THIS STORY HAS BEEN BASTARDIZED BY FANFICTION dot NET! FOR THE CORRECT, BETTER, VERSION VISIT ANY OTHER DECENT FANFICTION SITE SUCH AS: Archive of Our own, or DeviantART.
Chapter 12.
You wake up to the feeling of something slipping around your ankles and locking into place. You're not sure of what's going on, since your head is again filled with that muffled cotton-like feeling. You quickly fall back asleep.
When you wake up the next time, you try to stretch ... and stop. Your ankles feel heavy, so heavy. You try to lift your leg, finding it to be possible but quite a lot heavier than normal. You lift the blanket and observe the anklets you are now wearing, made of some sturdy heavy material. They're thick and silver, little bells on both of them. At least they are not made of silver, or else your leg would be red and itchy at this point.
Crap. You sure as hell won't try and swim like this, not that you had any intention of trying anytime soon in the first place. You pull at the anklets, trying to check them for any weaknesses. Nothing. Running, with these anklets being as heavy as they are, sure would also be quite a challenge. At least they aren't attached to anything, making walking around possible but still encouraging you to not move too much.
You stand up and grab your clothes from the wall. They're now dry and warm and you slip them on, wishing you could take a shower to get the filthy feeling of sweat off of your body. You could, of course, make your way down to the river, but you dismiss that idea. Your ankle throbs, your body protests and you really don't want to return there.
Your eyes move around the room. The house is quiet, the fire having died out during the night, but the sun shining in through the window is enough to keep you warm. A note from Jack is sitting on the mantle piece:
"Food's in the fridge. Water and electricity is on.
Don't run.
I'll be back later.
- Jack"
You frown, confused by how electricity is here, in the middle of nowhere. A pump for water would make sense ... maybe solar-cell powered?
Not wasting another thought on this subject, you go into the kitchen, happy to find bread amongst tons of other food in the fridge and in the cupboards. Seems like Jack had gone shopping yesterday. Hastily preparing a few sandwiches, you literally inhale the first one, satisfying your appetite and then taking some time to eat the second sandwich. You test the water, which comes out brown and stinky first but quickly turns into clear and fresh. You don't think there's warm water.
Sandwiches devoured, you head to the bathroom. The disgusting scent is gone the moment you flush the toilet, the window still cranked open. Not wanting to shower in a dirty bathroom, you find some cleaning utensils, mainly bleach, at least a year old, underneath the sink in the kitchen and make quick work of cleaning the bathroom, at least the more urgent areas you might need. The sink, toilet, shower and the floor almost sparkle, clean, in contrast to the nearly green walls of the room. You give it little thought as you wash away the grime of the previous day with the quite cold water. Your underwear, washed with only water, is drying in the sun during this.
Now showered and dressed, you examine the house again. With electricity restored you can tell the TV is now working. You turn it on, if only to hear the sound of normal human beings, and are astonished at the fact that not only does it work, but that it even has channels. That explains the satellite dish you had seen yesterday on the balcony, but which you had ignored in your search for a phone. With renewed hope, you search the whole house for a phone again, but come up empty-handed again. The gaming consoles and other electric appliances however all seem to work. This makes life here definitely less boring.
When you stumble upon the computer again, you think about what to do. Maybe, since you have a TV, maybe you have internet as well? you turn on the quite new device. It seems odd to have a (laptop / computer) sitting at a desk, clean and tidy, and it isn't until you have turned it on that you notice, in fact, this is your own (laptop / computer). Your background glares at you after your input of the password. Jack must have taken it with him, god knows why.
Your attempts to connect to any internet are, however, futile. No connection is found, the multiple searches always returning negative answers. You sigh, laying your head down, scared that you will die here and no one will hear of your story.
You spend the next three hours writing down everything that has happened so far. You're not really sure why you do it, but just feel that, if someone should ever find this place and find you dead, you want someone to know what has happened to you.
You don't notice that you are starving once again until your stomach gurgles. If your laptop is correct, it is way past lunch time, so you decide to cook some pasta, which you have noticed earlier in one of the cupboards.
You make quick work of cleaning the kitchen to a point where cooking in it would not get your food infected with disgusting residues. You again see the difference between the dirty grimy rest of the house and the areas you use for your necessities. Placing the pasta in a pot of water and cooking some broccoli you found in the big fridge, on the stove, you notice another smaller fridge under the row of counter tops separating the living room from the cooking area. Your tomato sauce is emitting pleasant aromas and you scrunch up your nose in thought. Some Parmesan would taste lovely with this, but you can't find cheese in the big fridge closest to the stairs. Maybe Jack has stored some in there?
Leaving the food to cook, you approach the smaller fridge, hoping to find cheese for your feast. What you find, instead, has you rushing toward the bathroom, happy you had taken the time to clean it as you come to a skidding halt in front of the toilet, throwing up.
Organs ... tons of organs ... in jars. You had seen lungs, hearts ... spleens and kidneys. You throw up again, coming up with stomach fluid and bile as the picture of the organs float through your mind. You vomit one more time before running back to the burning sauce and definitely overcooked pasta. Not that you care much, you aren't hungry anymore anyways. Finding and cleaning the Tupperware, you place the pasta and broccoli in the fridge. You have to get away from the smaller fridge. You need to get your mind off of Jack, off your situation. You need to rest and you need to heal.
Grabbing a book you had heard Jess once comment on, you take it outside, blanket wrapped around you, as you sit down in the sunshine, stomach queasy, tired and sore, the anklets making walking slow and difficult. A sigh escapes your lips, giving a quick thought about Jess. Is she missing you, has someone called the cops, are they looking for you? your throat constricts, but you fight down the feeling, refusing to cry. So far, you are OK, nothing majorly bad has happened and you are alive.
You just hope things won't change ...
You just hope your organs won't end up in the fridge with the others.
When Jack returns, you have managed to calm your stomach down enough to eat some of the mushy pasta. In fact, you have the warmed up bowl with new sauce (something very simple) sitting on your lap and are reading a book in the rapidly cooling air of the small island. He is carrying bags which seem to be quite heavy, and you hear tinkling sounds, like glass hitting against glass.
You stubbornly refuse to look at him and also ignore what you imagine has to be in some of those bags, and resume your eating and reading. Even though you are being rude, Jack nods to you, obviously satisfied with the food you are ingesting. He pulls out something from one of the bags and throws it to you.
It is instinct rather than you actually wanting to catch the thing, but in the end, your eyes open comically wide and you throw a confused glance at his retreating back. He had gotten you cookies.
He had gotten you your favorite cookies.
And as you hear him put away the groceries, you are, again, confused as to why he brought you here, wherever here is.
Of course, you don't like being imprisoned. Your mind returns to reading, though barely being able to due to the fading light. Suddenly, you can read a lot better, light spilling onto the page, revealing the words you had tried so hard to differentiate. When you look up, Jack nods to you again, leaving the lantern, an old rustic thing, next to you, illuminating you and your book.
You try not to, but a smile fleetingly passes your lips with a mumbled "Thank you".
What a weird guy.