Warning: I discuss Emma's eating disorder a little bit in this chapter. I don't know if it's trigger worthy for anyone with an ED, but just thought I'd mention it. No blood, but she certainly doesn't get off easy when it comes to traps.
When Emma woke up, she was too scared to move. She barely dared to move her head to look around. Her vision was still a bit blurry and it took her several moments to realize that the plexy glass around her was causing a great deal of the distortion. Prior to that discovery, she had simply assumed that her memory loss and confusion was brought on by a relapse. She used to feel like she was walking around wearing foggy goggles, ear muffs, and weights on her limbs when she was fighting to live by refusing food.
Her breathing became more rapid as she heard pounding on the glass. Then she realized it was the shaking of her hands and feet. She couldn't believe how scared to move she was. As her fingers wrapped around the tape player, she thought about when she would awaken from a nightmare and be too frightened to run to her mother's bed. She'd be so still as she played dead. Then the monster can't find you. You can't see him so he can't see you.
But she was in this clear box on the floor, in clear view. Emma had seen some kind of monitor on the other side of the room but her breath fogged the glass as she strained to focus on the moving black and white images. Even though she found it too hard to study the monitors, she was thankful for their light. From the fading and bouncing light, she could see pipes zig zagging above her. She followed the path and saw that several emptied into the box she was resting in. She clicked on the player.
"Hello, Emma. No doubt you are wondering what is going on. I will explain it to you. I know that you enjoy being the crusader, but what happens when you find yourself crumbling and you become the exact thing you were fighting against? It's admirable that you strive to make the world a better place but pathetic when you commit the same actions you condone. Are you the one who takes on the weight of the world until it crushes her? Who exactly is Emma Nelson? You know doubt have wondered as you dealt with anorexia and built yourself back up. You survived that. Can you survive this?
You are in a water chamber that will fill; the amount depending on your own movements. Like your life, you cannot just climb out of the box you've built yourself into. The combination to the lock is written on the box, each row signifies a possible combination and each reads left to right."
The chilling tone and cryptic message sent her into a frenzy. The fight or flight sensation had kicked into gear. When she felt the water begin to trickle down on her left leg, she realized that she must have triggered some water pressure control. It was difficult to glance around for some kind of wire, something attached to her, something that would give her a clue how to take action. Her jeans were thoroughly soaked now and she knew she had to do something. She twisted and eased herself around so she could see the numbers written on the glass.
You can survive on water, Emma had told herself as she battled the authority figures in the hospital who had forced nutrients into her by I.V. first. Then came nurses with nutritional drinks and soft voices. Solid food, plump full of calories came next. The interrogation by a psychologist and preaching from a nutritionist were only added bonuses. She had tried to be perfect Emma for at first, after all she did want to get better. Sometimes it was easy to slip into perfect Emma mode; the girl does the right thing, enjoyed receiving praise for her accomplishments, and fought for what she believed was right. That had to be the one who could beat this. But every once in awhile she'd slip up and make comments on the purity of water; you can survive on water. She always enjoyed the smoothness, the simple ness, the relief the clear liquid had. It was empty but gave her the fullness she needed, the kick to keep her body moving through the day. When the day became too much, the shower was a safe retreat and the pounding of the water muffled out any crying. If she was alone, she'd do laps in the swimming pool. Nothing else could possibly drown out the noise in her head.
Ironic that she found herself in this situation Emma thought as she debated where the correct combination would be placed. Where did the killer think she would be least likely to try? She tried to recite the numbers aloud as she crawled around in the box. She told herself it wasn't an impossible task. The box was high enough to allow her to move fairly comfortably. She tried not to think about the amount of possible combinations she had to try. She remembered student ID numbers, locker combinations, why not this? But the slightest error would cause her to double check.
As she scrambled, she took in a mouthful of water and choked. Her lungs burned and limbs felt heavy and stiff as the water and pressure level rose. Water was not so friendly as she once thought. It wasn't so weightless after all, the slender blonde thought as she began to panic even more. She was going to have to adopt a new strategy if she wanted to keep breathing. No problem, Emma tried to soothe herself. She'd memorize more than one combination. She ran her fingers over the numbers and whispered them aloud. She just needed some order, needed some control. Memorize the sections of numbers, crawl back to the lock to put them in, and then go for the next section of numbers.
She screamed when she heard a pounding on the box. The sight of Paige made her freeze. She stared at the tubing in her mouth, dangling onto the floor. Emma could only stare at Paige as she watched Paige pull at it; she was flooded by mental images of her past purging habits. When Emma choked on the water, she began to crawl around the box more. She had forgotten the order of the numbers. She could not remember them, not in this moment. She tore off pieces of her shirt and tried to jam the water spouts. The box vibrated as her hip slammed into the side of the box as she crawled around.
She moved back into the original position she had woken in and began to work at the lock. This was the final row. At least she assumed she had not overlooked a possible combination, but how much truth laid in assumptions? She yanked on the lock, pushed on the door. She had made a mistake. It was too late for a mistake. At some point she had messed up the order of the numbers and she did not know when her mistake had taken place. She couldn't keep the order of the numbers straight. Things were never clear, never neatly ordered, and the solution she picked wasn't as pure as she thought it was.
