Solitary confinement is punishment for some of the most trouble some prisoners in jail. Some say it's a maddening experience, enough to make the weak-minded crazy. Or so I've heard. But believe me when I say this, spending even one measly hour nailed to a board in a darkened basement, surrounded by a bunch of beaten and bloodied girls, sobbing quietly and moaning pitifully, knowing that there is a cold blooded killer pacing above you...
I guarantee it's enough to break even the strongest of minds.
My arms had long since gone almost completely numb, save for the dull throb where the nails (screws, actually, according to Fang, because he had no nails. Irony's a real bitch.*) remained lodged, immovable and solid, in my hands and wrists.
Telling time was impossible down here, without any windows or natural light to guide me. Even my internal clock was screwed up. Fang never gave any sort of indication as to how much time had passed since he last visited.
Half of the time, he wouldn't even come for me. He would come down and chat briefly with one of the terrified girls chained to the wall. Sometimes he would get angry and starting beating on the helpless thing. Other times he would merely be checking to make sure they were still alive. Twice he took a girl upstairs without a word. Neither of them have come back.
Much more disturbingly, however, I found myself enjoying his presence, simply because being starved of human speech and faces had made me desperate enough to the point I actually wanted to ask him to stay a bit longer, talk to me some more.
Then I would look at the horrendous tools of torture lying behind him, and I would valiantly hold my tongue, looking the other way in some sort of pathetic defiance, like, I don't need you. I had no idea what he was up to, acting all friendly like that.
Maybe he was acting all friendly to make the moment he killed me all the more enjoyable seeing the unforgivable betrayal swimming in my eyes as he peeled me apart, layer by muscly layer until I was just another skeleton in his closet.
I shook my head as the door leading to the cellar opened, blinking rapidly. Had I dozed off, or was I just day dreaming? For a moment my vision shook and blurred, swirling around until I was able to focus again, at least for the most part.
The familiar footsteps depended the stairway, making their way towards me. The dim overhead light is switched on, illuminating the Hell I now called 'home'. Fang pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his ankles.
In his hands was a steaming bowl of chicken soup, or at least what appeared to be chicken soup. I didn't trust him. The mere sight of it churned my stomach and I looked away, nauseous. I'd barely eaten anything since getting here, and it was probably starting to show.
Fang didn't comment on it though, and produced a spoon, slurping up the soup with a thoughtful expression. I decided to spring some questions on him, hoping he'd be in a good enough mood to answer some of them before he stopped talking completely, like he usually did.
"So, are you planning on keeping me here forever, because my hands are probably going to need amputation soon." I said, my voice rough from little use. Honestly it sounded as if I shoved a cheese grater down my throat.
Fang looked up, one eyebrow raised. A wave of remembrance washed over me, his resemblance once again striking a chord with a face I'd seen somewhere before. But the name eluded me, as usual, and before I could get anywhere, it had gone.
"I thought I explained this before."
"Maybe you have, but why don't you indulge me?"
Fang sighs and sets the bowl down on the table, the spoon clattering into place beside it. He stood, rubbing his face for a moment. "I'm keeping you here," he said, making his painfully slow way towards me.
The closer he got, the more saw how tired he looked, like he spent most of his nights battling demons instead of sleeping. I immediately banish the thought. He probably lays awake in bed planning disgusting ways of torture for us all.
"Until you are broken in." He finished, propping his elbows up on the board underneath him, folding his hands together and placing them under his chin. This close I could see the small stubble lining his chin, and the small whitish slash of a scar underneath his left eye.
"Broken in?" I asked carefully, eyes narrowing. What was he getting at now?
"I mean," he clarified, with a look that made him look downright demonic in the sickly light, "That I am keeping you here until I know you won't try anything funny when I release you. Like running away, or trying to kill me. Trust me, it never works." He smiled, but only slightly. It didn't come anywhere close to his oddly memorizing eyes.
It took a moment or two for his words to sink in. Immediately, ulterior motive! flashed bright red inside my skull. "So... you plan on releasing me?"
"Not out of the house, no. But I'm going to let you out of the basement, let you wander around the house a bit. You can even have a nice warm bed to sleep in. So long as you don't cause any problems."
Fang stopped, and looked at me, awaiting my answer. His face was emotionless now and impossible to read. Dark shadows danced across his features, drowning them in black. I wanted to turn away defiant and undeterred as ever, but my mouth had other plans. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was in the hands of a serial killer, not a caretaker."
Fang chuckled lightly at this, amused. I didn't have enough energy to even get mad at the fact that he finds me funny in such a situation. He stepped back, arms falling to his sides. "No need to be that like. It's simple hospitality. You didn't think I would keep you like that did you?"
"Consider you nailed me here and haven't moved me since, it's crossed my mind once or twice." I retorted with a slight sneer. God, what was wrong with me today? Just shooting out whatever came to mind. Which, in my case, was rarely anything good.
"Well, you needn't worry, Max." The way he said my name, in a chilling, foreshadowing way, like he was the author of a book who wrote a sucker punch end to a story, made me shiver involuntarily. "I have plans for you, and they will work much better if you are alive and mobile."
Fang offered me the bowl once more, but I shook my head, dazed. He shrugged and shut off the lights, navigating his way out of the basement with ease. The click of the door resonated in my ears, and it was a long time before the gears in my brain started grinding onward again.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to still my rapidly beating heart. Plans? What plans could a killer possibly have for me? A mash up of every bloody horror film scene flashes through my mind, every innocent victim replaced by me. Every villain morphed into the face of my captor, cold, calculating eyes taking in my beautifully crafted death.
Plans... Plans of what, exactly? I glanced over ever so slowly at the glistening tools on the table to my left. Each once looked like something straight out a fiction, gruesome instrument too inhumane to even exist outside of the realms of language.
Whatever he had planned, I resolved not to give him any sort of sanctification in seeing me cry, or scream, or beg for mercy. He could reap that from any other girl down here, but I wasn't going to play his game. Not now, not ever.
At least, I hoped that anyway, since hope was all I had left.
X X X
Author's Notes: *Get it? She's screwed. Yes, I know, that was terrible. Moving on. This chapter did not turn out how I wanted it at all. Dear God it is an utter abomination. I don't know, it just didn't work for me. Writing it didn't click, so to speak. It just turned out all wrong, and I sincerely apologize for it. (Also, if it switches from past to present tense, I'm sorry. I was writing another story that was in present tense while working on it.)
