Amanda Rollins opened her eyes for the first time on April 13th, 1980 in a small town called Suwanee outside Atlanta GA. From the moment the baby girl was born, she was told how unwanted she had been. Her mother spoke in contradictions that was confusing for any young child. She was reminded how she was an accident and unplanned and expensive, and how much her parents sacrificed for her. The opposite could be said for her baby sister Kim when she came along. The wanted child, the one that Amanda was to watch over and care for and protect, it was her job, and she took it seriously. Amanda was born to protect and she always figured she would go out protecting someone she loved.
Amanda died her first time in the summer of 1992. She was twelve years old, and she was a natural athlete and tom boy. She had no fear of a fist or a hand, she had experienced that her whole life. She also didn't fear anything else, including the tall live oak that was behind her Elementary School. One little double dog dare from a smug little boy, and the gangly blonde was rushing up the tree to the tip top. What the young girl did not expect is a branch she landed on giving way, on her way down, causing her to fall 20 feet to the bottom stopping her heart.
Lucky for Amanda, Mr. Williams, the Science teacher, was on duty and performed CPR until help had arrived, and Piedmont Hospital was able to do the rest. Needless to say Amanda would continue to physically pay for the cost of her life for years to come at home.
Amanda died the second time in a decrepit and dirty basement that had once been a wine cellar in another time. The room was naturally chilled from the soil behind the stone walls, and the decrepit wooden racks was in various states of rot covered in spider webs. The lack of sunlight and musty smell was something Amanda thought she would never adjust to. The young detective had been sleeping nude, as she had woken up on her first day without a stitch of clothing, upon an old cobblestone floor for lack of anything else to rest on. The stone was unforgiving on her bones and leached the warmth from her body. She had no way to track time, only a slot in a door whose hinges squeaked when a pinch of bread and a raw carrot was shoved through. Upon feel, Amanda had discovered, an empty ten-gallon bucket and a water filled 10-gallon bucket. She did not know how long she was stuck in this room clawing at the door, trying to pry apart wood and stone to dig out or through. Her finger nails had all been torn and broken off she smelled the blood from the wounds. She suspected micro fractures from the bottom of her feet her knees from kicking. She had dislocated her shoulder the first moment she was awake in the room. Nothing budged. After what felt like months in a dark room with no contact, in utter despair she went to the water bucket, the one that always was full somehow and placed her own head in the water.
The first time her nose and mouth went beneath the water, Amanda was not worried. She wasn't scared, she was resigned. After only 30 seconds she brought it back up. Her mind wondered, should she give up? Would her mother care? Her sister? Does she really matter? She thought of her life her suffering from childhood, her suffering from Atlanta PD, and her time in New York. Fin would care, she decided. He'd think she was a coward. She had no idea how much time had passed, could have only been a week for all she knows, Amanda had no way of knowing if the food happened once, twice, or three times a day. She always felt hungry. She had kept count of the hunks of bread, 232 times a hinge has opened and the piece of stale bread landed. Never a person, her captor, who ever it is, had never been seen by her. Not a ray sunshine or warmth. Just an empty bucket no matter how often she used it and a full one, no matter how much she drank or washed herself. Her hair was longer, she knew that, she felt as if it had been weeks, maybe months. Still the young woman felt done. Fin may understand if he knew the loneliness and pain from the floor, he cared for her, he would not want her to suffer.
Amanda shook her head in agitation. Why should she care what anyone thought, she was the one suffering. She quickly submerged her head again in the bucket of cold water. They say water is tasteless, but in her lifetime she had always been able to taste the salty water of the sea or the chlorine water of a summer pool. This water tasted bitter, like her childhood feelings. Why should she have a tasteless and simple death, of course it would be bitter and violent. Her own bony arms crossed over the back of her head to prevent her own panic. Her instinct fighting her will until the edges of her vision started to darken and fade, her chest inhaling the cold sharp liquid through her nose and mouth and trying in vain to push it back out. Than she was calm. Amanda felt nothing, not even relief just so tired and exhausted. Than nothing.
The blonde captive woke up to a soft bed an undeclared time later. She wept tears of joy not for the relief of being alive but of being anywhere else besides that dark hole. Her chest rattled on her inhale of the musty room, and a sharp pain stabbed into her chest, it forced her to hack and choke in pain. Her eye was sore a blurry, and covered in grit, the brightness of the room blinding to her pupils that was not adjusted to having light. Her eyes rolled in her head trying to focus on anything, a weak moan escaping. Her lids was too heavy to hold up and as they closed she saw a shadow moving. Instead of fear she felt relief, she was not alone.
Amanda had no idea how much time had passed. She felt better and stronger each time she awoke. The sixth or seventh time she had been able to pry her eyes open she had been able to feel a tug of an IV line and the man sitting in the corner of her room. He was older than her, somewhat paunchy, slightly balding and red-faced with thick glasses. His mouth was always stretched in a crooked and full teeth smile, his eyes squinted in mirth. He clapped his hands together in glee when her eyes would open and whisper encouraging words.
