained with things she would rather not think about, a waste bucket and not much else. The cage appeared almost handmade, as if someone had painstakingly taken a shovel and specifically formed this rather oddly shaped cell. And the door ahead particularly drew the Detective's attention. It looked pretty beat up, as if it might fall to pieces at any second. The wooden board slanted to the left and came into contact with the 'bars' of her prison. The rotting wood stank, and the smell caught in the back of Jane's throat, causing her to gag. Internally, Jane scoffed at the haphazard alignment of the wooden slats that prevented a clear view into the darkened area beyond her cage. Her private gloating disappeared as soon as she realise that whoever had her didn't require a stronghold to keep her a prisoner. She was chained to the wall. There would be no opportunity to kick down his pathetic door and escape.
Jane Rizzoli forced herself to remember her training. Not that all the training in the world could ever prepare someone for being imprisoned and chained up like a disobedient dog. She slowly dragged her gaze around the make shift cell, drinking in every detail possible in the dim light that pooled beneath the door and peeked through the wooden boards. Jane committed the layout of the room to memory, closing her eyes and encouraging herself to form a complete image of her surroundings. When she managed to free herself, she would know exactly where to run to. There would be no stumbling around in the dark, tripping over blankets and buckets. In a situation such as this, there was no room for error if an opportunity to run appeared by some blessed miracle. And despite the fact the silence that shrouded her prison was all but deafening, when the screaming began she would have given anything, done anything, to return to the false security of silence.
The screams were long, drawn out and torturous to bear witness to. They were the screams of the damned. The screams of a thousand damned souls swimming in their own clouds of despair in hell. And yet, the Detective can't help but feel a surge of kinship with whoever was producing those hideous screams of pure unadulterated agony. She wasn't alone here. There were other people locked up like fucking animals. It made her sick to her stomach. Listening to those scream and not being able to do a damn thing about it made every muscle in her body burn with the desire to yank her restraints from the damp, moss covered wall and rescue her fellow prisoner. Adrenaline surged through her, filling her lungs with air and her brain with white noise. It was a familiar sensation, and it worked well in terms of providing a sense of comfort in this hell hole. That was, until a woman stumbled past her cell, clad in nothing but a long, blood splattered shirt. Her entire body seemed to be dripping in the stuff. In another time, another place, the woman might have looked almost comical, as though dressed for a night of debauchery at a Halloween party. But here, wherever here bloody well was, it merely served as the signature on the death warrant Jane had drawn up in her mind upon seeing the blood streaked legs of the woman flash through the wooden bars. Yet that sight was nothing compared to the laughter. Oh god the insidious chuckle that resonated beneath the door and curled into Jane's ears like smoke almost caused her to start weeping then and there. That laugh came from a man who was enjoying himself immensely and was taking great satisfaction from something. The laugh of a man who had just won the lottery, or landed a date with the most beautiful woman in work, or witnessed his child take his first steps. Jane bit down on a hoarse shout of terror as the man who snatched her away from her family and her job and Maura rammed an object similar to the baton she had used only twice in her entire career against the sloppily placed door. A flash of white appeared between the boards. His teeth. They looked impossibly white in the gloom. He was leering at her, mocking her, challenging her... And his words were a promise of things to come. "I give everyone a head start." And with that, he tore himself away from Jane's cage and walked calmly after his screaming, terrified prey.