A/N: Well, here's installment two. I'm quite proud of myself...it's all edited and uploaded the very next day! Only two more chapters to go after this! (I was wrong in my calculations last night/this morning. When I said there would be 3 chapters...well, I was wrong. There will be 4.) I'd like to just take this opportunity to give a thanks to everyone who has read, and an even bigger thanks to those of you who have added the story to their Alerts and Favorites, and especially those of you who have reviewed (thanks...again). Even though I've been writing here for almost a year now, every time I get an email in my inbox telling me one of the aforementioned things, I feel like it's Christmas morning. So thank you again to everyone. That being said, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

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Chapter 2

Sam awoke violently, jerking upright as if attempting to somehow jump out of her dream. Once again her head slammed painfully into the ceiling of her prison and she fell back to the ground moaning softly. Her headache, which had been consistently remaining at the level of a mild ache, flared into a dull roar. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, fighting to master the pain and the lingering shock of the dream.

It had terrified her, the dream. She had no idea why, but as she struggled to remember the details, she was filled with a numbing paralysis – an unshakable fear. Finally she gave up trying to pinpoint the feeling exactly, blinking blearily as she brought herself back to reality.

It took her a few seconds to realize that something was different. Her brow furrowed, her mind unable to pick out what exactly had changed. She touched the wall unsteadily and attempted to rub some of the drying blood off of her fingertips. It was ghostly dark against the paleness of her hand

Wait. That was it.

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably as the realization began to sink in. Instead of unending darkness, her prison was now a murky gray. She could make out the vague, blurry outline of her arm pressed against the wall, as well as the shadow of her blood on her pale hand.

What had changed?

But she already knew the answer.

She lay flat on her back and took a steadying breath. Then, with a steady purpose, she lifted her feet until they were solidly against the ceiling above her. She pushed with all her strength.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then something groaned, and the top began to move. A line of light began to grow along one of the junctions of wall and lid, and it continued to grow as Sam pushed. With one final creak, the lid suddenly slid from the top of the crate and fell to the ground with a loud crash.

Sam held her breath, waiting for someone to come running at the loud noise. Nothing happened.

Sam stood up slowly, grabbing onto the edge of the crate to steady herself. Her legs nearly buckled, her muscles protesting loudly at their prolong period of inactivity and being forced into an unnatural position.

Sam half staggered, half fell out of the container, landing on the floor hard. She gritted her teeth and began to massage her calves, dismayed at the large knots she found. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes as her legs burned, the feeling of a thousand needles searing her body rushing through her.

She gasped, fighting doggedly through the pain. Slowly, achingly slowly, her muscles began to relax, the pain fading. By the time she felt confident enough to attempt standing again, she felt drained. Determined, though, she grabbed onto the lip of the container and dragged herself upright. This time her legs held her steady.

She looked down on her former prison, looking it over carefully. Realization struck her, and for a second, she thought she was going to be sick.

It wasn't a crate or a container as she had thought before.

It was a coffin.

She let go of the coffin as if the very thing had burned her. Staggering away from it, she grabbed onto the wall for support instead, wanting to get as far away from it as possible. Had whoever placed her in there believed she would actually die inside? If so, why hadn't they just gone ahead and buried her.

She was shaking, she realized. She took a deep breath and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes.

Calm down she ordered herself. Calm. Down. You are a full grown woman. You're a soldier. You've been through more frightening things than this before. So start acting like it!

She opened her eyes, this time looking at the coffin with a calculating gaze. It was larger than any coffin she had seen before, and it vaguely reminded her of a tomb in which a Pharaoh would have been buried in.

Goa'uld? she wondered, but then brushed the thought aside. The only thing that truly mattered was getting out, not the whys and wherefores of her situation.

Her gaze swept the room, taking in every detail. The walls were made of a beige stone, each of the blocks fit together with careful precision. Torches were bracketed to the walls – one in the middle of each. The only furniture in the room was the coffin that she had been trapped inside of.

