The World is Spinning Backwards
Chapter 39: Valentine's in Trouble Part 2
"Did you order champagne?" Emma asked, hanging up her coat.
"Of course." He replied, hanging up the phone. "It will be forty minutes."
"Well, why don't you look through the TV listing and find a movie we can watch and I'll go get some ice?"
"They'll bring it in an ice bucket." He reminded her.
"Who said it was for the champagne?" She asked playfully.
She kissed Sherlock before picking up the ice bucket. "I'll be back in a bit." And she left.
Emma walked down the hall, her black heels sinking into the carpet. She felt silly for assuming they were going out, but she did not regret getting dressed up. This just meant she got Sherlock all to herself tonight. She passed a gentlemen in the hall and apologized when she bumped into him.
"Sorry sir," she said with a smile before continuing on her way. Not bad looking, she thought to herself.
Emmaline reached the room where the ice machine was and pressed her bucket in the space, pushing the ice button. She tapped her foot impatiently, unable to wait to be back to Sherlock.
The bucket filled, she lifted it up and was about to turn and leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She smiled.
"Were you really so impatient Sherlock?" She began to turn but was stopped by the strong hand, and another covering her mouth with a rag. She screamed and dropped the bucket, her shouts muffled by the cloth. Emma reached behind her and tried to scratch the man, something, anything. When that failed, he started to pull her from the room. She reached out for anything to grab a hold of and held on the ice machine for just a moment before he yanked hard on her and she let go.
He pulled her body closer to his and pushed harder against her mouth with the cloth; she realized there was nothing in it by the fact that she was still completely aware of her surroundings. He dragged her down the hall and she kicked and fought the whole way; when they stopped, she looked around to see they were at an elevator. There was somebody else there; someone dressed like a hotel employee.
The man who held her grabbed her bun and pulled on her hair making her eyes water with the pain. The elevator opened and the man pushed the button for the parking garage. When they reached the garage, she kicked again, causing a heel to come off in the garage.
He dragged her over to a white car and stood her up, forcing her to bend over the hood so he could tie her hands together. Before he could, somehow, she pushed back and got a good punch. She drew blood and could see the anger in his eyes. He slammed her down against the trunk of the car, crushing himself against her, and tying the ropes as tight as he could. She bit back the tears she knew were trying to come; she had to think. She had a few precious seconds before she was put in the trunk – what could she do?
The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled, forcing her to stand. Quickly she worked her ring off her finger; she had punched with her left hand – maybe there was something on the ring that could help Sherlock. Oh Sherlock, she thought. she dropped the ring, throwing it off under the car next to them just as she was forced into the back of the car.
It had taken all of five minutes for her to bump into him in the hallway and to have him decide he wanted her. Five minutes to subdue her and put her in the trunk of his car. She knew what would happen – she had seen Sherlock working this case, seen the anger it had caused him. The man doing this had been too good, eluding Scotland Yard and her husband. Hopefully she had done enough leaving behind her ring to help.
She could see it like a clock in her head, counting down the days. Sherlock had said this man tired of the women he kidnapped after three days; Emma shuddered at the thought that he would not be able to find her.
ᶓ
The trunk being opened interrupted her cramped, fitful, sleep.
"Get out." She heard the gruff British voice of her attacker for the first time. She obeyed as best she could, her limbs heavy with sleep.
He took her arm and forcefully made her walk further into the place he had taken her too; she tried to shake off the sleep and figure out where she was. It was too dark to see, but the smell…it smelled like animals and decay.
"Are we in a barn?" She asked her voice scratchy.
Instead of a verbal response, she was answered with a sharp slap across the face.
"I didn't tell you that you were allowed to speak." He growled in her ear.
She was thrown down to the floor where he quickly took her bindings and tied her to a post.
"I'll be back soon."
Emma shuddered at the thought but kept quiet. He walked away and got back in the car, driving home to his family for the night. As soon as she was sure, he was gone and not returning for the night, she sobbed. She let everything out, all the grief, anger, and fear she felt at her situation. She cried for what felt like an hour at least before she was able to sober herself up.
