Hi guys! I know, I know... It's been forever! But it's not that I'm lazy, just finding time to eat and sleep is proving to be difficult with school.

The department of education decided that school is apparently not difficult enough, and now we have a new year program where they pile all the work humanely possible into one program. Our grade will now be guinea pigs to test if we would be able to survive this new program. But enough rambling!

I have decided that school can respectively go screw itself. Therefore I am going to continue with Ice Mask. BUT, you guys will have to be patient with the chapters, as I write only for about two hours before school and sport worm its way into my conscience.

I realized how selfish it was of me to just stop writing without any notice, so, viola here is another edited chapter. Keep in mind, I'm reconstructing the story not only editing. So you guys will encounter new scenes and new chapters.

Thank you for those you encouraged me to start again via PM, you really made me push through.

Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 3: Scream

Screaming. Torturous, heart wrenching, ear splitting screams. They tore through the steady haze that covered my mind and scattered my thoughts into frenzy. My eyes snapped open, and I could sense my body instinctively struggling to comprehend the instantaneous panic that swelled.

It was the blonde girl in the room across from mine. She was twisting and wrenching in her chains, arching her back. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground, unlike the previous day, though her arms were still suspended above her head. At first I could not comprehend what she was trying to do; writhing in the chains, but then a shifting in the back of her room caught my attention.

Straining my eyes to focus on the figure that loomed in the rear of the room, I could make out a familiar plump shape of a man. I racked my brain and I found his shape very similar to that of the fat man that was in my kitchen. It was him. My reaction was similar to that of my first meeting with my capturer of the previous day. The rage was bitter and heating as it boiled up from the pit of my stomach.

There was something long, thin and limp in his left hand: a whip. In a mix of horror, shock and rage, I watched as he hauled back the torturous apparatus and swung his arm down onto the girl's exposed back. The slapping sound of the braided leather slicing open the sensitive flesh reverberated in my mind. My jaw slackened and for seconds I could only silently endure the sounds of her suffering screeches.

Then like a sudden elastic snapping back in place, I was the one jerking around, rampant yells of outrage ripped from my throat.

"What are you doing?" My screech bordered on desperation as I was forced to witness the torture being afflicted upon the helpless girl. Begging and limp, she resembled a heap of bones, the only thing holding her upright were the chains she was yet bound by.

The man, if he deserved to be called human, was yelling incompetent words at her. A mix of scorn and displeasure laced his crude, snapping, hollering as he continued to beat her with ferocious brutality.

Amid the disturbance I could feel the adrenaline readily pumping throughout my limbs. Another scream ripped through the dense atmosphere, rising goose-bumps from my skin and stopping my heart for a chilling moment. The unadulterated agony that rang through that single scream conveyed all the pain and suffering a single human being could possibly contain. Harsh shudders ran up and down my skin and the aching of my shoulders and arms departed as result of the epinephrine. Involuntarily I wrenched at the chains and was surprised to hear the slight creaking groan of the metal. Inspecting the large bolts that were drilled into the solid, concrete roof, I experimentally yanked on the left chain and was more than surprised to see it repositioning , if only slightly. Though my arms were rigid, I tried channeling all my remaining strength into wrenching on the chain, until slowly it revealed more of the rivet.

The bolt on the left set of chains was on the edge of being completely exposed, but another screech ripped at my ears and focused my attention on the girl. The man was now standing in front of the shaking girl, roughly grabbing onto her jaw and while hissing scorn he paused to spit in her face. I unconsciously jerked at the chain, the resisting pressure disappeared and I looked up in time to see the square metal patch, bolt still inserted in it, sailing towards me. The sharp edge of the metal square grated down my left cheek. There was a slight pause before the sting erupted across my face and a slow throb pounded through my whole face, increasing as the pain in my cheek registered.

Wincing, I tried my chance on the right set of chains. I could feel the heated blood seeping from the wound, dripping down my neck and percolating into my shirt. The panic was instigating a constricting sensation in my chest, and desperate, I yanked harder until the chains were giving way. I ducked my head to avoid another injury as the right set of chains burst from the roof and tumbled down onto me. My feet hit the floor, locking at my knees before they quavered and gave in beneath my weight. With useless arms, I could barely lift my head in time to watch the man disappear into the shadows, leaving a sobbing girl behind. I noticed that she was once again hauled into the air, like some sick sacrifice.