A door stood a few feet to her left and directly in front of the coffin, and Sam vaguely wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. Had she truly been that afraid and preoccupied? Somehow, her analytical mind doubted it. If she had been that afraid, her first thought would have been to get as far away from her currently location as possible, and a door would have been her first target. But at the same time, that would mean that the door had somehow appeared between the time that she had staggered out of her prison and now.

She shook her mind. Maybe she was going crazy. It was a viable option.

There was really only one thing for her to do, unless she wanted to stand in this room for who knows how long, waiting for someone – or something – to walk in on her. She clenched her hands into fists and stepped towards it, pulling at the ring that served as the handle. It twisted in her grip and the door swung open, the hinges protesting squeakily.

The wood of the door scuffed against the stone floor, making it difficult to open very far. With one final tug, Sam gave up on opening it any farther and slipped through the narrow crack between the door frame and the door.

She found herself in a long hallway, the walls and floor made of the same stone as that of the room. Torches flickered uneasily in random intervals, leaving some places almost as bright as daylight, while others were lost in murky shadow. Overall it gave the entire place an eerie, unearthly, and edgy feeling.

Feeling a little nervous, Sam stepped away from the door. Her booted feet echoed around the hallway, and dust swirled around her ankles as her shuffling disturbed the nearly invisible flakes. The air smelled dusty and dry, as if no one had stepped foot in the hallway for years. But that didn't make sense…she had to have been put in the room by someone, and there were no other doors leading into it.

She was about five yards down the hallway when she heard a creak and a groan. She whirled, her nerves already on edge. Her eyes went wide when she saw the door swinging shut, the latch falling into place with a click.

Something was definitely not right with this place, she decided, taking a step backward and away from the seemingly possessed door. The logical portion of her brain – the scientist inside of her – told her that there was a logical explanation for what had just happened: a shifting of the ground, air pressure, or maybe even mechanics. But at the same time, an annoying little voice in the back of her mind whispered of something else, something slightly more sinister. She couldn't help but recall to mind the stale scent that had filled the coffin. The scent of death, she suddenly realized.

She took another step down the hall, away from the door. Something tickled her leg and she jumped, a startled cry leaping from her lips as she imagined a ghostly hand grasping at her ankle. She laughed nervously at her own folly, seeing the cloud of disturbed dust that wafted about her legs before it began to settle again.

She turned, facing down the ancient corridor, the door to her back. Although a shadowy, clingy fear grasped at her heart, she refused to listen to it. It was either go back to the empty room, stay still and let her fear get the better of her, or move forward and figure out what was going on. She decided to go with the last option, knowing full well that she would feel better as long as she had control of the situation.

She took a few tentative steps forward, and when nothing reached out of the wall to grab her and leech out her soul, she sighed, aggravated and annoyed that she had allowed herself such weakness. She was acting like a foolish cadet, afraid of her own shadow.

The silence pressed in on her, muffling her footsteps and even her own breath. She could still hear the air whooshing in and out of her lungs, and yet with each passing moment, it was as if it became quieter and quieter, more suppressed. At the same time, though, she could hear her heart pounding a little louder with each step, a sure sign her fear was once again mounting.

"Stop," she chided herself sharply, smacking her other arm with her right hand. "Stop it! If you keep letting yourself think like this, you won't be able to keep walking, let alone think straight."

She almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening once more over the sound of her own voice. Almost.

Sam froze, listening intensely, her ears tuned for any strange sound. She had been right, the door was opening again. Or was it closing? She turned around abruptly, her feet sending a spray of dust high into the air. She couldn't see the door, she realized. The corridor stretched endlessly behind her, ending in dark shadow. She hadn't realized she'd come so far.

The door closed with a boom, and silence filled the hall again.

Then came a whisper. A faint, tickling flow of air began to trickle down the hallway, disturbing the dust as it passed. When it reached Sam, it seemed to stop for a second, twining between her feet like a cat, spiraling up her legs as if searching for something. Chills raced up and down her spine as the cold air found its way through her boots and over her feet and then up against her legs. Somehow, when it touched her, the air felt cold, dead. It was unnerving.

Sam took a step back, trying to shake the feeling away, but found she was unable to do so. Her legs felt cold, numb, and sluggish.

