Darkness. There is nothing but darkness as Valerie struggles to open her eyes, a painful groan escaping her lips. She hears nothing but her own staggered breathing and the occasional echo of water as it drips from an unknown source. She coughs and spits, the vile taste of dirt and blood behind her swollen lips. She starts to feel a throb in her roof as her senses come back to her, and it jolts her into reality. She immediately tries to start her engine, but there is no spark. She gasps, the vibrations of her voice resonating the empty room until they are engulfed by the dreadful silence.

Then the water drips.

Valerie cringes and tries to focus on the room around her, but as much as her eyes struggled to settle, more dark would filter in. She sobs where she is parked, and she can feel the oil in the pit of her oil pan grow colder. Her frame trembles.

"CELINE!" She cries, her voice raw with desperation.

No one responds.

"C-Celine..," she collapses in her spot. Broken tiles shift beneath her body, "Celine, please.."

A single light flickers on, and the silence is hushed by the buzzing of the light bulb. Valerie squints and blindly shrinks back. An engine starts up in front of her, its idle thick with some age. The tiles squeal and crunch as Christophe rolls into the room.

The one bulb didn't serve its purpose, three-quarters of the room still swathed in anonymity. This did the room a favor. The plaster had long ago started crumbling away, exposing everything underneath, and what is left of the wooden beams has just yet to decay. The only window is forever stained with grime, located up against the ceiling and way out of reach. This is no house that he dragged her in. It is some unknown facility, obviously abandoned some time ago.

Valerie locks eye contact with Christophe and an unnatural grin stretches out across his oxidizing bumper. He chuckles and slowly rolls farther into the bit of light. Splatters of fresh blood are caked sprayed across his fender and parts of his hood. The sight throws Valerie into a state of panic. She backs away as much as she can, her rear shaping into the collapsing plaster.

Christophe halts a car length from her, his voice now deep and raspy, "A shame. A wonderful man you have left behind."

Valerie's rugged breathing increases, "I didn't leave him. You..you took me from him… His family. Don't you see what you're doing?"

He shifts into first gear and turns his side to face her a bit, breaking the eye contact between them, "You see, Valerie…if you weren't such a stupid girl you'd be home with him right now. Leaning against him. Loving him. Awaiting your unborn child." His eyes dart over to her most visible door and he stops in his place. Valerie mumbles to herself, and she feels tears swell up at the corners of her windshield. Christophe takes a deep breath and continues, "If you didn't care so much more for that slutty friend of yours, your family would have what it deserves. It would have you. Right now."

A shimmer near the bottom of Christophe's door catches Valerie's eye. She tries to make out what it is that is reflecting the light, but it is hard to see from where he is standing.

"LOOK AT ME," Christophe snarls, catching Valerie off guard. She cringes back when he gets in her face. Heat radiates from his grille, wafting up and around her front end. She forces herself to look at his twisted eyes. The smell of the blood makes her feel light and she wobbles in her place, realizing it had to be no other than Celine's.

He brings a tire down and gently places it under her bumper. He strokes his treads along the dent that he caused when he knocked her face into the mud. He cracks another smile, pleased with what he's done, "Tisk, tisk. I appear to have ruined such a perfect face, but no matter. I do not favor a perfect woman. Dings and dents are...," he brings his treads up and along her fender now, "…much more attractive in my eyes."

His touch solidifies her, and the more he strokes the more she can feel the agonizing thump of her heartbeat at the back of her roof. She breathes roughly through her grille, finally gaining the courage to interrupt him. She growls through her teeth, "What did you do to Celine? Where is she?"

Christophe releases her and laughs, reversing away a bit, "Let's just say she had her fun," he tilts his body a bit, showing off the shimmer at the bottom of his door: light blue marks scraped into his paint. It's Celine's blue paint marks. Valerie gasps and starts to panic again, but Christophe raises his voice above her, "Unfortunately, I can only tell you what I did to her. What the doctor did, however… I've not a clue."

"D-doctor?" Valerie stammers between her jagged pants and her tears, "Y-you're insane. Please let us go…We have nothing for you…absolutely nothing."

He throws himself forward, roughly hooking his wheel right under her chin. He tugs her face close to his, narrowing his eyelids into a congealing glare, "I am afraid I can't do that." Valerie stiffens up and squeals as the warmth of his rotting breath traces her grille. She says nothing more, her eyes wide in fear and focused on the psychopath in front of her. Her axles begin to tremble as he brings a wheel back up to her fender, "Nervous yet, Val? Hm?"

She loses it by the time he strokes toward the end of her door and she kicks out at him, hitting him with enough force to send him stumbling back a few feet. She jumps away from the corner of the room and frantically struggles to start her engine again.

