When she came to, there was no peaceful sound of birds chirping and neither was there the bright rays of sun shine to help her wake up. No, when you're in prison all the comforts you enjoyed or took for granted in everyday life aren't privileges you'd receive. All that surrounds you are the thick gray cemented walls inside your prison cell and in Cristina's case…the basement of Mac's beaten down shackle of a house which had a generator powering it. She may have had not waken up to pleasant sounds but the basement reeked of musk, smoke, and nicotine. If she put her keen senses to good use, she would have smelled a faint hint of cologne which was not even enough to mask the putrid smell. It took every thing either choke on it or swallow and she desired to not choose any option for the gag in her mouth threatened to do either.

If she sat up, the whole basement came into view. Other than the air conscription (the smells just horrendous), it appeared to be a regular basement; she laid gagged and bound in the center of the room on the cold cemented floor and to her right-against the far wall- stood a work station. There was a long light blue counter installed with cabinets full of contents she probably didn't even want to know of. She suspected it was rotten inside so if she were to ever hide, it would not be there. To the left of the counter was a tall work bench with metal poles underneath it and sitting on top was a bottle full of ammonia.

What the hell does he do down here? It fucking reeks. What ever you do, Cristina, don't throw up. Don't throw up, don't throw up…

She quickly moved her hands up (despite her difficulty), ripping the gag out of her mouth as nausea rose up in her stomach. The urge to vomit was strong in her throat and she found herself bending over, prepared to throw up any minute now but she couldn't. She would not allow herself and imagine she heard his voice, "If you vomit then you'll lay in it." Such a cruel punishment but Mac was an unsympathetic man who killed her uncle and took her in the middle of the night…ripping her clothes off and molesting her. She was able to still feel his touch, how his hands felt to her and his weight which n early crushed her. He was like a monster who seemed to have stepped right out of a horror movie or novel. To have his way he'd kill, do anything to chase his obsessions and lock them away in a cage…Oh god…what if the greasy hick decides to lock me in a metal cage? No one will ever find my body and I'll go missing but who would come and investigate? My mother? Of course not; Uncle Samuel didn't own a phone so she'll suspect everything's alright. Oh god…No one will ever know….I bet this has happened before. I need to get out of here.

Mac was not down in the basement with her so Cristina understood she only had minute to search for a way out but that was only if her legs could be freed. After a solid five minutes of attempting to undo the rope, she found it impossible by hand and but by then, the rope burned her fingers and ankles, chaffing the skin.

Game over, I guess. Hey, Cris, at least you tried. You'll need a knife to cut that fucking rope…but wait! Check the cabinets.

There was no reason to ignore the little voice in her head because there had to be supplies stored somewhere inside those cabinets. Managing to get up on all fours (no matter how awkward it was since she was bound), she set off to crawl towards the cabinets with enough determination to last the whole trip. The pace she moved at due to her restrictions was not as fast as she should have been but as she inched closer and closer to her destination, the voice cheered her on.

Look, you're almost there! I can't believe it, Cris! All you have to do is find a knife…Yes, you can do it!

In time, she made it safely to the counter, success running through her veins like a champion who won first prize at a race.

You're doing great! Keep going, keep going…

She planted herself down to sit as she opened the cabinet door to her left and the urge to vomit came to her again due to the putrid smell which was ten times as worse as the smell in the basement.

Fuck, that's awful. If he doesn't keep himself clean or the basement, then his house upstairs must be a disaster. What a shit hole.

Pulling the cabinet door all the way opened, despite her better judgment and reoccurring nausea, she decided she should take a chance and rummaged through the contents of her captor's workplace. There wasn't much in this side except for a plastic bucket full of various tools-a hammer, nails, dirty rags covered in grease. But underneath all those rags laid a knife, a small one unlike Mac's menacing hunting knife. Her eyes lit up like two bulbs, eyeing the blade as if it held a holy significance to her being and was afraid to touch the object. A uncertain fear came to her just then that if she were to brush her fingers up against the cold, metallic surface, an alarm would be set off and page Mac who'd be pissed she went snooping through his belongings. Or a trap was set up inside and sharp blades would come shooting down on her unsuspecting hand, piercing through her flesh.

After reaching for the knife and nothing painful occurred, relief washed over her like a soothing tide. Retrieving the knife and holding it close to her, she cut through the rope, her wrists the first to be free which turned out to be the hardest for her. Now unbound, all she needed was to find an escape exit and fast.

There's bound to be a window down here somewhere with the way he keeps this place like a gas chamber. Look for a window or something.

