Her biggest mistake in life so far, Sophie contemplated, had been to hold zero interest in cars.
She did not care about them. At some early point in her life, she had thought that this was because she was a girl. At a later point, she had thought that she should be interested in cars in order to not be cliché. And even later she had realized that her gender should have nothing to do with her interests and that, if she just didn't feel like it, did not need to make an effort to prove anything to anyone. Especially to those who used "girl" as an insult.
The circle had closed, and Sophie had felt good about seeing only a means of transport in cars.
Until now.
Now, she felt angry at herself for not being invested in cars. For not being able to recognize seeing the same car more than once.
Especially since this car had stood out like a sore thumb in her neighbourhood. She had looked at it briefly, deemed it new and expansive-looking and went on about her day.
She had thought that she had seen different new and expensive-looking cars lately, but she had never really paid close attention. And now she was convinced that there had only been one new and expansive-looking car in her neighbourhood.
Maybe it was a good thing that she wasn't paranoid. Generally speaking. But the way things looked, Sophie was rather sure that she would have been better off if she had been more vigilant about her surroundings.
Because when the new and expansive-looking car had stopped next to her, she had bowed down to greet the person that winded the car window down with a smile.
Because while her heart had skipped a beat when she saw a grim look on a middle-aged man's face, she still had asked him if he was lost and needed directions.
Because even when her gut feeling told her that something was off, she still had looked at the old map that he held under her face. She had not wanted to seem rude.
And when she sensed that someone had appeared behind her, Sophie, instead of entering fight-or-flight-mode, had just stood there, frozen in her movements.
She had no idea what exactly had happened then. She had no idea how she got where she was. Or where she was.
The constant throbbing behind her temples probably meant that she had been drugged. Plus, she had never in her life felt this nauseous. Her mouth felt dry, and her hands were cold.
Someone had tied her to chair, she could feel the ropes tight around her wrists, restricting the blood flow and making her hands tingle. The ones that bound her feet to the legs of the chair, were a bit looser, yet she could not see herself wiggle out of them anytime soon.
The room looked like it belonged to an apartment that had been vacant for a long time. Pieces of the nicotine-stained wallpaper were missing and close to the door and windows, it did no longer really stick to the wall behind it. The floor was nothing but grey concrete.
There was neither furniture, nor pictures, only three folding chairs and an ashtray on the floor that was far too full. The smell of old cigarette ash reached up to where she was "seated".
A single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling indicated that there was electricity.
Ever since Sophie had woken up, no one had entered the room.
This had given her time to assess the situation she was in and too slightly increase the extent of panic she felt.
It had given her time to slow down her breath and her heart rate.
It had given her time to assess that she was fully dressed and not injured.
It had given her time to understand that there were two windows and only one door that looked like it was made of compressed wood.
It had given her time to wonder on which level this apartment was set.
It had given her time to beat herself up about not being more attentive to cars.
It had given her time to wonder what on earth they wanted to do with her.
There were terrible people living in Gotham.
She remembered having seen a documentary about serial killers once and learned that their victims almost always had something in common. If she had fallen prey to a serial killer, then maybe it was because of the way she looked. Maybe she bore resemblance to someone that had rejected them or left them.
She had fallen asleep while watching said documentary after a long day of work. Maybe she had missed the part that told the viewers how to act in such a situation.
At the other hand, catching, no, abducting her had been the works of more than one person. Didn't serial killers always work alone?
And they had seemed so well-prepared to her. If she was right, and it had been just one car, she was certain that it had been tailing her for quite some time. Days, maybe weeks even.
Sophie was sure that this was an organized crime.
She wondered when people would notice that she had disappeared. Maybe her parents would try to call her tomorrow or the day after. Maybe they had already felt like calling her today. When would they get impatient about her not calling back? When anxious enough to drive all the way to Gotham?
Her next shift at work was on Monday. That seemed like an eternity. Would her boss or any of her colleagues get worried or just feel annoyed that she let them down when she did not show up?
Would Victor feel like reaching out to her anytime soon? If he texted her and got no reply, would he even register it as unusual? If he came to her apartment and she was not there, wouldn't he just think that she was at work? Her schedule changed weekly, and he never asked when she was free.
Suddenly, it occurred to Sophie that she did not have any friends. There were no social plans that she would be missing out on.
And now, it was slowly starting to get dark.
The old lightbulb over her head was buzzing desperately, she hoped it would not die out too soon. It was hard to imagine that anyone would bother changing it.
She needed a plan.