Still no spark.

Christophe doesn't take his time for granted. He regains his posture quickly, that crooked smirk completely wiped off of his face. Standing tall on his wheels, he rounds the light stand and grabs her by the bottom of her front bumper, "You think that was funny, sweetheart?"

She screams and tries kicking at him again, but this time he avoids it. He forcefully tugs her toward him and then throws her forward at the wall. The plaster cracks, crumbling down onto her like a jagged waterfall. Valerie, on her side now, groans painfully. She tries to focus on where he's at, but her vision is blocked by her own front-end.

"All I ask for is to spend a little time with you tonight, and you fuck me over, yet again," his voice seems to be coming from behind her. She looks around for him, anxiously trying to jerk herself back onto her wheels. Suddenly she sees him come into view in front of her. She yelps, choking on the air she's breathed in. He looks down at her eyes disappointedly, "I cannot believe you."

Valerie hardly lets him finish his sentence. She screams again, desperate for help, "SOMEBODY! FUCKING HELP! HE'S FUCKING INSA-!"

He slams her across the face, sending her into the plaster again. More of it crumbles and falls onto her door, the pieces rising and falling with her heavy panting. Her vision blurs and all of her senses start to fail. He doesn't allow her to regain herself. He quickly grabs her front bumper again and repeatedly slams her face into the wall, stopping only when he sees her blood stain the plaster, "That's right, woman. Submit."

Her panting staggers with the increased pain. She tries to bring her eyes to him, but the beating drained all of her energy. Instead she lays there, wheels limp. Holding her in place he mounts her side, sure to keep all of his weight on her. He glares at her in her mirror and revs loudly. She cringes and tries to say something, but only an inaudible squeak escapes her lips. Christophe sneers, excited by the dominance. He pushes her front-end into the wall even more, making it harder for her to see, "You're mine."

"G-Get off!"

He softly runs his treads down her doors, bringing them right up and over where her baby is growing, "What beauty," he huffs, his breath hot against her metal. He brings his lips right behind her side-view mirror, whispering, "The female body is just astounding, isn't it?".

Valerie musters up some energy and her shrieks fill the room, but Christophe soon muffles them, roughly pressing his treads up against her mouth. That didn't keep her down. She desperately starts kicking him, eventually finding a sweet spot. She nails him right in the gut, sending him backward, and he doesn't let go of her until he loses his balance. This pulls her back onto her wheels.

Using the power of adrenaline, Valerie propels herself forward. She ignores her dizzy vision and limps into the hall as fast as she can. By now Christophe has recuperated. He revs furiously and darts after her, skidding to a halt when he sees she is nowhere in sight. On his left are four rooms directly beside each other, all the doors closed. He cracks a grin and leisurely rolls forward, "OoooOoohhh, Vaaalleeeerriiiieee. I knooow where you arrreee."

Valerie winces, hearing his wheels slowly crunch at the decrepit tiles, becoming louder and louder as he nears, but her wits keep her silent. She backs away into the dark corner of the room, covering her mouth. The taste of her own blood mixed with her saliva is pungent.

There is a loud slam as Christophe smashes the first door in. He looks over the room quickly before moving on to the next one. He slams that one in. With each slam Valerie flinches, tears trickling down her hood.

"Just you wait until I find you, sweetheart," he teases, "We can continue where we left off."

He slams the third door in, his smirk widening as the dim light of the hall filters in and over her body, "There you are, my dear." He rolls into the room and closes the door behind him. By now Valerie has already started screaming for help, pawing at the exposed beams in the walls. Christophe just chuckles at her, "Why are you screaming? You can't be in that much pain. We haven't even have any sex yet." He flips the light switch and the room is filtered in eerie, greenish fluorescent lighting. The floor is covered in the same broken tiles, and there are no windows. It seems to have once been an operating room, for there are a couple of derelict operating tables pushed off to the side, sloppily positioned beside each other. There is a heart rate monitor alongside them, and a crooked television barely hanging off of the beam in the wall, both items which haven't been used in decades.

Christophe completely ignores the surroundings. He continues to roll closer to her, but then something changes in his eyes. The twist of green in his iris shrinks back behind his pupils and disappears, leaving nothing but his natural blue. He lowers on his suspension, his threatening posture dissipating. He gasps, his voice new and soft, "Oh, my! Your water's broke.."

A puddle of water had indeed formed under Valerie, but it had not come from her. It was already there prior to her presence, a leak from a small hole in the wall behind her.

"No wonder you're screaming so much. You're having contractions," the Peugeot says. He quickly snatches an operating table and drags it into the center of the room, barricading the exit with it.

Valerie's pupils constrict at the sight, "No. No, no! I am not having contractions!"

