Hurt and Anguish
(Samantha)
Cold, so cold.
My body was lying on a cold slab of concrete, my jacket had been removed, leaving me just in a tank top and jeans The combination of the harsh Georgia air and the chilled stone floor rapidly lowering my body temperature My hands were bound behind my back and my feet tied at the ankles with more force than was necessary. My vision was starting to clear; I seemed to be in a cellar of some sort, a single wood framed chair sat in the opposite corner of the room, I could vaguely make out a single light bulb next to a chain switch on the ceiling, and a stair case leading to only god knows where. My head was pounding, my lips were numb and I wanted to kick my own ass for being so stupid. I just should have stayed put, but oh no, not me, not little old Samantha Parker, the girl who had a brain that seemed to enjoy shoving her in uncomfortable situations.
I shouldn't have even come here I thought to myself, as I lay on the ground shivering, awaiting my fate.
The door at the top of the stairs slowly creaked open and the soft thud of footsteps began their decent down into my cold prison. The sudden beam of light had temporarily blinded me and caused the pain in my head to intensify. Whoever was coming was close now, their feet transferring from the creaking wooden steps to a dull rapping against the concrete. I could tell it was a man by his tall muscular figure in the darkness, making sure he stayed far enough away from me so I couldn't make out any features. The chair scraped against the ground as he took his seat on the other side of the room.
"Sorry 'bout the coat," the stranger's coarse voice trailed across the room. "Boss man figured there would be a better chance of you talkin' if you was…uncomfortable."
"What do you want with me?" I tried to push myself up with my legs, but they refused to cooperate.
"It'll be a while 'fore those work too," the man said, scooting the chair closer to me.
"Why am I here?"
"You tell me little lady, I don't know a damn thing jus' following orders, an' for the time bein' them orders are to keep an eye on you.."
I managed to roll myself up into a sitting position and leaned back against the dampness of the wall. Much longer down here and I was bound to get sick, actually that's probably the least of my worries.
I guess my father was right, have fun getting yourself out of this one Sam.
My eyes slipped closed and my thoughts drifted off to Sherlock, chances were slim that he would find me here, where ever here was. He was in a city he knew nothing about, his resources scarce and although he was a maniacal genius; I was afraid it wasn't going to be enough.
Stupid Samantha, your so damn stupid, nobody will find you here, my thoughts taunting me from inside my aching skull, drowning out the chattering of my teeth. The temperature was dropping even faster; I guessed night fall was not very far away.
"What's you name?" I asked my creepy companion, trying to weasel him into giving me some sort of information.
"Well now I 'aint the brightest crayon in the box, but even I 'aint dumb enough to tell ya my name," he replied with a slight snicker in his voice.
"I'll tell you mine." He seemed like a simple man, a simple man who had managed to fall into a bad career choice.
"Don' care to know what yours is, makes things easier that way." I heard the chair make another slide towards me.
Easier for what, for when they decide they don't need you anymore, my brain provoked, go ahead Samantha, make his job harder, you know you want to.
"Samantha…my name is Samantha, but you can call me Sammy if you want."
He was silent as he cocked his head a little to the right; bringing his gloved hand under the bottom of the chair and moving it closer still.
"I'm still not gonna tell ya mine," he mumbled, moving his curious eyes off of me and to the floor, playing with his hands.
"That's fine, you don't have to if you don't want to," I said shivering, making sure he could see my discomfort.
"I aint gonna," he said shuffling his boots on the ground.
"Okay." I shivered again and attempted to rub my runny nose against the strap of my tank. My fidgeting had caused him to bring his attention back to me. Slowly he stood and made his way to a small aluminum cabinet; he reached in and took out a blue checkered table cloth.
"Close your eyes, you aint supposed to see me good," he said stopping short of the chair.
I did what I was told, shutting my eyelids and resting my chin on my chest. I felt the fuzzy side of the cloth against my bare shoulders, bringing a small amount of comfort. He brought the ends together in front of me and tucked them under my legs.
"Thank you," I whispered, waiting until I heard the familiar scrape of the chair against the concrete.
"Mmm," He grunted as he sat down. "You'll be no good to Mr. Frank if you're a popsicle." His eyes went big as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Mr. Frank? Is he your boss?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"NO! No, that's my name…m-m-my name is F-frank," He frantically answered, his breathing had increased and he was blinking rapidly. He was lying, knowing he had messed up, he was attempting to cover his ass.
