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CHAPTER 12

"Hell is oneself, hell is alone...There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone."

T. S. Eliot

CATHERINE POV

Feeling around me, all I feel is upholstery.

Leather.

Belted into the back seat, some sort of hood over my head and my hands restrained behind my back, my explorations are quite limited.

Leather upholstery.

Two captors. Both men.

That's it.

Feeling around me, my body suddenly jerks to the side the same time the car swerves and one of the men curses lightly.

"Should have been irrevocable."

"Should have, key word."

The men share no other words, but the car slows and runs over rougher road, making me think it's pulled off.

"Handle it."

Again, the car falls to silence, one door opening and closing.

I have to say, these men have been nothing but efficient this whole time. Barely speaking to one another as they both seem to know exactly what to do without need for clarification. Organized, competent, prepared.

Nothing you want as the qualities of the people holding you hostage.

My body flinches in shock as I hear two loud gunshots, one sounding very close to the back of the car.

I hear the squealing of tires, and the car jolts as we're hit from behind.

Then, another gunshot.

Now, silence.

Sara. I curse inwardly. My God, what have you done?

Hearing the rain continuously pour against the roof, I strain to hear anything else. Something, anything, to let me know what's going on outside the car.

There's nothing, no sounds for a long while.

Then, the back trunk of the SUV is opened, and I hear something dropped inside.

The door closes again, followed shortly after by the sound of the front door opening.

"Second plan."

"Understood."

The car shifts back into gear, pulling back out onto the road.

I don't know what the hell just happened, what was dumped into the back of the car.

Part of me has a strong suspicion regarding what it was, but the other part of me hopes desperately that I'm wrong.

"Walk slowly."

The hand on my arms continues to guide me along, walking about 200 feet from where we exited the car.

Feeling the rain stop falling on me and a heavy door opening, I'm escorted inside a cold building, what feels like concrete below my shoes.

Hearing another series of doors opening and closing, we keep working through a maze of turns.

No one says anything.

Another door opens, and this time the hands leave me.

"Walk forward. Stop when I say."

I hesitate only a moment.

Then, I comply cautiously, feeling out in front of me with my feet before committing to each next step.

"Stop."

I do, hearing more silence.

Then, the heavy door behind me closes.

And locks.

Standing completely still, I wait about five minutes before I convince myself that I'm alone and muster the courage to move.

"Hello?" I question to satisfy my own fears.

My own voice echoing around the cold room is my only response.

Sighing, I walk slowly and carefully until I reach a wall. Circling around the room, keeping my shoulder securely against the wall, I orient myself to the space.

It's a relatively large room, all concrete. With the hood and the restraints, it's hard to be more detailed.

Finding a corner, I place my back to it, slowly lowering myself down to the floor.

Wincing, I try to keep my hand from hitting the wall, moving my arms to try to relieve the pressure from my right wrist which I'm sure is broken.

But, considering everything, I'm damn lucky so far that that's all that seems to be seriously hurt.

I have no idea what these guys' intentions are, however, so I hesitate to count my blessings yet.

Settling myself down, I rest my forehead against my knees, closing my eyes and trying to even out my breathing.

Come on, Willows, keep it together.

I try to concentrate on everything I know. How long the ride took, how many turns we made. The direction we traveled.

But, to be honest, the darkness and panic has made my memory questionable, and I'm questioning myself even now as I think back.

Shit.

Breathe slow. Run through it all again. From the top.

Two perps. Dark blue, possibly black, SUV.

Plates from Nevada.

No accents or discernible speech pattern to the suspects. Male. Middle aged, late thirties, forties, perhaps.

Educated.

No detectable s-

A noise coming from the middle of the room startles me, heart leaping to a hammering inside my chest.

In my scan of the room, I walked the perimeter. I never thoroughly checked the middle.

Hell, I never checked the middle at all.

"Hello?" I question again, this time hearing more shuffling in response.

Then, a moan.

Oh my God.

"Sara?!"

My voice is panicked, my fearful suspicion regarding the item put in the trunk coming true.

But, thank God it wasn't her dead body as I had honestly started to fear after hearing the shots.

"Sara!"