Shadows were cast over the display of bones that were prominent throughout the lines of her body. Accompanied by slashes and streams of blood, the sight was both gruesome and disconcerting. Her hollow-shaped stomach clenched and rolled as she dry heaved, her body trying to bring up the evidently non-existing food. Instinctively I tried to move closer, using my arms to thrust my upper body off the ground, but when an unexpected sting traveled up from my wrists to my shoulders, I sagged back to the floor with a groan. The girl's wrenching ceased for a moment and all was silent apart from her loud breathing.

"Shouldn't have done… that…" Another groan and series of dry heaves accompanied her statement. My head slowly turned to the right only to realize the reprimand had been aimed at me. Confused, I only continued to watch her heave with silent, guarded eyes. She didn't seem to take notice of my gaze, but was rather focusing on her own discomfort, as she should. I tried to clear my throat discreetly but flinched when the sound reverberated loudly throughout the room. There was the deafening dribble of blood drenching the concrete floor. Slowly, and exceedingly excruciating, I crawled over to the large glass wall in order to be closer to the now sobbing girl.

The scuffling effort of my creep managed to gain her attention, and her tear filled gaze was filled with an old reminder of horror as she watched my attempt with a mix of pity and sympathy. At the sight of her pitying gaze, a small presence in the back of my head snarled with discontentment, despising the labeling weakness. Gritting my teeth I placed more effort and speed into my approach, collapsing in a heap at the feet of the glass wall.

"What's…that…supposed…to mean?" My gasping breaths were the result of my tremendous effort at crawling with a much hastier pace, in order to replace some of my vanished dignity. I had tried to force oxygen into my lungs without alerting my immediate surrounding location, but quite obviously failed in doing so.

"Shouldn't have done that," she repeated, her eyes lost focus as she stared out in front of her. A scream echoed from one of the other rooms, but I was not able to see from which one. Bewildered, the girl only continued to stare and then slowly started to shake her head. Her limp, lifeless blonde hair flew around as she started shaking it with more vigor, until she was wrenching and yanking at the chains again. Her screams echoed that of the other girl's as she flew into a frenzy of panic. I waited for her panicked attack to ebb away, before I carefully tried to speak with her again; cautious of what might set her off.

"What's your name?" I spoke softly, trying to place as much gentleness as I possibly could into my voice, so as not to startle her. Her head snapped up in surprise and her lips parted in shock. Frowning, I tried to think of ways the sentence could have been interpreted to offend her, but found none other than the innocent question.

After long moments of silence she muttered something under her breath and the echo of the room brought the soft mumble to my ears.

"Shyana."

My smile was what I would have liked to call gentle and slight, but judging by the effect it seemed I might as well have bared my teeth and snarled; she flinched away from it and turned her head askew. Startled by her fright I wondered what it would take for a girl like her to ever be smiling and happy again, it seemed impossible.

"Shyana?" I paused to see if she would look at me. She didn't. "I won't hurt you, I promise," I continued softly, waiting for a reaction. Her head inched slightly back in my direction, and taking that as a good sign I continued hastily.

"You-"

"They'll hurt you."

Momentarily stunned, her curt words interrupted my thoughts and my eyes widened as they registered. A cold dread crept over my skin and my limbs rapidly turned to lead, weighing me down and trapping me on the cold concrete floor.

"They'll…hurt…?" My numb lips echoed the words stupidly and a high pitched ringing slowly started in my ears. All thoughts of comforting the girl so to say flew out the window, if there were any in this prison, and the space constricted in on me, making me feel small and helpless. The girl finally turned to look at me, and as if satisfied with my reaction she nodded her head, her saddened gaze knotting the lump in my throat.

My lips parted as I tried to form words, but a dry croak was all I managed and I decided it was best to stay silent and take time to absorb the information. But the reality of the situation was finally dawning on me. Shouldn't I have expected this? It wasn't like I should have thought they would treat me any different than they do the other girls here. Then abruptly, I steeled myself and swore to not give it much thought so as not to lose my nerve and scare myself into a little helpless ball-of-pathetic.

"I'm not taking it sitting down," I was pleased to hear my voice with its restored dignity and characteristic perseverance. A small flash of recognition flashed in her pale eyes but was soon crushed with regret.