This had to be heaven, she prayed, because in the far left corner of the basement sat a rectangular window large enough for a single person to slide through. This had to be heaven or a dream. Back in her bedroom, Mac had killed her after knocking her out cold, slitting her throat or fed her body to the hungry coyotes. This was almost too good to be true, she blinked, running towards the window. Heaven never seemed so sweeter and in fact, this was her first taste of the afterlife. Once escaping, she hoped to be reunited with Uncle Samuel to see if he's alright. He left the world not knowing the fate of his niece but now there was no reason for him to be worried sick. An image of reuniting with him clouded her mind while a moment of reality never hit her. Her mind was too occupied dreaming of Uncle Samuel hugging and smiling from ear to ear as he led her over to her late father where the Abernathy family would be able to start over. Cristina's mind refused to distinguish the difference until…the door to the basement creaked open.

In the fraction of a second, all hope abandoned her.

Mac's heavy steel toed boots dragged and scoffed along the wooden stairs.

Cristina's soul diminished, her heart racing erratically. Shivers crawled down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She was not dead nor was she in a deep slumber; there was no escaping the horror, oh no….But this was not supposed to occur in real life; this only happened in horror movies or stories.

I have bad news for you, Cristina. This is not a movie where the main character almost always lives at the end and beats the killer. You need to get a hold of yourself. Oh shit! Here he comes!

"Stupid bitch! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Growled Mac upon finding her unbound and darting for the basement window. It would become his chore to make sure seals the window later to ensure she didn't sneak out. Though Cristina froze in place at the sight of him, his fury refused to be snuffed down. "Now, you're fucking trying to escape!" No time was wasted as he stomped over towards Cristina, cornering pathetically against the wall and towered over her petite body the way a predator does its prey. He placed his hands on either side of her on the cemented wall, fencing her in, practically daring her to hit him again. "You and I both know you could've crawled through that window and hell, you would've made it but you didn't. And that's real stupid of you…" He mulled over the situation as if he were questioning her intelligence. "But what would you have done afterwards, hmm? If I didn't catch you then my German shepherd would have. That wouldn't end well for the two of us. You'd be his lunch so now, if I were you, I would behave."

Cristina sunk deep inside herself, a pang of fear striking her in the stomach. She was deathly afraid of dogs and was nearly in their company after a terrible experience which happened at the age of four. She nodded her head; it was better to be prisoner for now instead of being lunch for a mangy mutt with vicious teeth and a snapping jaw.

"I'm the only one who can tame him so it's my decision if he's harmless to you." He glared intensely, his eyes pure black like his soul must be. His stare was enough to paralyze her.

"I won't, Mac." She pleaded with him, knowing the dark look in his eyes meant nothing but trouble and pain. "I'm sorry for trying to escape…I'm sorry."

"You have no where to go, anways." He breathed, heat radiating off him. Lowering his eyes, he was greeted by her bare chest which caused him to go rigid, hard with a desire to fuck her right against the wall. Cristina saw this so she used her arms to cover herself to only have him slap them down. "No, keep your arms down." He continued on, squeezing her plump, creamy white pleases with those long, strong fingers, working them in a steady rhythm while she closed her eyes tightly as tears cascaded down her face. Pressing his body against hers brusingly close, grinding his throbbing erection against her crotch.

Opening her eyes, she found Mac staring into her desperate eyes, biting his lower lip and sucked on it. Moving her hands up, she pushed him off, having enough but Mac wouldn't have it…the bastard. He only grunted, licking the side of her face that was now bruised from his fist last nigh, flicking his tongue at her like a snake.

"Get off me!" She cried, pounding her fists into his chest in hopes of him backing off but fighting only proved to provoke him even more. "You fucking hick, get off me!" There was no control over her words for they spat out of her mouth like fire, while hot with distaste yet the second she allowed these words to slip from her lips, she regretted the action almost immediately as she watched Mac's face contort with absolute anger, his nostrils flaring.

There was one second when she expected to be hit, waiting for the initial blow to come to her already bruised face but when none came her way, relaxation took over. Catching her off guard, a hand coiled around her delicate neck, locking her in a death grip and threw her to the ground so hard her diaphragm seized up and for one frightening minute she was unable to breathe. Frantically, she gasped for air, clutching her throat as she felt bruised forming. Her chest heaved up an down in a desperate attempt to breathe but she was not allowed the chance to recover, considering the fact Mac bent down and smacked her across the face.

"I'm a fucking hick, huh? Well, then I guess you're a fucking bitch who doesn't know your place!" He snarled, yelling viciously into her ear like a rabid dog let loose on a poor, unsuspecting victim. His contorted expression reminded her of a deranged killer with the half crazed black eyes and snarling voice who wanted nothing more than to stick an axe in the center of her stomach. There were no doubts he would actually do it because…Jesus Christ…if he was given an axe she feared he'd butcher her to pieces to feed to his dog. "I ought to punish you."

