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Edge
Chapter Eight: A Captive

The drip, drip, dripping of water was what finally woke Missy.

She knew that she probably shouldn't make a sound, but her head was killing her, and she moaned in pain as soon as she moved. She felt as if she had been run over by an eighteen wheeler, and then said eighteen wheeler had backed over her in spite. The events of the past slipped through her grasp, like smoke through her fingers. She tried desperately to cling to them, remembering only ice blue eyes.

And with that simple memory, everything came flooding back.

Missy shot up, the pain rocketing through her head as she did so, and looked around her. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The room she was in was filthy, outfitted with a few crude chairs and a desk. A makeshift bookshelf of sorts was in the corner, underneath a crooked photo of a group of houses. There was light filtering in through a hole in the wall next to the bed…

Bed? she found herself thinking, puzzled.

It was then she noticed the oddly comfortable bed that she had been laying on.

And then she registered that her hands and feet were bound.

"Damn it," she cursed to herself. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed sooner, blaming it on the disorientation she felt from the head wound.

She looked at her feet, seeing that they were wound together, tightly, with some kind of rope. Her hands were tied together as well. Though inconvenient, she was relieved to find that she was not tied to any other object in the room. She could leave - if only she could find a way out of her bonds.

Easier said than done.

As if sensing she were awake, a figure appeared in the doorway, pushing the crude piece of wood out of the way and walking into the room with a sense of grace that shouldn't be possible. She recognized him as the man from before, the one who captured her, though she couldn't be sure if man was the most accurate description of him.

"You are awake." The way he studied her made her intensely uncomfortable. His eyes raked across her, and she was reminded of the way that a guy would look at someone they were interested in. But there was something about this look that was different than all the rest. There was a cold, calculated cunning in it, something other than pure hormonal impulse, that fueled this gaze. She had a feeling that she was the first woman he had seen in quite a while.

"No shit," she bit out before she could stop herself. The very sight of him enraged her, and she couldn't keep back the bitterness in her voice.

His lips twitched and then thinned out. "You should know that escape is a futile prospect."

Missy felt her lips stretch into a feral-feeling grin. "Yeah? Well, so is trying to talk me out of it."

He looked at her for a moment, and then walked forward, his gait long and almost predatory. There was a look in his eyes that chilled her, but she couldn't let it show on her face.

"You have a mouth on you," he said, bending over and looking at her. He kept his distance, she noticed, and wondered if it was because of their scuffle earlier. She knew what she would have done if he came closer - she would have rammed her head against his, aiming to crack his skull.

Maybe he was warranted in staying away.

Still, she wished he would come closer, wished he would give in to the curiosity that was palpable around his person.

"You should come closer," she taunted. Maybe that would work.

He looked stunned, as if no one had ever talked to him in that manner before. He stared at her for a few seconds, quirking his head to the side, and she thought for a moment that he would actually venture closer. She was ready. She tensed her muscles.

"Just because you are bound, does not mean you are not dangerous." But his fingers twitched, as if itching to touch her, and his eyes betrayed the calmness of his words. There was a sudden sense of foreboding that hit her. The confidence she felt before almost drained from her body, and then something struck her. They were alone, and he was a savage mutant. What was keeping him from…from having his way with her?

She shuddered at the thought.

A mistake.

He drew closer to her in that moment, sensing her weakness, sensing the fact that she was now aware of what he could do to her. The mutant stepped forward, clearly not wanting to be controlled by the fact that Missy was an experienced fighter, and in one fluid movement, grasped her by the neck and pressed her body against the bed. He was strong, frightfully so, and she gasped at the contact.

Mind wheeling, she asked, "What's…your…name?"

This caught him by surprise. Good. He didn't remove his hand from her neck, only let his fingers stroke the skin there, surprisingly gentle, but the grip was hard. It was a strange contrast. She was surprised that he stopped, though she probably shouldn't have been. His eyes were hard, but intrigued.

"Chameleon." He squeezed his hand tighter around her throat. She saw spots, and tried to grip at his slender, mottled wrists with her fingers.

"Like…the…animal?" she asked, injecting a wryness in her tone that she was surprised she had.

Again, he seemed surprised by her. The tone in which she asked it must have caught him off guard. He paused, his fingers loosening their hold on her throat. The spots cleared from her vision, and she was able to see him looking down at her as if she were the most interesting creature he'd seen in a while.

Or she could be imagining things - the most likely solution, since she'd almost had her oxygen cut off.

"I suppose," Chameleon said. It was odd, now having a name to go with the creature, the creature that wasn't such a creature after all. He was seeming more human by the minute, and that frightened her more than thinking he was just a bloodthirsty mutant.

She wracked her brain for something else to distract him, but his face was so close to hers she could hardly think. His breath was hot on her cheeks, and somehow that made her feel cold.