When she heard footsteps approaching, Sophie closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
It must be more than one, she thought. One of them might be a bit heavier, the other one sounded like they were dragging their feet.
They opened the door, it's not locked, and paused in their steps.
"Why's she still unconscious?" The voice sounded young and slightly high-pitched.
"Hmph. That's not good. Did you mess up the dosage of that chlori- ", the other, deeper, voice began, "chloro- …thing?"
Sophie noticed how his speech was slightly slurred. Not so much as if he was drunk, more like he was either tired or too lazy to go through the effort of a thorough pronunciation.
"Chloroform," the younger man corrected in a thin voice, "it should have stopped working after two hours"
Two hours, Sophie decided to save that information in the hard drive of her brain, although she had no idea if it would do her any good.
She wanted to be attentive, clinging to the hope that there might be a way to get out of there unscathed if she stayed calm and collected as much information as possible.
"Whatever. Boss's not gonna be happy about this." It's his teeth, he's clenching his teeth, Sophie noticed. "What if she doesn't wake up?"
They had a boss. Their boss wanted her alive. For now. It felt physically exhausting to command her brain to process this information. Who on earth was their boss? She was a hundred percent sure that she did not know a single person on this earth who could be those two men's boss.
"We still have some time to wake her up before he gets here. Give me one of these bottles."
Sophie heard the sound of a zipper and then footsteps approaching. Shortly after, she could sense that someone was standing in front of her. She heard him unscrew the lid of the bottle.
"It's gonna take him some time to limp up these stairs, anyway," the supposedly younger one muttered as he splashed the cold water in her face – and masked her sharp inhale.
Limp.
She had breathed in some droplets of water and began to cough violently.
"See?", the man in front of her exclaimed confidently, "I didn't mess up anything! Rise and shine, girly."
Sophie proceeded to cough, her every inhale sounded painfully wheezing to her ears.
"Eh? You need some water?"
Sophie shook her head violently.
"Asthma," she spat out, "Inhaler. Pocket."
For a few agonizing heartbeats, nothing happened, and Sophie wondered how convincing her little performance was. Then, the two men snapped out of staring at her dumbfoundedly and began to move.
The young man in front of her, he did not really seem much older than she was, began to fumble at the side pockets of her jeans. Sophie tried not to flinch at his touch. She noticed, however, that his hand was trembling as much as her knees.
When he found no inhaler in neither her jeans nor in her sweatshirt, he cursed under her breath.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. It must have fallen out."
Sophie congratulated herself on her acting skills.
"Air. Window." She wheezed weakly, pressing her luck.
For a second, then, she feared that they would see through her bullshit. But maybe, her suppressed panic enabled her to feign an asthma attack pretty well. She had only once witnessed a former classmate undergo one and maybe the whole stress of the situation had engraved it into her memory.
The two men grabbed her chair, dragged it to the window, and opened it widely.
Sophie sticked her head out of the window and pretended that the fresh air decreased her attack.
With half-closed eyes she took in the outside view and felt her heart sink.
They must have brought her into a former industrial park. It looked like it had been vacant for at least a decade. Most of the windows from the buildings she could make out in front of her were shattered. Long steel pipes were covered in rust.
They must have brought here into an old office building, not an empty floor in an apartment building.
There was not a single soul out there.
Second or third floor.
If she looked right down below, she could see the flat roof of another building attached to the one she was in. The distance was not too long, yet the height made her feel dizzy.
If she somehow got the chance to jump out of this window, would she survive it? And if she did, would she be fit to run?
Sophie felt her lips tremble and made sure to bite them hard. This was not the time to break down.
She tired to look as exhausted as she felt and turned her head towards the two men.
"Thank you," she breathed, "I'm allergic to all the dust, I think"
Sophie watched the two men exchange a glance.
Someone once told her that people are more inclined to like others when they do them a favour. It makes them feel helpful and important or something.
"Right, missy. Here, have some water." It felt more than uncomfortable, but also weirdly intimate to have someone hold a water battle to her mouth. Maybe, the young man who helped her drink shared that sentiment.
Maybe she could reverse Stockholm herself out of this somehow.
"Why am I here?"
Author's note: Your most unreliable author is still alive and hopeful to finish this story before reaching the age of retirement.
To those of you still reading: Thanks for sticking with me and I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)
To those of you who recently started following: Welcome on board and thank you in advance for your patience! :)
P.S. Like Sophie, I fortunately do not have asthma and I would not know how convincing her feigned attack would look to the trained eye.