"Right Emmaline, what do we do?" She asked herself. She used her fingers and felt around on the post, for anything. Her heart leaped when she discovered that there was a nail in the middle of her bonds. Would it be possible for her to use it like a knife? She would probably cut through very little of the rope, but still, it was something. Sitting doing nothing would be much worse.
She began to move her hands in rhythm against the nail; all that resulted was her hands and wrists scraping against the wood post, causing scratches and splinters. Soon her hands were openly bleeding. Just as soon as she was about to give up, she felt the rope give a tiny bit.
Hope surged and she continued with a new burst of energy. All the rest of the night she worked on the ropes and by the time afternoon hit she had gotten through two strands of rope. Her bonds were still tight, but it gave her something to strive for.
Eventually, she closed her eyes. Daylight streamed through the windows signaling it was midafternoon, but she had to sleep; she had stayed awake all night and most of the day and her wrists and hands stung from the injury she had caused them.
ᶓ
"Ahh!" Emma cried out as she felt her hair being pulled again.
"You stupid brat, what did you do?" The man pointed to the bloodstained straw under her and the dried blood on the post. He looked at the work she had made of her rope bindings. He smirked. "Much smarter than the others, but stupider."
He grabbed a pocketknife and started to cut apart the bindings that held her wrists together. When he was finished, she sank back against the straw, not having the strength to hold herself up.
"How kind of you assume the position." He growled, throwing himself down against her. She turned her head when he tried to kiss her and brought her hands up, pushing against him.
"Oh, you're so weak little bird." He laughed.
Emma shook her head, flashes of her childhood coming back. I refuse to be the victim again – I won't be her. She brought her hands up and pushed against his face, her slick blood rubbing off on his cheeks and mouth.
"You dumb whore." He spat, standing and kicking her leg as hard as he could. She cried out and turned over, grabbing her leg in pain.
"I think you still need to learn your lesson." He grabbed her and made her stand, forcing her to walk to the other side of the barn. She half-walked was half-dragged to the other end of her large cell and leaned against a post while he rigged something up.
It appeared to her as though there were chains reaching down from a beam in the ceiling of the barn, and at the ends of the chain were manacles. He noticed her looking at them.
"I had them put in when I decided I was going to start kidnapping girls – when looking wasn't enough anymore." He finished adjusting and dragged her to stand underneath them.
He fitted them around her wrists and pulled on the chain; her arms were now stretched above her head; the only way for her to be comfortable was to stand, which she was quickly becoming too weak to do. She sagged under her own weight and the stress on her arms increased, causing her to cry out in pain.
She stood back on her weakening legs, trying for all she was worth to stay standing. Her captor smiled; he loved watching her. He took her chin powerfully in his hand and made her look at him.
"Tell me how you like them. I'll be back." With those words, he kissed her mouth hard, taking and taking whatever he wanted. "Soon." He promised, walking towards the barn door. He left her all alone again and she peered into the darkness, wondering how long she could keep this up.
ᶓ
Swimming…she was swimming between night and day, dark and light. She was unsure of how much time had passed. Sleeping hurt; she fell forward off her feet and her arms screamed with the pressure put on them to keep her up. Whenever it became unbearable she would stir and wake, noting what it was like outside before quickly falling back asleep. It was easier to swim in unconsciousness than to stay awake, fearful.
She saw the night when she fell asleep, the day, and then night again. When she woke to the sound of his car, it was day again. He had left her alone for so long…she was afraid of what might be coming now.
He turned the car off and got out, wondering if she was broken yet, if she would give in to him. She was so weak now that she had no other choice. No food or water for two days had taken a strain on her body, and her arms looked about ready to unhinge, tired as they were.
Jack stalked closer, taking in every inch of her now haggard appearance. She had been beautiful, when he had taken her. He undid the chains binding her wrists and watched as she dropped to the floor, no strength left to cushion her fall. She laid there, her arms at her sides, trying to allow some feeling to come back into them.
He smiled down at her; she was broken, it was his time. Just as soon as he had begun to bend over her, the back door of the barn opened. His head snapped up in alarm; he had been found. Jack pulled a knife from his pocket and pulled his catch up from the floor. When the police came around his car, the knife was sitting on her pretty throat.
