Stockholm Syndrome
Not Your Average Friday Night
Why is it so dark in here? ~Melissa Scully (One Breath)
Because the lights aren't on. ~Fox Mulder (One Breath)
Stockholm Syndrome (stŏk'hōlm', -hōm')
n. A phenomenon in which a hostage begins to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor
Friday was always my favorite day of the week. Mondays sucked for obvious reasons. Tuesdays: not much better. Wednesdays and Thursdays were bearable, depending on what I had planned. Saturdays were filled with so many plans that by the time I got home, I could barely walk. Sunday was meant to be a day of rest, but I usually ended up catching up on some miniscule task I managed to forget. Thus, Friday was my "Me Day". That was until that fateful night…
"Bye, Dr. Anderovney!" called Agent Pendrall. I had quit telling him to call me Raelyn a while ago. I gave him a wave and grabbed my light jacket. It was still chilly for June. As I went down the vast halls of the FBI building, I felt myself starting to get a little creeped out by the desolate atmosphere. Pendrall and the security guards are the only ones who stay later than me.
I left the building and made my way across the parking lot to my black mini cooper. As soon as it was turned on, I clicked on the radio; my automatic instinct when it's dark and eerie outside. Pain by Three Days Grace screamed through my speakers. Not the most calming song, but good nonetheless. I listened to that and then the news. Apparently, some very suspicious murders had occurred recently in the D.C. area.
"Great," I mumbled to myself. "As if the FBI doesn't provide enough gruesome manslaughter, now I have a serial killer to worry about. Oie."
Doing autopsies at the FBI for a living has taught me a number of things, but I think the most evident is this: what you do for work determines how you see the world. It changes your fears and anxieties. Like how a scientist who studies germs all day sees the little buggers on everything. Or a psychologist thinks everyone he meets has some sort of personality disorder. I study brutally mangled corpses and suddenly there are murderers all over the place. For instance, I had to do autopsies on a couple of women a few months ago. The murderer was some sort of death fetishist named Donnie Pfaster. He cut off their hair and fingernails. I got a haircut that day and bit my nails for a month. Because, seriously, who needs a guy like that on their mind all day? A girl's gotta keep herself safe, right? Not to mention, I'm one of the single most paranoid people in the world.
I finally got home to my cozy little house. It's not huge and fancy, nor is it a rundown shack. It's just right for me. I don't have any pets, so it's not like I need a ton of room or anything.
Inside, I quickly changed into some pajama pants and a T-shirt. I looked around for something to drink. Coffee: too much caffeine. Vault: too much sugar. Vegetable juice: yeah, like I'm ever gonna drink that. But then I saw the Cream Soda. Perfect! Then it occurred to me; I have way too many drinks in my house. I'd have to remember to give some to my neighbors, whom I never talk to. They don't even live very close by. Humming Relient K, I poured some pop out and grabbed a bag of crab chips. Next came the great movie debate I had every Friday night. I knew I was in the mood for a Batman movie, but which one? After some heated debate (well, maybe lukewarm), I decided on Batman Begins. Cillian Murphy does have the most beautiful blue eyes, after all. I stuck it in and plopped down on the couch, turning off all the lights. Like I said, perfect. Wonderful movie, wonderful food, and an all too wonderful me.
That was until I heard a noise. More specifically, a cough. More specifically, the cough of a psycho axe murderer who had somehow managed to get into my house. I turned down the volume on the TV enough to hear without making it completely obvious what I was doing. I listened as hard as I could, but heard no more. Not that it did anything to calm my nerves. Thinking of the mace I kept in the stand at the opposite end of the couch, I began scooting that direction. Christian Bale was kicking bad guy butt on screen, but at the moment I was worrying if I would have to do the same to a robber. I reached my arm slowly towards the drawer.
Almost there…
Mace would protect me…
Hand on the knob and…
"HOLY FREAKING CRAP!" I screamed as an arm shot out of nowhere and grabbed my wrist. The arm was connected to a dark figure I assumed was a man. He yanked hard on my arm, pulling me off the couch and probably dislocating my shoulder. I screamed again, hoping a neighbor might hear me. I continued screaming and squirming as the (much stronger than me) man pulled me up and put me in some weird wrestling hold. Too close to a creep for comfort, if you know what I mean.
Oh God, I thought. What if he's some sort of rapist? That made me scream louder and fight harder than I thought possible. I kicked, punched, and scratched the crap out of the guy. I was actually almost free when he spoke.
"Shut up," he said firmly. I stopped struggling and stared at him in disbelief. It wasn't really what he said; it was how he said it. Like I was some difficult child throwing a tantrum and he was being tolerant. It was the most pompous two words I'd ever heard. And it ticked me off.
I shoved my knee into his groin with all the might I could muster. He yelped in a voice that sounded several octaves higher than before and doubled over on the floor.
So it is a man, I thought. Then I sprinted to the front door. I bolted outside and ran down the drive to my car.
"Shit!" I yelled involuntarily, realizing I hadn't grabbed my keys. I turned to run to the next-door house and slammed right into the psycho. He grabbed me by my hair as I stumbled backwards and pressed a cloth into my face. I knew it was some sort of drug, but there wasn't time to think or do anything.
The last thought I had was how this would be the first time I didn't watch a Batman movie the whole way through.
Then everything went black.
Author's Note: Cliffhanger!Sadly, I do not own anything related to The X Files, Batman, or Relient K. Raelyn's last name is Anderovney. Scully's name in real life is Gillian Anderson and Mulder's is David Duchovney. Anderson + Duchovney = Anderovney. Pendrall and Donnie Pfaster are both real X Files characters. Three Days Grace owns Pain. Um, I'm not sure how the point of view will work for the rest of the story. It rotates, so Raelyn isn't telling the whole story. What do you think? R&R!