"You are trying to distract me, so you may get away." She felt the dip in the mattress as he leaned a knee on the bed, pressing his lean body closer against her own. "Clever. No one has ever tried that before."

Missy tried to find a biting retort, but his words froze her. "There are others?"

"There were others," he said, as calmly as if telling her the weather. "You are the only one as of now."

"What became of the others?" Missy hated herself for asking the question, but couldn't find any other way around it. She knew it had to be asked; it was something that was inevitable. Knowing what happened to them was something that might let her survive, might be one of the keys to getting out of this place.

Chameleon cocked his head to the side, bringing his face lower to her cheek. She felt his nose brush against her cheekbone, too soft for someone so brutal. Her breath caught in her throat, and she hated herself for having this kind of reaction - she felt too shocked, too claustrophobic, to even breathe.

"They were breeders," he told her. "Father says we must keep our numbers up."

Breeders. The word slapped Missy across the face as shocking and as painful as a physical blow.

"And then?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"They died," he replied. "None of the children survived, either."

Missy tensed, but then tried to fix the muscles of her face so they wouldn't show the shock and horror she was feeling.

"So what's the point?" she questioned, yet again, feeling the strength creeping back into her, though her voice was thin. "What's the point if they all die?"

"You do not say no to my father. Not unless you want to die."

Despite the muggy heat of the cave-like room she was in, Missy felt cold, as if all the blood in her veins had turned glacial. She couldn't find a way to injure him, as close as he was to her, but in spite of that, the information he was providing was crucial.

But, a voice in the back of her mind prodded, he could be telling you this because he assumes you will die soon.

"I believe his words, once, were, 'Trying is half the fun, anyway,'" he continued. He leaned forward and their foreheads clinked together for the briefest of instances. She realized that she could have bashed her head against his, but didn't, and wondered why that was so. It wasn't until his finger brushed against her mouth that he realized her lips were trembling.

"Hey!"

The two of them stiffened at the new voice. It sounded different from Letch's. This voice was more nasally, and sounded like it came from an older person.

Chameleon turned his head while keeping Missy firmly pressed down on the bed. The heat from his body combined with the heat of the room and the cold in her veins was something that almost made her disoriented. "What is it, Grabber?"

Missy was able to get a glimpse of the aforementioned Grabber, seeing a short and scarred mutant with cracked glasses perched atop his nose. They did him no good, apparently, because he squinted as he looked at them. He sniffed the air a bit and said, "Chameleon?"

"Yes, it is me." Chameleon's voice held a bit of dryness that would have caused Missy to smile had it been any other situation.

"I know you ain't messin' with that girl. You know what Hades will do to ya if he don't get first dibs," Grabber scolded.

Missy found herself watching Chameleon's face as he conversed with this Grabber. Another member of this clan. She had a feeling that the one that did most of the…dibs on the women was this Hades - who sounded like he was the "father" to which Chameleon referred.

"I am not. We were just conversing." Chameleon had his eyes clenched shut, his brow furrowed in dislike. Missy felt him fist his free hand amongst the dirty bedclothes.

"I wish you wouldn't use words like that, boy, ain't nobody understand you."

"Nothing is happening, Grabber. I am just talking to the girl."

"Alright, then," Grabber drawled, though he sounded like he didn't particularly trust what Chameleon was saying. "If that's all it is. I'd hate to have to get Hansel patch you up again like the last time you angered your daddy."

"I have never touched his breeders," Chameleon replied, shocking Missy with his truthfulness.

"This 'un different?"

Chameleon opened his eyes and looked at her. They were searching, questioning, as if wondering just what it was that caused him to pin her to the bed like this. She pursed her lips, clenching her jaw as she did so. There was a moment in which his eyes softened for a bit, and he replied, "Leave. I will watch her until Hades returns."

"Alrigh'. Letch say it's a damn bloodbath up there. Hades should be around soon."

Missy winced, and that didn't go unnoticed by the mutant perched atop her. Grabber excused himself and shuffled down the hallway - or what she assumed was a hallway or a tunnel or whatever these catacomb-like passageways were called. She noticed that he kept his hands out in front of himself as he walked, as if making his way by touch.

Chameleon detached himself from her completely, straightening himself in a very businesslike manner. He rolled his head from side to side and then turned, walking to a small rocking chair that was placed in the corner and folding his long, thin body into it. He sat up, back ramrod straight, and placed his long-fingered hands on his knees before focusing his gaze on her.

She glared back, putting all her defiance into the action.

The mutant didn't break his gaze, his eyes boring into hers so intensely that she almost physically felt his hands on her.

And somehow, despite the faint stirrings of an escape plan formulating in her mind, she felt a sick sense of comfort in his presence, just knowing that at least someone would sit with her for a while longer.

End Chapter Eight.