"Well then, in that case, hello Frank," I replied amiably, with as much of a smile that I could muster up under the circumstances. He pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows before spinning around in the small wooden chair.
"You be quiet now, you aint doin' nuthin' but causin' problems," He murmured, folding his arms against the back of the chair and laying his head down upon them.
"You can't see me if you're turned around Frank," I said dryly.
"I'll hear ya if ya move." His answer was short, the simple man had known he had did a bad thing by letting the name Frank slip out from between his chapped lips. I smirked smugly in my small amount of satisfaction; at least now I had a name, granted it was only a first name, but a name none the less. I wiggled my back up higher against the clammy wall of my confines; resting my chin on the top of my chest I sat and waited for what was to come next.
(Holmes)
I was eager to get out of this city, not because I wanted to return to Baker Street, but because of the toll it had taken on Samantha's well being, as well as her fathers warning. There was no doubt in my mind that if her father knew of her coming here than others would know as well; and this worried me. I had hoped she would agree to come back with me; I wasn't sure if it was because I wanted to keep her safe, or only because I wanted to keep her near, perhaps both, I did not look forward to saying goodbye to my intriguing gray eyed temptress.
She said she would only be gone for a short amount of time, nearly half an hour had past and she had not yet returned. More than likely she had gotten lost in her own mind, watching the slowing rain fall. Not bothering to put on my coat, I stepped outside to bring her in before she became sick due to her wandering thoughts.
"Samantha my dear you're bound to cat…" My words caught in my throat. Something was wrong, very wrong, she was not outside the door as she said she would be, nor was she in the dimly lit corridor. She was nowhere to be seen. I tried to restrain the worrisome feeling that was building up deep inside of me and walked down towards the end of the walkway, telling myself she had just wandered off into the rain. Approximately midway down, I took notice to a scrap of green cloth lying next to the wall. I kneeled down, gingerly picking up the damp piece of fabric and bringing it to my nose. Mostly dirt and rain water, but something else lingered there, a sweet nutty odor.
Chloroform.
My Samantha had not wandered off at all, she was taken.
My mind was racing as I paced along the motel room floor smoking pipe after pipe. How was I to find her, I knew very little of this place, of this time, and they didn't leave much behind but a small fragment of cloth behind. I should have pleaded for her to stay, something deep down did not want her to go out there to begin with. I reached down into my pocket and rubbed the watch that sat there, this was far more than a three pipe problem, I was in…
…well I was emotionally involved, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to her.
I would find her.
There was no questioning it.
I had absolutely no desire to fathom an existence without her.
(Samantha)
I watched as my companions head began to slip down and jerk up as he nodded off to sleep. I looked down to my boots and tried to wiggle my feet. To my surprise they moved, barley, but it was better than nothing, it was a waiting game, waiting for my legs to work enough to get out, waiting for someone else to come down the old creaky stairs, waiting for Sherlock. The last one seemed pointless; I had to try to do this on my own.
Quietly I slid down from my position on the wall to the damp and even colder cement floor. I may not be able to walk, but I could roll. Moving slowly so I wouldn't wake my watcher; I began to roll over towards the stair case. He lifted his head sharply and looked around the room, I stopped, my body as still as board, trying to steady my erratic breathing. After mumbling something to himself, he let his head fall back down onto his arms and fell back asleep. Breathing a sigh of relief I continued my frigid journey to the stairs.
Now what Sam, I thought to myself as I grabbed onto the first step, pulling my body up. What do you think is on the other side of that door?
"I really don't give a damn," I answered the nagging voice in my head. Well you should Samantha; it may just lead to something worse. I choose to ignore my thoughts and continued to drag my body up the stairwell, using my toes to give me an extra push, I was halfway up now. You're going to die here Samantha, just like your mother, maybe they will put you in a burial plot beside her, if there is anything left to bury.
"No, I refuse to die here."
That may not be up to you. This was ridiculous, why was I arguing with myself, coming to Atlanta had really done a number on my brain.
I was almost there, I could see the beam of light shining through the bottom gap in the door, it took all I had to shuffle my way up, my hands finally resting on the top step. I heard footsteps, somebody mumbling on the other side of the door and a portion of the light went black with the appearance of a pair of shoes.
