Thankyou to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I know this seems kind of boring and i really appreciate everyone who actually clicked onto it to read it. Please tell me any ideas to make it better.
Brennan scrabbled at the soft ground and somehow managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She couldn't see a thing – the bag was still obscuring her vision. She closed her eyes, but it didn't make much difference.
She took a deep breath in, but hardly anything entered her mouth. She breathed out, her breath ragged and unstable. She knew that there wasn't much oxygen left in the interior of the bag, and that if she didn't get it off soon, she would choke.
A horrible way to die.
She reached up and grappled at the rope surrounding her neck. She felt the thick knot formed, and tried to untie it. It was difficult without being able to see the knot. Nonetheless she tried frantically to free her head, knowing that if she couldn't escape these bonds, she could die.
She could feel her fingers rubbing on the rope, and cuts were beginning to form. Pain began to burn. She gripped harder, pulling opposite ways, trying in every way possible to free herself. She grabbed the separate strands of rope, and pulled, screaming at the effort. She felt the rope begin to part underneath her fingers. Light was exploding behind her eyes. She lowered her head and kept pulling, her breathing short and scraped.
The rope finally broke loose, and she was able to unwind it around her neck. She lifted the bag, feeling the hessian crumble beneath her fingers. She could finally breathe. She inhaled the clean air, glad that she now had a chance to escape.
She looked around. Everything was still dark. She stood up, and then fell as she put weight on her feet. She rubbed them, and felt the blood cascade onto her fingers. She stood up again, putting much support on her hands. She stumbled over to the wall, and then slowly walked forward, feeling her way along the dirt structure. She reached a corner, and turned.
Soon she reached a break in the wall. It turned from dirt to metal – this must be the door. She felt bars along the width of it, with a smooth surface underneath. She groped for a handle, but knew there wouldn't be one. Sure enough, her hands only found a smooth surface.
She continued around, but the rest of the room was dirt. There were no windows, so she couldn't tell whether it was night or day. She moved back over to the door.
She clung onto the bars. She wondered whether they would bring her food, or would they just leave her here, let her starve. She didn't have any water with her. In fact, she didn't have anything with her.
She slid down the wall, sitting on dirt and laying her head back. She knew that this was a fatal trip for her. She might die, in this cell. She could see of no way to escape.
A wind blew from the fraction of space below the door. The air swirled around her vulnerable legs, emerging goosebumps. The attackers had taken her pants, and now she was only in her underwear.
She could freeze.
Great.
She sighed deeply. How could she have gotten into this mess? All she did was find human remains, which should not mean she should be killed for it.
The wind continued to blow, bringing the fresh El Salvadorian air inside. As it sank into her feet, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out. The wind was cutting into her wounds, and the pain was unbearable. She clenched her hands around her feet, the blood now mostly dry. Sensitively touching them, she could feel the depth of the wounds. She found some protruding rocks, and slowly pulled them from her skin.
The pain was killing her. She groaned and pulled off her jacket. It was covered in dirt. She ripped the material creating the arms, creating strips. She wrapped them around her feet. The pain stopped momentarily, but it soon returned when the blood soaked into the cotton.
She knew she couldn't last like this. But she had to. It was either this, or death.
She crawled back to the corner furthest away from the door. The wind failed to reach her, so she was warmed slightly. Still, she hugged herself, wrapping her tired arms around her bleeding legs, and hugging them to her chest.
She laid her head on her knees. No emotions came, just blank emptiness. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it.
She began to rock back and forth. It was pointless, but somehow gave a soothing effect, and soon she was calmed down enough to think.
But she couldn't.
Her brain was filled with horrible thoughts of the victims, her attackers, and the bag coming towards her head. She couldn't rid the memories, and so they stayed with her.
She tried to think of Angela, or her latest boyfriend. She began to think of them, together, and soon that led to thoughts of them in bed together. Her brain began to calm as she thought of happy memories. Jack, as he came towards her, his handsome chest only inches from her own. She remembered reaching out, tracing her hands along his fine muscles.
Some dirt collapsed from the wall and it all came flooding back.
She sighed and dropped her head forward.
She dropped onto her side and curled into a ball. Dust and dirt mixed into her hair, onto the side of her face, along her legs. A single tear slid down her cheek, creating a small puddle beside her face.
She was all alone.
No-one cared.
No-one.
She awoke and sat up immediately when she heard the metal door clang open. Pale dawn light filtered into the room. Her eyes were groggy and blurred. She blinked multiple times, trying to clear her vision. She glanced around her, and she could finally see a full profile of the room. It was small, only about 10 metres wide each side.
And all entirely dirt.
Only then did she focus her eyes to the doorway. She recognised Brason standing there, muscles protruding from his chest. He was favoring his left arm – she must have hit him there, hard.
She smiled inwardly.
She cowered back against the wall, and then rethought, instead standing up, a brave look upon her face.
She probably looked braver then she felt.
She saw Brason run her eyes over her. She tried to cover her legs as a hungry look glazed his eyes. She glowered her eyes at him. He brought his back up in level of hers and stared back.
"What do you want?" She asked. Her voice didn't quaver.
"I'm here to see how you're doing. See how close you are to dying." He grinned maliciously.
She wanted to hurt him. Badly. But she knew that could kill her.
"What do you want?" She repeated. "Why am I in here?"
"Because, you deserve a slow, painful death. You're going to waste away in here, and no-one will care."
She knew that wasn't true. She began to register how well he spoke English. But his accent was thick.
"That's not true," she argued.
"Give up. Promise you'll give up and I may let you live."
It was a promising offer. But these people deserved a true life.
She became an anthropologist to give people peace – to return them to their families.
She would not defy her career, her life.
"Never," she spat.
"Fine. You will stay in here, starve, and waste away. Or, if you're lucky, I'll kill you just how I killed all those other kids. No-one will even recognize you. Yes, that seems to work. I'll enjoy it. I'll be back – wait until you're begging to die so you can't fight back." He began to leave.
"Wait!!!!" She cried. "Is there any way I can still help with the case? At all?"
Brason snickered. "Enjoy death."
He shut the door behind him. She was enclosed in darkness once more. She stumbled back onto the wall.
Her fears were confirmed.
Without food or water, she would die in a matter of hours, a day if lucky.
And then he'll be back, ready to finish her off.
There was no escaping, at all.
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