I keep yelling her name, not hearing much of a response besides slight movement and another moan.

"Sara, please," I all but beg. "Please answer me."

Hearing only silence in response, I curse.

"Cath?"

The weak, hoarse question brings a smile to my face the same time it brings relieved tears to my eyes.

"Sara," I breathe out. "Oh my God, are you alright? What the hell were you thinking?! You chased after us?! You should have left the Tahoe and yourself down there until help arrived! You could have killed yourself, you know that? You could be free now!"

Sara is silent.

"Sidle!"

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I lost track of your questions after the first couple…"

"Sara," I shake my head. "You…"

I try to rub my face against my knees to get the tears from my eyes.

"Are you alright?" I ask her, heart still thundering in my chest. In relief. In fear.

She should have let us go, saved herself.

But, that's not Sara.

Sara's the reckless person who somehow manages to get an SUV up a muddy ditch while handcuffed to the steering wheel, chase us down, hit our car in an attempt to stop us and also leave behind more evidence if nothing else.

"Sara?" I question again in the resulting silence.

"Yeah," she responds, clearing her throat. "Sorry, I'm good."

Her words are slurred just like they were back in the car.

"You have a concussion."

Though, I'm sure Sara's smart enough to have figured that out.

"Are you alright?" she questions me, ignoring my comment.

"Yes," I answer. "Broken wrist, but I think that's it."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Sara moves slightly, hearing the sound of her movement against the cement.

"Sara," I state sternly. "I need you to be honest. How badly are you hurt?"

She clears her throat, focusing very hard on her words, her pronunciation.

"Just my apparent concussion," she states.

"Honest?"

"Honest."

I don't know whether to believe her or not, but for right now her word is the best I've got.

"Are you restrained?" I ask her. "My hands are restrained behind my back, and I have a hood or something over my eyes."

"Same."

"Alright," I breathe out. "I'm going to make my way towards you. Keep talking so I can find you."

"There once was a little ant that lived on a farm, named Charles. He liked to play in the sun, until he met-"

Sara's words are cut off by a grunt.

"Sorry," I offer.

"Sure," she responds, "Only my spleen. Not important."

I wish I could see her to smack her.

"We need our eyes."

"Agreed," the brunette offers

"Kneel down," I instruct after a moment of thought. "I'll back up to you until my hands reach you, then I'll pull off whatever the hell this is over our heads."

Sara repositions herself.

"Alright."

Moving towards her, I wait until my hands reach the same heavy cloth over my own eyes.

Pulling on it upwards, Sara shifts away at the same time, successfully removing the material.

There's a momentary pause as Sara likely tries to adjust to the lighting.

"Thanks," she offers. "Ready."

Repeating the process, Sara gently removes the hood from my own eyes.

It's a small victory, but it feels huge.

Having my sight back, it almost feels like having some of my control back.

That is, until I see Sara.

"What the fuck," I curse in anger.

"What?" she questions.

"What the fuck!" I repeat, gesturing with my head towards her.

She looks confused, and a little nervous, as she takes a hesitant step backwards.

"'It's just the concussion.' Bullshit!"

"What?"

"Sara!" I yell, really wishing I could shake her. "Shit…"

Sara looks genuinely confused.

"How hard did you hit your head?" I question in disbelief.

"I…"

She looks at me like she's trying to figure out what the hell I'm going on about.

"Hard enough to 'forget' you got shot?" I shake my head, features pale as I approach her slowly.

Glancing down at herself, Sara sees the blood along her clothing, the dark red centered around her left shoulder.

"Oh, that," she shakes her head. "It was a through and through."

I draw up short.

"Right, so that makes it fine?"

I shake my head.

"What in the hell is the matter with you?" I question sincerely. "You got shot! What part of that aren't you comprehending?!"

She swallows, "Please stop yelling."

"Sara!"

"Seriously," she gets out, clearing her throat. "My head…I'm going to puke if this headache gets worse…I'd really rather not do that in this room we're going to be trapped in for who knows how long…"

Her eyes lift to mine.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I really didn't think it was that big of a deal."

I see the honesty in her eyes, the genuineness to her words.

"Sara," I breathe out.