"That's…worst… thing…can do," her voice was growing weak and she struggled to pronounce the words, but I caught the drift of the sentence but remained quiet, seeing as it was taking much of her energy to speak, and she needed rest. The old familiar ring in the words made me think that she might have tried once to defend herself, now she just seemed to be waiting for the mercy of death. As her breathing slowed and deepened, I hoped that she would make it through one more night.

She was, not to sound selfish but, going to serve as my source of information, as she seemed to be the only one fit to speak. But this would benefit all of them, hopefully, if I wished to ever try and get out, which I will have to, I could report to the police about the rest of the girls. They would all be safe. That is to say if it wasn't too late.

I glanced up at Shyana and was relieved find that her body had released all its tension as it had given into the merciful folds of slumber, and hopefully not a coma. My head fell back against the glass wall and I winced at the stiffness of the tendons and muscles. In a way the sore muscles brought a familiar comfort; it being very similar to that after a day of good exercise with Coach. My heart ached at the taken privilege of freedom, to never run or see my family again. What are they doing now? By now they would have filed a missing person's report. What are they telling Ivan?

"Allory, would you go and put Ivan in bed, he won't listen to me," my mother's exhausted voice echoed from the kitchen entrance and I glanced up from my half eaten ham-and-cheese sandwich to find her still in her work suit, her hear ruffled and falling from its containments.

"Sure," I replied, it wasn't a surprise. Every now and then Ivan would rebel against either my mom or my dad; simply because he viewed their parenting as 'treating him like a baby' and when they were too tired to deal with him I'd have to step in.

Moving to the sitting room, I found him in front of the television, a frown marring his smooth forehead and his arms crossed in the classical pose of 'I'm not moving'. At least he didn't have a pout.

"Hey Ivan, you wanna help me pack my schoolbag?" I asked casually, leaning on the doorframe of the entrance to the sitting room. I knew he normally enjoyed helping me; it made him feel like he wasn't in third grade, but rather mature enough so I could trust him with my oh-so-valuable algebra books.

"No," he replied firmly, the stubborn edge entering his voice.

I made a show of sighing loudly and slumping my shoulders, lowering my head as if disappointed and slowly turned in the doorway. I could feel his hesitation and guilt from across the room. One thing about Ivan was that he never enjoyed seeing me distressed, especially if he was the cause. A soft padding confirmed my suspicions and his small hand grabbed mine and pulled me up the stairs to my room, like he was acting as a parent. The soft touch was his way of apologizing, as he never really did so verbally, something we both inherited from our father.

We packed my books and he even helped sorting out some biology papers. After that it was easy to convince him to go to bed when I said that I'd be getting into bed as well.

"Ally?" Ivan's soft voice called from where he was curled up in his bed.

"Yeah?" I called out softly into the dark room from the doorway. There was a pause where he seemed uncomfortable and even guilty.

"Tell mom that I'm sorry," there was a rustling as he settled back into the covers and a loud sigh escaped from his chest. I smiled into the room, touched as well as impressed by his consideration and maturity.

"I will," I whispered into the room.

The memory hit home hard, and crippled me even as I sat. That was about two years ago and one of those unexpected remembrances that stuck in my brain unknowingly. The breath was knocked clear from my lungs and I grabbed at the spot over my heart, where the piercing pain was originating from. What was I thinking? Trying to escape? That was just about one of the most unrealistic, foolish and not even to mention the most dangerous ideas I've ever sported. The dull ache ebbed away as I inspected the red, nasty looking welts around my wrist, and followed a line up my arm where there were patches of blue and yellow bruises. Whenever I even thought of lifting my arms, my shoulders were already screaming in pain. My legs were fine for the most part, if you didn't add up the countless bruises and scratches.

Getting to my feet proved to be a difficult task, but with the support of the transparent wall I managed to stumble to my shaky legs. The chains that enclosed my wrists and spilled down to the floor were not helping my cause and aches sprouted down to the muscle and bone of my arms, particularly when they brushed gruffly over the welts. Pacing agitatedly along the walls, my thoughts travelled towards the direction of the men that had captured me.

Considering my limited knowledge of them, a grimace colored my flat expression. Information was valuable, now more than ever. There were three men that I was aware of encountering; the man with the scarred face, the fat swine who had been beating Shyana earlier on and a strangely silent, lanky man. With their motives as unpronounced as it was, I couldn't be completely sure what level of danger I was on. The circular structure in which the rooms were placed forbids me from calculating the sure number of girls that were here with me, but my guess was a rough estimate of about fifteen. Maybe even twenty?