Lestrade cleared his throat. "There's no reason for anyone to get hurt. Let her go, and we can talk."
"Never gonna happen." Jack snarled.
Emma recognized that this was make or break. Her rescue had come, Sherlock nowhere in sight. With whatever strength she still possessed, she bit down on his hand and ducked behind him, pushing him forward towards the police. Jack held the knife out, still in pain from the bite and realized he was falling forwards towards the officers. Blinding hot pain hit him as he formed the conclusion that he had been shot. He fell to his knees, disbelieving, before falling over dead.
Lestrade rushed forward and caught the falling Emmaline. "Are you alright?" He asked repeatedly. It was all she could do to nod.
The EMT's standing outside rushed in when Lestrade radioed in for medical help. Sherlock fidgeted on his feet, unable to stand not knowing whether she was all right or not. They had all heard a gunshot, and there had been no explanation as to who had been shot. It was not her, it was not her, he kept repeating to himself. It cannot have been her.
A figure wrapped in an orange blanket emerged from the barn, held closely by Lestrade, and was ushered into the ambulance stationed there. He saw whomever it was sitting down and being administered to. However, was it her?
Emma was grateful for the stability Greg provided as he wrapped her up and walked her over to the ambulance.
"They're going to take a look at you, alright?"
She nodded her head weakly. Lestrade smiled sadly and handed her a bottle of water from the back of the car. She took it thankfully and drained it quickly.
"How did you find me?" She asked as the EMT's bustled around her, cleaning her hands and bandaging her wrists, setting up an IV bag.
"Sherlock found the ring that you hit Jack with – we got enough of a blood sample and luckily he was in the system. He had an outstanding warrant for unpaid parking tickets and one case of domestic battery."
"Oh god Sherlock, is he here?" Emma asked, her eyes scanning the far away crowd of officers.
"He is."
"Sherlock…" Emma's heart leaped. The last time she had seen him felt like an age ago. She looked up at the EMT's, noted that they were busy in the front of the car.
She stood, handed the orange blanket to Lestrade, and took the IV out of her arm. It was an unwise thing to do, but she had to find Sherlock right now. She started to walk across the field, searching the group of people, looking for his tall dark frame.
"Sherlock!" She called, as loudly as she could.
Sherlock's ears perked up. Had that been…? He heard it again. "Emmaline!" He shouted, pushing his way up through the group of officers. "Emmaline!" He fought his way through, then he was clear…and there she was.
Her hair a mess, tangled with straw, her skin covered in dirt, blood seeping through the bandages they had put on her, but still she was safe.
She saw him now. He was there, so close but so far. "Sherlock!" She yelled again. She picked up the pace, her legs screaming in protest but she did not care. She ran, as fast her legs would carry her.
Sherlock smiled so glad to see her. His legs carried him across the field, slowly at first but then picking up speed. He ran at full tilt and then there she was in his arms again! She sank into the safety of his embrace, her legs finally giving out. He encircled his arms around her, tears coming to his eyes. They stood there, holding each other as they were reunited.
"You're safe now, I promise." Sherlock said to her.
Emmaline's eyes became wet with her tears and she nodded her head. "Oh Sherlock," she cried, burrowing her way into his coat, her arms wrapped around him.
Sherlock laughed and tried his best to wrap the large coat around her as well; of course she would be cold with the wind biting out here.
He closed his eyes, glad to hold her, to feel her safe again. "You need to go to the hospital." He said gently.
"I can't walk anymore Sherlock," she said tiredly.
He felt his heart break. He put his arm under her legs and picked her up, carrying her across the grassy field, back to the ambulance. He put her in the back of the ambulance and turned to Greg.
"Thank you Lestrade." He said, eyes still shining.
Greg, lost for words, merely nodded.
Sherlock got in the back of the ambulance and took Emma's hand before the doors closed and the car drove off. Lestrade stood there with that tender image in his mind.
"They're good together." He decided, shaking his head.
He walked off to his group; he had a scene to clean up, paperwork to fill out, and a victim and her husband to visit in the hospital.