All the emotion, the kidnapping, the situation we find ourselves in. The moments where I genuinely thought she was dead.

"Catherine…" Sara whispers, seeing the tears traveling down my skin.

Moving closer, she hesitates, having no way of comforting me, her hands restrained behind her.

Solving the problem for her, I close the distance between us, hesitating only a moment before placing my head on her chest near her good shoulder.

I close my eyes, breathing in her scent, hearing the sound of her heartbeat.

"It's alright," Sara whispers, resting her head atop mine. "Everything's fine. I got you."

"Come here for a sec."

Sara pauses in her survey of the room, her hazel gaze having spent the last five minutes looking over every nook and cranny in this space.

Sara does as I ask, making her way to me.

"Turn around."

Obeying, Sara turns, watching me over her shoulder.

"I want to see these restraints better, see if we can get them off."

"Shit," I curse when I see my answer.

"What?"

"Yours are different," I explain. "They used your cuffs again, like on the steering wheel."

Sara glances behind her, for the first time turning her attention to our restraints.

"Turn," she asks me.

I do and she nods.

"Zip tie."

"That's what I thought."

Sara's eyes meet mine when I turn back around.

"You have anything sharp on you?"

Sara shakes her head, "They cleared my pockets."

"Same."

Sara looks me over.

"What?" I ask after a moment, seeing her gaze focused on my neck.

"Are you partial to that necklace?"

I look down, trying to remember what necklace I'm wearing.

Seeing the diamond hanging in the gold setting, I shake my head.

"Not as partial as I am to my life." I tell her. "Or yours."

Sara nods, "Turn?"

I do again, lowering myself so she can reach over behind her.

Fumbling around blind, she traces her hands along the chain until she comes to the clasp.

Removing the necklace, she tosses it to the floor.

Sending me an apologetic look, she steps on it, over and over again.

"Damn," she mutters, halfway through. "You don't wear the cheap stuff…"

I smile, part proud but mostly pissed that my necklace is holding up so well.

Eventually hearing a crack, Sara peers down, seeing that the gold frame has separated from the center diamond along one edge.

Kneeling, she grimaces slightly as she angles her body to try to pick it up behind her back.

Standing back up with some effort, she takes in a deep breath.

"Alright," she says. "Here goes. Step up behind me and let's see if we can pull off a miracle."

I do so, feeling her hands reaching out for mine.

Giving my hands a gentle squeeze, she moves them to the restraint.

"Let me know if I hurt you," she says.

"Okay."

"I mean it," she states seriously.

"I know," I answer. "And I will."

She gently works at the tie around my wrists, careful to especially avoid my right one as she rubs the exposed end of the diamond across the plastic over and over again.

When I feel my hands released, I am literally shocked speechless.

"Wh…"

Looking down at my now freed hands, I turn to see Sara smiling gently at me.

Not even hesitating, I step up to her, carefully encircling her in my embrace. It's awkward, Sara's hands still restrained behind her, but it's also comforting beyond words.

She again gently rests her head atop mine.

"You okay?" she asks, concern coloring her tone.

"Yes," I tell her honestly. "My wrist is sore, but tolerable."

Sara breathes out.

"I'm sorry," she whispers into my hair.

"For?" I furrow my brows.

"That I couldn't stop this."

"Sara…"

"I know," she cuts me off. "But still, I feel like I should've done something, thought of something in time…"

"You did all you could," I state. "And you risked your life to be here with me now. You could've let them leave, take me alone. But you didn't."

Sara's still tense.

"Doesn't help anything, though. Now there's just two of us stuck here."

"It helps," I confess, forehead coming to rest on her collarbone. "It's a horrible thing to say, but I feel so much better having you here with me."

I shake my head.

"It's sick, and selfish," I continue my confession. "But I can't imagine being trapped here alone without you."

Sara remains quiet, taking in my words and electing not to comment.

Pulling back, I keep my hands on her upper arms.

"Now that my hands are free, I need to take a look at you," I tell her, keeping my tone stern, not allowing her to argue.

I note just how pale she is, how ashen her features are.

She remains silent, and I think she's too tired and too nauseous to put up much of a fight.

