A/N This story takes place during the summer between seasons 3 & 4. For the record, I do NOT in any way condone kidnapping, rape, murder, recreational drug use, or anything like that. If any of these subjects – or strong language - offends you, please DO NOT READ. This fic is NOT work safe, nor is it recommended for those with a weak stomach. Reader's discretion is advise!
Here is chapter 3! Please review…I get more nervous with the lack of reviews, but the continued 'alerts', heh. I hope y'all are enjoying it!
Disclaimer:I claim no ownership of these characters, and no affiliation whatsoever with Hart Hanson, "Bones", Fox, its affiliates, subsidiaries, etc. Please don't sue me!
PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE
CHAPTER 3
Rocking
Angela was awoken next not by a slap, but by a gentle rocking. A rocking that did not agree with her one bit. As her mind clawed it's way out of the black, she moaned faintly, then rolled to one side and began to heave. A part of her was grateful there was nothing in her stomach, simply so that she didn't have to deal with the smell.
She raised a hand to her mouth when she was finally finished, and her eyes snapped open in surprise. For a long moment, she stared uncomprehendingly at her hand. She was untied? As she struggled to register this fact while ignoring the raw spots on her wrist, she shifted her gaze to examine her new surroundings.
Strangely enough, she was in a small room. The walls had oak paneling, matching the desk and the bed she was laying on. The décor was subtle, in blues and whites. Blinking in confusion, she continued to look around. This had to be a boat, which struck her as very strange. Were they out to sea? Had they completely taken her out of the US? The thought terrified her. Suddenly Ange wondered how Booth and Brennan would ever find her.
They were still looking, right?
Her breath escaped as she shuddered and shook her head to try and clear it. Finally, she took a deep breath and focused. She was alone, which was another surprise. The only time Skip and his buddy had left her alone before had been to 'take a leak'. She waited a few minutes, listening carefully, trying to see if she could hear them nearby. Not hearing anything except the faint sound of water, she began to slowly sit up. As she did, the world shifted upside down, and her body reacted by informing her of all the welts and cuts she was covered in. Surprisingly, Angela didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere anymore. She had even been washed clean of the blood, semen, dirt, and coke that had been caking her skin before. It took several deep breaths, however, for the world to straighten itself out again, and stop spinning.
Her arms wrapped around herself tightly as she swallowed hard. For some reason, thought of someone bathing her while she was unconscious seemed almost as disturbing as where she was. Her gaze shifted to the bed itself, and she frowned in consternation as she saw a white cotton robe laying next to her. Obviously, it was meant for her, but Angela didn't like the fact that she didn't know what was going on. Surely they hadn't rescued her . . . she had a feeling that if they had, they wouldn't have left her alone.
After several more minutes of consideration, she pulled the robe over and shrugged into it. A hiss of pain escaped her lips as it rubbed a few sores the wrong way, but at least it covered her. Tying the belt tightly, she braced one hand against the wall, then slowly stood. The boat's rocking left her struggling to keep her balance as her legs – still obviously weak – trembled. It was then that she remembered the cut on her foot, and she reached down to touch it gingerly.
"Stitches?" The sound of her own voice startled her. She sounded hoarse and exhausted, and so broken. As she ran her fingers over the stitches, her eyes caught sight of a pair of light blue tennis shoes, and white socks that sat on the floor by the bed. Sinking back down onto the bed, she watched them for a moment, then wondered what she was waiting for. They weren't going to bite her. Slowly she reached out and picked up the socks, tugging them over her feet slowly. The shoes she decided against. Though they looked her size, she wasn't sure if her injured foot would be comfortable.
Surely enough time had passed that if Skip or his friend were around, they would have come in by now, probably drunk or high, ready to force themselves on her again. Which meant that they weren't around.
Carefully, she stood again, finding it a little easier to balance this time, then headed for the door slowly. She had no idea if it was going to be locked or not, but it was worth a try, right? Upon reaching it, she turned the handle, and blinked as it opened easily, into a short, dark hallway. There were three other doors, all closed, and a set of metal stairs at the end of the hall. Her confidence and hope began to grow as she started to creep forward. Maybe she'd get lucky and the boat would be tied up to a dock, and she could leave . . .
Almost before realizing it, she had reached the stairs. Her her hands grasped the railing and she began to slowly climb the stairs. The metal was cold even through the socks, but she didn't mind. At the top of the stairs was a wooden hatch, which she slowly pushed open. Pausing on the stairs, she shut her eyes as a breeze filled with the salty smell of the sea struck her in the face. Once it passed, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, and she reopened her eyes. A tiny, hopeful smile began to form, as she hesitated for a moment, then slowly climbed out onto the deck.
Once she was fully topside, the brunette paused at the sight before her. Nothing but the ocean. She took a few steps forward and reached the railing of the boat, almost stumbling as it rocked with a wave. Her wonder prevented her from feeling the presence behind her, but as the hatch she had climbed through fell shut, she jumped, and turned.
"So good to see you've awoken, Ms. Montenegro. Do be careful where you are. You wouldn't want to fall over; there is no land within swimming distance for one in your condition." As the wind carried his voice towards her, her blood froze, and she met his eyes almost fearfully. It was the same voice that had told Skip to administer the drug to her, when she'd been in the van. As she met his gaze, her hope died away. His eyes were empty, lifeless, belying the smile that was painted on his face.
Angela felt more terrified now, than she had in the warehouse.