The rush of air began to grow. After only a few seconds it was a strong wind that blew against Sam, stealing the breath from her. Dust swirled through the air, obstructing her vision. She coughed, dust blowing into her mouth and nose, choking her. When she straightened, her eyes watering, she felt the rest of her body go numb.

It looked as if a dark entity was hurtling toward her on the wings of the wind. As it passed each torch, the flames were extinguished – drawn in, absorbed, and squashed by the darkness. A keening shriek pierced the wind, something a part of, and yet separate from the rush of the air.

Sam jerked her attention away from the thing rushing down the hallway, forcing herself to take first one step, then another. She couldn't allow her fear to take control of her. She had to push through it. She had to run.

So run she did. She turned and broke into first a staggering trot, which then slowly picked up speed until she was in a full out sprint. The dust choked her, threatened to suffocate her, but she refused to stop to cough. Her eyes watered, both from the tiny particles as well as the growing wind, and she furiously dashed the liquid from her lids. She pushed herself as hard and fast as she could, ignoring the shooting stab of pain that began to grow in her side, as well as her ragged breathing. She had to keep going. She couldn't slow.

The other thing was faster. She could hear it slowly gaining on her, the shriek morphing into a howl as it drew closer. No matter how fast she ran, no matter how far, it simply drew ever closer to her in the never-ending hallway.

Sam started to frantically look up and down the corridor, searching for a door, an archway or tunnel, or even just a break in the unbroken stone walls. There was nothing. Only flickering shadow, swirling dust, and keening wind. That and the howl; the ever pursuing howl.

The lip of one of the stones in the floor caught Sam's boot and she sprawled forward, scraping her cheek against the rough stone. She could feel tiny beads of blood forming in the tiny gashes in her skin as she picked herself up, the breath knocked from her body. She turned, realizing that there would be no way for her to outrun whatever was chasing her, especially now. At the same time, she realized she really had had no chance to begin with.

Within seconds the thing was upon her, whirling around her in a mass of darkness. Sam stood straight and tall, battling to keep her breathing even and her fear controlled. Maybe, if she could show this thing that she wasn't afraid of it, it would leave her be.

The darkness condensed around her and it billowed, as if wind were blowing through clouds. The howl that had hunted her grew deeper until it was a laugh – a hollow, echoing chuckle. Chills raced down Sam's spine and she couldn't suppress the goose bumps that rippled along her arms and shoulders.

"I'm not afraid of you!" she yelled defiantly, balling her hands into fists.

Two eyes winked into existence in the midst of the cloud of darkness, its pupils slit vertically like a cat's, and its irises gleamed blood red shot through with black.

"Oh, but you are," the thing laughed. And then it consumed her.

Wind howled around her, clutching at her, tearing at her. The darkness pressed in on her, punching holes through her body and soul and setting her very blood on fire. She was drowning; drowning in a sea of shadow and wind.

She screamed.

-sSs-

"Jack!" the voice sounds frantic, afraid. "Jack!"

"Daniel, what is it?" another voice barks. It's one of the ones from before – the man named O'Neill. "Calm down, what's going on?"

"It's Sam. She just started…" the other man's voice falls away as O'Neill hurries toward the younger man and her.

It feels like molten fire is pouring through her body, burning her alive. She thrashes, some primal part of her mind believing that by beating her body against the ground she can alleviate the burning.

"Teal'c!" That's O'Neill. "Help me hold her down. Daniel, we need more water. We have to wash it again." His voice is cold, commanding. Something grabs her, holds her arms and legs. Again, the simple touch of something against her skin sends needles through her, and she wants to scream.

"Jack, we have to take it out." Daniel.

"No Daniel," O'Neill replies curtly, his voice strained. "We don't know what it will do. Just wash it already," he grunts.

She can sense that Daniel wants to argue. But he doesn't. Instead, he kneels beside her, his breath washing over her body as he leans precariously across her. Something is uncapped.

And then a splashing cold washes over her. All she can feel is coldness. How can fire feel so cold? How can flame freeze you? She doesn't know. She can't care.

Again, she slips into darkness.

-sSs-