But, her tension lets me know she isn't quite alright with this, either.

"Stay still," I caution her in a whisper. "I'll try to be quick."

Reaching out with my good hand, I start at the top, running my hand through her bloodied hair, careful to avoid the glass still sprinkled through some of the strands.

Knowing the brunette's general displeasure for human contact and lack of control, I decide to distract her by updating her on my assessments as I make them.

"You have a good size laceration to the side of your head," I state, fingers passing through her hair.

Moving downward, I run my hand along her jaw, her neck.

Moving further, my fingers reach her shoulder, and Sara jerks away out of instinct.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Watching her expression, I carefully push the collar of her t-shirt aside, revealing the gunshot wound to her shoulder.

She's right, it's a through and through, but she's wrong about it not being a big deal. I can see the amount of blood she's already lost displayed across her skin and t-shirt, and the location near her collarbone makes me nervous.

Plus, through and through or not, it's got to hurt like hell.

Feeling around the bone, Sara again jerks away.

"I think the bullet did some damage to your collarbone as it passed through," I tell her. "It feels at least cracked, if not broken."

Sara's silent, her hazel eyes looking at me so intently that I'm finding it suddenly hard to concentrate.

"I, uh," I clear my throat. "I'm going to run my hand down your sides," I whisper, more than aware of the intimate nature of the areas we're reaching.

Sara's eyes continue to watch me, body tense but silent as I run my hand down her ribs. Reaching her hips, I glance back up into her intense gaze.

"Almost done," I tell her.

Moving down her legs, I stop when I reach a tear in her jeans along her upper left thigh.

"You have a pretty decent gash in your left leg," I state. "I assume from where you were pinned in the Tahoe."

Sara's silent, eventually nodding slowly.

Breathing out, I straighten back up.

Watching her as she watches me, I don't know why, but I find myself reaching out to run my hand along the uninjured part of her face, hand tracing its way to her soft hair.

She's so serious in this moment, her gaze so guarded and heavy. Running my thumb along her cheekbone, I all but get lost in that gaze.

Clearing my throat, I pull my hand away, shaking myself from my thoughts, from this strangely intimate moment.

"Let's work on getting you free," I gesture to her hands restrained behind her back.

She also seems to finally break from her intense gaze, glancing around.

I think we both know the cuffs are going to be a tougher feat. Without something to try to jam the locking pin, there's no way we're going to be able to get the cuffs open.

"I can maybe at least get them to my front," Sara offers, clearing her rough voice.

"Good idea."

Taking her under her good shoulder, I help her lower herself down so that she's sitting on the ground.

Lowering herself down further onto her good side, Sara struggles to get her legs up high enough to get them through the cuffs.

Clenching her teeth, she wrenches her arms down as low as they go, getting one foot through and trying to push it further, getting stuck somewhere near mid-shin.

"First time you probably wish you didn't have those long legs of yours," I offer, wincing as I see her torqueing her body to try to make this work.

"Not the first time," she grinds out.

I raise a brow.

"Damn pain in the ass trying to find proportionate pants sometimes."

I smile, hesitantly reaching out to try to help her.

"Sara," I caution, seeing the strain this is putting on her shoulder, noting the pained looks that keep crossing her features before she has a chance to censor them.

"Come on, honey," I shake my head, this time trying to hinder her actions. "It's not worth hurting yourself further, you know they're going to come back and just re-restrain us both no matter what we do."

Sara grinds out one last groan of pained frustration, making a final push at her mission.

But, she finally gives up, seeing that it's a lost cause.

"Damn it," she gets out, pushing herself up, and then all but dragging herself up to a stand.

Closing her eyes, she seems to fight against a wave of dizziness, her features paling further as she swallows tightly.

"You alright?" I hesitantly ask, taking gentle hold of her elbow.

"Yeah."

Her answer is tight, her expression fighting to appear as 'fine' as she professes.

Deciding to leave her be about it, I sigh as I look around us.

"Now what?" I ask, the nervousness returning to churn in my stomach.

"Now we wait," Sara breathes out, opening her eyes to fix them on mine. "Now we wait."

AN: Thanks for reading.