Warning: We're back with Ellie in the razor wire pit. This chapter gives a nod to Suspiria. Violence/injuries/gore is just implied, not described in detail.
The tears spilled down her face when she saw him lean over the edge of the pit. Ellie didn't say a word as Sean shakily informed her that he was going for help and he would bring someone back once he got help; he needed help or he would bleed to death. She could only nod. She jumped a bit when she saw him drop his boots down with his left hand. She felt her heart warm up a bit at the gesture; his steel toed boots were much thicker than the pair of worn converse sneakers she had thrown on that morning before her early a.m. class. She nodded more rapidly as he added "Remember to crawl up on your right side, there's less wire there."
She was curled up and silent, listening to Sean's movements. The rustle of his clothing as he moved told her that he was holding up, but stumbling. The jingle of the keys and twist of the key in the lock was what kept her calm. She wasn't sure when she should act. She couldn't help be terrified of pain and hoped that she wouldn't have to. Yes, she was buying into the whole damsel in distress notion. Hell yes, she was buying into it. When it became too still and she did not hear the door click open, she realized she would have to take action. She realized that they never listened to her tape. A part of her did not want to, thinking that they missed a vital clue that would have kept them away from danger. But she knew that she needed that clue now.
"Hello, Ellie. The pit you are now sitting in is my comment on how you choose to survive. You often sit back and wait for things to happen, silently suffering until things become too much to handle. I would not be surprised if you have not sprung into action and your ex-lover is wandering down the hall wounded. You need to take control and trust your instincts. Sometimes it seems like you are lingering behind the crowd, thinking of others feelings more than your own. This is no way to live. Neither is using pain to control pain. I know that in the past you used self-mutilation as a survival strategy. How much blood are you willing to shed to stay alive?"
She left the tape running, hoping that the eerie voice would step out of the static and give her a hint. She stared up at the web of razor wire and plotted her next move, right down to how much she would tilt her head and the degree she would angle her arms and legs as she crawled up and through the mess of wire. Reaching for Sean's boots felt like one step closer to her escape.
Ellie noticed how thin she had become when she slid on Sean's boots. She was aware that they would be big on her and seem clownish, but she had worn them before. She'd shove them onto her small feet and hastily lace them up when stumbling outside late at night to retrieve a science book from the backseat or heading out to shovel snow from the car in the early morning. She smiled slightly as she thought of how he'd be there offering her a warm cup of coffee when she stomped back inside. He liked to be the one to shovel snow. She liked to be the one to surprise and take on the task before he'd woken up.
Back to reality; at least her thinness would do her some good in this situation. She tried to block the tape's voice from her head. She was aware of how she had become so skinny, it was pure nerves. That was her diet. She took on too much, ate too little, and slept even less. She felt too much for everyone else – most recently being the regret of not seeing Sean when he was arrested. That one lingered and stung like an irritating hang nail. She worried about Ashley's feelings while she nursed a crush on Manning…Craig. The last she had heard from him was a late night phone call a month or two ago. It wasn't anything unlike the rest. He frequently called her crying when he was high on some drug. She had tried to tell herself that no news was good news, that he finally went back home to Joey to clean up and wasn't couch-hopping anymore.
She realized she was doing it again. She angrily tore off her bulky jean jacket, thinking it would catch on the wire. She tore it into strips and wrapped it around her hands, knowing that the saw blades that aligned the wall of the pit would be used as a makeshift ladder. She felt stronger in this moment. She felt it at least for a few seconds as she acknowledged that she must take better care of herself and remember her own delicate nature. The hoarse voice on the tape was right in a way.
Climbing was slow. She hated the saw blades she had to step on as she was convinced that one small wrong distribution of her body weight could cost her this 'game.' In all of her preparation of climbing and maneuvering, she had failed to prepare herself for the shock of seeing Sean.
His face was grayish and his eyes were saggy. He reminded her of the nightmares she had when she had when she had stopped cutting. She had dreamed up distorted ghostly faces that had screaming mouths and wild eyes. Only Sean's were half dead; vacant and wide, but definitely half dead. Despite her coping technique was self-injury, her greatest fear was amputations. She'd never seen a real one before. She was beginning to understand the tape now. She never even imagined that death could come so painful and hard, yet so easy because our bodies are far too breakable. If she made it out of here, she was sure that she would never leave her apartment ever again.
His appearance haunted her enough so that she didn't feel the initial sting as she fell back into the web of razor wire.