"Mac, please…"

"No! You're gonna listen to me." He shifted his weight, getting down on his knees in front of her cowering form. "I don't know how it is in New Jersey but here this shit isn't tolerated and that includes going through people's stuff." He watched as she went to open her mouth so he clamped a hand over her mouth. "Try that shit again and I'll cut those pretty fingers of yours off. And don't think I'm too stupid to notice. These canyons have eyes and when I don't look, they'll tell me."

She imagined, much to her horror, Mac's hunting knife cutting through the skin on her fingers, moving the blade back and forth like a saw (unless he really did choose to use a saw in which this case she was screwed) or chopped right down to the bone. What would he do with her severed fingers? Hand them over to the dog? No, instead she visioned him bringing one of her fingers to his mouth with a devious, lustful smirk plastered to his face as he sucked her finger like a lollipop and licked it clean, sanitizing it of the blood that once stained it. His eyes would roll back in the back of his head, his head tilting back as he let out a low moan…she wanted to vomit just thinking about it.

"If you vomit, you'll just have to lick the floor clean." He warned, noticing how pale and sickly she suddenly became. Cristina didn't see as he rose from the and took a glance inside the cabinets but she jumped as soon as a plastic bucket was slammed down by her head. "You need to vomit, use this damn bucket. I don't have time to clean up your messes."

Mac thought of heading upstairs before he had to work but he opted to take care of the window first and it didn't take long to find a couple long pieces of wood, nails and a hammer since a majority of his supplies were stored with his work station. He then found it in his heart to give the bitch some clothing, figuring she'd need some type of dignity. If she were to escape, which he doubted, how abnormally strange would it seem if she were nude and running through Caineville? No one would ever get the luxury to have her except for him. His obsession finally came home to him and he'd be damned if anyone would, not here. Mac's property was well known therefore, it wasn't to be touched.

The last time she saw him before he left to do work god-knows-where was when he threw clothes at her: one of his old shirts and a worn pair of shorts he never wore. She found it odd that he stayed and watched her dress but soon she learned it was rational because he tied her up and this time, he made damn sure she couldn't untie herself; he even bolted the cabinets up as a precaution. After coming home stressed and pissed after a long day, he would hate to come home and discover her missing.

Mac left at his own leisure, turning off the generator which left her in the darkness all throughout the afternoon and part of the morning. He had tied her much more tightly this time around and she paid for it; the rope burned her wrists and ankles, biting into her flesh, disabling her from doing anything about her discomfort. There was no use thrashing around, tugging at her restraints because he won. The window was boarded shut, the cabinets bolted, and she was unable to move…what the hell was she supposed to do now?

This isn't a movie where the victim miraculously escapes from their prison. Mac has you good now and he's already warned you about escaping. He might not kill you now but did you hear him say he'd set his dog on you? He almost choked you so when are you going to learn this IS ACTUALLY happening? When he kills you or cops your leg off? You need to get a grasp of reality before Mac does it for you…

The better she grasped the hand of reality the better off she would be and just maybe, then, she would find the strength to overpower Mac and eventually escape.

Overpower Mac? Ha! Like that will ever happen. Compared to him, I'm a deer and he's a fucking bear. If Uncle Samuel couldn't fight him-and he had a gun-then there's no way in hell I can take him. I'm trapped here.

Maybe she couldn't take on Mac but there was one thing she could do: get help from Sheriff Collins. He was her best bet, especially after he saved her from the greasy fuck at the Luna Mesa and she figured he would be helpful to her again but first she had to focus all of her attention on leaving this shit hole and fast. With Mac at work, she was given the opportunity to mull over a plan which, in time, might prove to turn into a fool proof plan. All she cared for was imaging finding Sheriff Collins so he could end her nightmare like a shining knight in armor. Seeing Mac in cuffs, being taken off to behind bars, brought a genuine and comforting smile on her face.

He can't keep me here forever. Eventually, he'll grow tired of me but oh, god, I don't want to die. My disappearance is bound to show up within a few days…I don't think I can manage two more days of this…and Sheriff Collins will have to investigate. Due to my incident with Mac, I bet he'll interrogate him first like all good policemen would do in this case. Oh, yes! How could he not? I can't give hope up yet…he'll find me.

Her hopeful thoughts lulled her into a slumber; her body felt unable to function after today with her captor and if she was to do more planning then she needed to rest. The only sound she heard before drifting off was a german shepherd barking from outside.