She tries to dart for the door, but he gets right in her face, grabbing her and pulling her toward the table, "It is okay, honey. I am the doctor now."

Weakening now, she falls limp in his grasp. Her breathing becomes short and staggered, eyeing the table with unbearable fear, "I-I am not in labor, and y-you are not a doctor. You're insane."

He ignores her remark and gets her onto the table with little struggle, using the leather straps to lock her front axles to the steel bars underneath it. The Peugeot rolls behind her once she is confined, and when he is out of her sight, she begins feebly tugging at the straps. They barely budge, however the old leather splits to expose steel wires beneath it. These straps were intentionally made to keep pain-stricken patients from escaping the table. Valerie's engine drops. She hears tinkering of metal behind her, stealing her focus from the straps. She glances in her side-view mirror to try and see what he's doing, but all she can focus on is his tail lights. He isn't facing her.

"Y-you're not a doctor," she repeats shallowly, all hope lost. She thinks about her husband at home, most likely worried sick about her. The thought forces out more tears, "Y-you're multiple psychopaths."

Christophe finally turns towards her rear. He's wielding a metal tool of some sort, the end of it forked like salad tongs. Valerie thrashes with the ounce of energy she has left, "FUCK YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Oh, that's right! I forgot. My apologies, Valerie," he turns away again, slipping a surgical mask over his mouth and his grille. He turns back to her, voice muffled behind the fabric, "I am usually very professional. I don't know what has gotten into me lately."

Valerie collapses against the table. She and her baby were as good as dead. Suddenly she feels the intense cold of the tool enter her. She jolts and whimpers. Christophe pulls the tool back, "Now, now, Valerie. If you continue to jump like that I won't be able to check your dilation."

She pants like a dog as she feels him move the tool around again, and she braces herself for pain. Instead, he just removes the tool from her, "You're not dilated at all. You've had a false labor." He rolls around to her front, "False labors are…incredibly dangerous. I do recommend we do a Cesarean section."

"Y-you've got to be joking," she squeaks, "W-why? Why are you doing this to me!?"

Christophe remains completely calm, despite Valerie's pleading. He sighs and stands professionally, "Well, I think it may be the best route as of now. False labor is nothing to mess with. If we do not do the C-section, it can result in still birth."

"You're a fucking psycho..," she sulks, "…let me go.."

Christophe shakes his hood, disapproving of her reaction. He rolls back over to the tools, tossing a few clamps, retractors, and scalpels onto the table. Valerie watches him through the weakened slit in her eyelids. He rolls in front of her once he finishes tossing the tools, lifting her chin so she looks at him. The green in his eyes has returned, "Say goodnight."

The sharp pain of a needle stings her fender and her body becomes very lifeless very quickly. Her words slur and her vision cuts out, "D-don't…hurt Eliioooot.."

The last thing she hears before the darkness sets in is the familiar sound of Christophe's chuckling, "Oh, he'll be in excellent care."

A stinging pain in her lower abdomen jolts Valerie back into consciousness. She groans hoarsely, the room around her still dark, "Eliot.." As some time passes, the muffled sound of male voices and sirens erupt all around her. She blinks a few times and her eyes begin to focus. The darkness gets lighter and lighter, and she soon sees that she is inside an ambulance. Her hearing clears and she brings a tire to her belly. She whimpers and fidgets groggily, not because of the staples she felt holding her stomach together, but because of the intense feeling of emptiness. She instantly knew her baby wasn't inside of her anymore.

"Oh, oh, she's awake," says one of the voices. It was the ambulance, talking to a police car who is driving beside him. He is speaking through a microphone, to make it possible for Valerie to hear him on the inside of the box, "We are almost to the hospital, dear. Just try and keep your calm."

She listens to his words, but it doesn't bring her comfort. Despite her wound, she didn't want to see or hear anything having to do with hospitals or doctors. She starts crying, hugging her belly with her rear wheels, "My baaaaaby."

"What is she saying?" the cop asks.

"I don't know. I can't understand her," the ambulance responds.

Minutes later they pull up outside of the hospital and nurses get her onto a stretcher. Her vision is still blurred, but from what she could tell, the lobby had flickering lights and rotating doors that are clearly out of order, caution tape wrapped around them. She tries to get a better look at a strange car who was sitting in front of the broken doors, but it was hard to tell. A maintenance man, maybe?

A nurse starts wheeling Valerie past the lobby and towards the E.R., noticing her consciousness beginning to slip away again. Valerie's perception remains raw, but at the new angle of the stretcher she is able to see the strange car better. Her engine drops, and seconds before losing consciousness she could have sworn the car had the exact shape of a Peugeot 406, a cigarette suspended from the corner of his lips, rocking a baby carriage at his side.