My study of the rooms proved that every single one of the housings were accurately similar and that conditions of their occupants ranged from severe to much less alarming. The floor-solid concrete- was greased with grime and dirt and the blood formed rusty stains that seemed to be etched into the floor. In the center of the circular structure there was a squared trap door, constructed of thick wood and adorned with a heavy looking brass handle.

I glanced down at the chains that hung to the floor. Considering that I was no longer suspended from the roof, and the chains could act as a sort of weapon; maybe I could try and escape. The only hiccup that lay between me and freedom was a concrete door and some men. Some really cruel, big men. A knot formed at the base of my throat, clotting my breathing and serving as a wedge that prevented my head from sagging in despair.

Would I really be capable of escaping? Even on the off chance that I did, another question served as a mental block: Could I really leave all these other women behind? You could always report to the police, they would take care of it. The reassuring dribble of words did little to quench the crushing guilt that coiled around my chest. Maybe some money-

My thoughts were abruptly scored as the creaking of the concrete door reached my ears. Momentarily stunned, my muscles clenched up and locked in place. A string of curses strung through my mind as I considered my options. Springing into action I silently, as quietly as I could with the rattling chains, moved to stand in space where the door would be swinging open to.

A strip of light pierced the dark room, gradually eating up the dark space to reveal the seemingly empty room. Lurking behind the door I could unmistakably hear the soft gasp of surprise that sounded from the man's mouth. Heavy steps echoed to the middle of the room and I could make out the form of the scarred man from my hiding place. I tried to ignore the sharp sting of disappointment and doubt that gnawed at my thoughts. I was fervently hoping it would be the fat man that would enter my chamber, as he would have been so much easier to outrun. Deciding to act quickly, I dodged out from behind the door, the rattling of the chains made him spin on his heels and reach for me. I sidestepped his grip and darted from the room, viewing my escape options. Left or right? Impulsively I chose to dart to the left and found myself running down a stretching corridor, my bare feet slapping on the cemented floor.

The chains were bundled in my arms, adding to my discomfort. Panic enclosed my throat as I heard the man's footfalls gaining in on mine, getting closer…

The impact slammed into me from behind, knocking me solidly to the floor and the heavy weight of the man settled on my back. His gasps were warm on my neck and his cold fingers folded around the tops of my arms. I thrashed in his hold, biting back the screams that threatened to tear from my throat. I did not need more of the men coming to inspect the source of the riot.

"Bitch," he snapped, bringing a hand up to rip at the roots of my hair. My neck strained as he arched it painfully into his shoulder, my short yelp echoed in the corridor. "You really thought you could escape?"

Was I delusional when I had thought I could escape? I had no sense of direction, especially in this unfamiliar region. There were possible threats lurking around each tum and apart from that, I did not know how far we were from my home. Abruptly my heart sank into the deepest pit of my stomach, the impulse to retch growing stronger by the second. I had foolishly hoped my status as a long distance runner at school would up my chances at escaping. Clearly I had been mistaken.

"You'll have to pay for this little episode, princess," the man, seemingly calmer, sneeringly taunted before ripping be to my feet by my tangled hair. Before the small patch of dread could develop, the searing anger wormed its way into my throat and my hands, ready claws, reached for his face. My lips peeled back from my teeth and a silent snarl lodged in my throat.

Scrapping back to the room proved to be a difficult task for both him and me, as I was resisting: slapping and clawing everything that I could reach. Eventually the man grunted and yanked me up and over his shoulder, where I continued to kick and punch. String upon string of curse words flooded from my lips. I ripped up his shirt and dug my nails into his flesh, leaving bloody tracks on the surface of his skin. Apart from the occasional hiss and wince, he continued impervious to any of my assaults.

We reached the open door to the room that had contained me, and my struggles grew desperate, more vigorous. Upon shutting the door behind him, he flung me to the floor in the center of the room. I tried springing to my feet, but he merely placed a foot on my stomach, preventing any movements and gradually adding more pressure. When the pressure morphed from bearable to agonizing I ceased my struggling, short puffs of breath were wringed from my lungs. I watched as a smirk stretched into a full blown grin and a tremor of unease travelled up my spine.

"I think it's time you learned some manners. Don't you think, princess?"