Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is a proper noun. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: A short chapter to check in on Danny...
Darkness welcomed darkness as the first thing Danny was able to discern was that, now awake, even with his eyes open, he still couldn't see anything. The moment of calm between awakening and realization was all too soon interrupted by another bout of coughing. In fact, he believed it was the unrelenting irritation in his lungs that must have prompted him to wake up. When the coughs started and he naturally went to cover his mouth, he discovered his hands were strapped together. The insufficient amount of rest before this latest spell started, barely gave him a chance to attempt to make sense of his situation.
As the coughing calmed and eventually got under control, he was finally able to assess his quandary past the darkness and restraints. He first noticed a lingering chemical taste in his mouth. The follow up swallow didn't help and made him realize how dry and irritated his throat was. The burning sensation in his throat and lungs was dulled only by taking short, shallow breaths. He made the decision to continue to lie on his side and not move to make sure the coughing spasm was over and that he could breathe somewhat normally again.
By taking several minutes to be sure he would not start coughing again, a latent aggravation grew into anger. He mentally dubbed the responsible culprit a spineless, punk, coward that he'd love to get his hands on and planned on having that opportunity in the near future. The irritation fueled his anxiety and he couldn't remain still any longer. He slowly climbed to standing. The movement ignited a burning in one of his arms and he recalled the ricochet, for the first time realizing he had been hit by his own bullet. The pain was manageable and he felt it was probably just a superficial crease so he quickly dismissed it as innocuous. He had more troubling things to occupy his thoughts.
He checked his pockets for what he knew wouldn't be there and smiled when he wondered that if he did have his phone, would his first call be to order pizza? He was hungry. The absurdity piled on when he actually took another minute to think that he didn't know an address for delivery anyway. A shake of the head stopped that path of foolishness but not the timely growl in his stomach.
The absence of all light was daunting and he couldn't help but briefly consider the possibility of blindness, until an unpleasant childhood memory came to mind of faking sickness to avoid a field trip to tour a coal mine in New Jersey. A friend had excitedly recounted the details of a previous family trip. He had told of the narrow shafts and manmade rooms and of how when the tour guides would turn out the lights in one of the shafts, you could not see your own hand in front of your face. The idea of being in such a confined space is what caused him to concoct his plan to skip the trip. He had thought he had gotten away with the scheme, but later realized his mom, like all omniscient moms, knew the whole time, and his ingenuity wasn't as ingenious as he thought.
The reverberation of the coughs and wheeze in his labored breathing had been the only thing giving him his first clue as to the size of the room. Holding his bound hands out in front of him (yep, he couldn't see them), he carefully took shuffled steps, seeking out a door or wall. To his dismay, although not unexpected, his hands all too quickly found a wall. He felt a slight increase in his heartbeat and inhaling seemed a bit more difficult.
He followed that wall to a corner, and then to the next corner, and the next, coming to the conclusion the room, or more like it, box he was in, was approximately 12 feet wide by 10 feet deep. Not ideal, but manageable.
"Awesome. Well, that's just fantastic," he spoke aloud as felt another spike of anger.
The surface of the walls felt as though they were constructed of a sturdy horizontal, corrugated metal sheeting. He had also found the door, but it wasn't an ordinary door. It was a large roll up door. There were two handles, both low to the ground, one right above the other, and besides a slight wiggle when he tried to pull, it didn't budge.
Storage unit. He was certain of it. The hollow echo of his breathing made him believe it was an empty unit but he felt around in the dark to make sure. After confirming his suspicions, he decided to make some noise. He banged his hands against the metal door.
"Hey! Anyone out there?! Hey!"
He stopped and was very quiet to listen and see if he heard any footsteps, talking, or anything. Nothing… nothing except his heartbeat… the damned, unusually loud heartbeat. As he felt sweat bead on his forehead and a rivulet roll down his back, he decided he needed to regroup and center himself. He backed up against the wall farthest from the door and slid down, sitting on the floor with his arms resting on his bent knees.
He was actually glad for the dark. As long as he didn't let his imagination take control, his inability to see the size of the room helped to calm him. He didn't see the walls closing in on him. Even though the perceived size of the room was manageable with his claustrophobia, being trapped added another layer that would make it more difficult. He started then abandoned his '86 Mets therapy when he found the darkness and a healthy dose of Grace thoughts were enough for now.
Now that he had scrutinized his situation and gotten his thorn-in-the-side at least under partial control, well at least one of them, he could concentrate on what got him into this mess. He wondered how long he had been out and then his mind went to his other thorn-in-the-side, Steve. What had happened to him? Surely, he had come looking for him. His contemplations took him in several directions but he chose to assume he was looking for him, maybe even irritated that he'd gone missing and laying a little of the blame on him. But then he thought of the shot he had fired, from his own gun, at the door in his attempted escape. Wouldn't he have heard that and come running in Rambo style? The niggling thought of Steve being in the same predicament or worse came to mind. He had to fight his natural pessimistic instinct and just keep assuming the best.
Long minutes led to long hours. He was pretty sure he had dozed when he felt his head jerk up. As he continued to sit, the dark nothingness of the far side of the room began to have a dull essence of light crawl under the bottom of the door. So, he wasn't blind. The hint grew in brightness to an out-and-out sliver of light. Daylight. Sunrise. There must have been a window outside the walls of the unit to allow this seepage of light.
His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, so with the scant bit of added light, he was able to begin to see the outline of his current living quarters. He again felt his breathing quicken with his heart rate. He had been right about the type and size of his accommodations and seeing the four walls, without an exit was dismaying. He closed his eyes to put him back into the darkness and that helped for a while but his inquisitive nature couldn't stand it so he opened his eyes and allowed the light to help him to see. He was looking around, seeing the cold, emptiness of the room when he happened to see a tiny red light blink in a corner at the top of the room. That light had not been there before.
And footsteps… had he heard footsteps? Yes. The clicking of the padlock had confirmed it. He scooted up the wall to standing. He squinted and had to cover his eyes as best as he could with his arm as the flood of morning light from the large windows in the hallway assaulted him. It would take a minute to see who was there.
~to be continued~
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