You would think the young blonde would feel fear or trapped, but she was apathetic to his features. Who cared what he looked like he was another person, and Amanda had though she would be alone for eternity. Eventually the detective was able to stay awake longer. The man had pulled himself right up to her bed. He had a name, he had told it to her, his breath smelling foul as he whispered it so close to her face she felt the heat of it.
"I am Arthur." the voice was both raspy and full of glee. He gripped her chin and forced her head to look at him. His hands felt course and strong on her face, they seemed to burn her where he touched. His eyes seemed to dance with mirth. "Let's get started on chapter two!"
Now a reasonable person may feel confusion at those words, and a person with all their faculties would most definitely feel fear or at the very least weariness. Amanda however was apathetic, she was dead and this was hell. She had been told how wrong and bad she was since birth, and this was wat the after-life was. Even before she discovered that she preferred the softness and curves of a woman over the squared off build of a man at the age of 8. Every Sunday her grandmother would drag her to the old southern Baptist church with her sister, never in time for Sunday school, as that was games for children and Jesus was serious. She would hear the teachings and preaching of her inevitable damnation. So of course after drowning she would be here in death. She was resigned in her muddled brain.
When Arthur climbed on top of her the first time, his weight baring down on her chest, as if he couldn't support himself at all. His putrid breath across her cheek the moistness of his breath brushing by her ear. Amanda's body heaved in disgust, nothing but foam and bile coming into her mouth from her very empty stomach. The pressure from his violent tool as he thrust into her ripping her bruising her most intimate part was painful and almost shocked her into calling out for mercy. His short stubby fingers forcing her hips back and gripping her thighs so tightly she was sure you would see the hand print bruises on her. It seemed to go on forever. Time was meaningless, and Amanda wished to be back in the dark cold room of nothing.
When he was done, Amanda could taste the blood and bile in her mouth from biting her cheek and the vomit. She was still stubborn, even dead. She did not call out for mercy when her parents rough and big hands found her small body, and she would not here in hell either. Her body felt stuck in the position he had used her in, to weak and stiff to shift or move. She felt open and exposed. She didn't know if she could aspirate if she was already dead, but her body once again heaved and she felt it roll down her face to her exposed beast. If felt oddly warm and cold at the same time and she shivered as her eyes rolled back into her head and she felt and saw nothing.
Amanda felt sluggish and unfocused the next time she awoke. She didn't know if it was shock, or if she was being drugged, if that was even possible when you are dead and in hell. He was upon her again, in the back of her. Forcing her face into the too soft mattress, restricting her breathing. She felt the thickness of him ripping and tearing her rectum. She felt split in two. A pig on a stick, spinning while hell fire danced around her, cooking her whole. Again she did not call out, her moans was reedy at best, sounding as pathetic as he Mama told her she always was. There would be no quarter from the Devil himself. She forced her eyes shut, involuntary tears rolled down her cheeks, her head continued to thud lightly against the wall. She wanted to forget.
Amanda awoke a few times alone in the small cramped room. The bed, whose mattress was way too soft, but of been nothing but a frame. The bedroom was as big as a walk in closet, enough space for a small chair and the twin bed. Her body had been so week from continual abuse and malnourishment she had never left the bed or attempted to explore outside the door. The young woman assumed it was locked anyhow. She was way too weak and in too much pain to move from the bed, she had enough gumption to realize that she had some sort of diaper on her body. She wondered how long she had been using that particular item, as she could not remember ever feeling the urge to go. Was she incontinent now? She lifted her hips a bit and felt a tug on a catheter. That explained why she did not ever feel the urge to urinate. Hot tears began to roll down her face. She silently sobbed at her feeling of powerlessness.
Amanda had no clue how long she had been living on a bed, being flipped every which way and used by Arthur. Her own personal Demon. He continued to whisper is enjoyment to her, he spoke of her "cunt" and "ass". He mouth and breast was his to do as he pleased, and her moments of weakness when she resisted seemed to be even sweeter to him. A bit of resistance from her pliable flesh made the friction so much more for him and he would groan in enjoyment.
The realized she was a living being and not in hell when she started to get sick. Her abdomen was pouched out and swollen and she couldn't hold down the meager bread and old carrots he had started given to her again. Not even water stayed in her stomach. She knew what had happened, she was pregnant. There was no way a new life could come into play in hell. If church told her anything it was that God created life, and if she was in hell he was not here. The shock of knowing she was pregnant breathed new life into Amanda. She had always ben protective of those weaker than her, and she wanted to protect the baby. The blonde needed to escape. She needed to get out of this closet and find help.
Arthur had realized Amanda's predicament weeks before she knew. He had always tested her urine output with a pregnancy test, and was over the moon to know his child would be here soon. He was ready for "Chapter 3."