"You want something done right you gotta do it yourself kid." I heard a gruff voice say.
"So why bother to send Tommy down there boss?" A second voice said, young, most likely my age.
"Makes him feel important, and he's just babysitting, it's not like she can go anywhere." I watched with wide eyes as the brass knob began to turn.
"Oh Shit, you've done it now Sam," I said to my self, unable to find the will to move.
The door scraped along the wooden planks as it slowly opened, revealing an older man, bald, with a gray scruffy beard, and haunting amber eyes.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," He clicked his tongue at me. "You should have just behaved Samantha." He placed one of his steel toed boots over my fingers and pressed down. My body came up about a foot and I hissed in pain. He removed the boot and rested it on my shoulder.
"A trouble maker, just like your mother," He snarled, before giving his foot a push, sending me tumbling down the stairs, my head taking quite a beating on the way.
"TOMMY! Wake your ass up!" He shouted, kicking the chair as I rolled onto my stomach and managed to get myself up onto my knees. Tommy stood from the chair, trying to regain his composure.
"I'm sorry boss, I only tuned my back for a minute, she was bein' nice and all, I didn't want to look at her no more, she made me say things…"
"Shut up and get upstairs," The older man said, pointing to the door. Tommy walked away with his head hung low, mumbling curses to himself.
"I see they didn't drug you enough," he said, hovering over me, "Between the drugs and the chlorophyll you should have been out hours, and immobile quite a while longer." He crouched down to my level.
"What do you want from me," I whispered, feeling the blood trickle down my forehead and around my eyes.
"Where's the box Samantha?"
(Holmes)
I spoke with the woman at the counter in the main section of the motel building. She informed me that other than Samantha and myself, only three other rooms were occupied, and she hadn't seen anyone that looked out of the ordinary. She wouldn't have noticed if they crept right under her nose. She was so caught up in her newspaper puzzle and her music box that anything could have slipped by her. Her pudgy fingers tapping her pencil on the desk in time with the music, she didn't even look up as she spoke with me. I took the piece of green fabric from my pocket and let it fall directly on top of her paper.
"What do you make of that?" I asked, when she finally looked up at me with annoyance in her face.
"It's a torn piece of shirt. Is it yours?"
Daft woman. Why would I have asked if it were mine? She reminded me of Lestrade, painfully oblivious to the obvious.
"No madam, it is not mine. I was simply wondering if it looked familiar in anyway."
"Nope, sorry." She picked up the cloth and placed it on the counter top above her, pushing it back to me. I was getting nowhere, this woman was of no help, and I doubted the other guests would be as well. I stuffed the scrap back into my pocket and began to walk out the door.
"You know, it's probably nothing but," The woman started to speak. I turned on my heels and went back to the counter.
"But what madam?"
"No, it really doesn't matter."
"I'll be the judge of that," I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at her.
"It's just that my cousin used to bartend at that restaurant down the way, his work shirt was that color, but it's probably just a coincidence." She shrugged her shoulders and went back to her puzzle.
"What restaurant?" I questioned.
"Huh?" She replied not bothering to look up.
"The name of the restaurant woman!" I barked out.
"Oh," she raised her eyes to meet mine briefly, "Bennigan's, you know that Irish themed place just up the road."
That was all I needed to hear, sharply turning around I left her to sit with her puzzle and her music box.
There was a hooded figure leaned up against the door frame as I approached our room, I slowed my steps, moving forward with caution.
"You were supposed to leave," he spoke with anger in his voice.
Samantha's father; of course, I should have realized he would have still been around.
"And I intended to, but your daughter has a magnificent way of getting herself into complicated situations." I stopped in front of him, those eyes holding an expression I had seen in Samantha, hurt and anguish; so much of her was visible inside of him.
"I'm going to get her back," I assured him.
"Yes you are… because I know where she is."
He knew, he knew and he just let them take her! Was he there? Did he watch her struggle as they dragged her away? I could not stop the fire that was building up inside of me.
"How! How do you know where she is?" I snarled, moving closer to him.
"That doesn't matter right now, what matters is that we get her back…and I'll warn you now, the shit's gonna hit the fan."
A/N: I really wanted to keep going with this, but figured you all have been waiting long enough :p Now it's time for bed :D As always, let me know your thoughts, they make my world go round!
-Shelly
