Okay. Let's hope this isn't a load of bullshit, because aint nobody got time fo' that. Read, review, favourite and all that good shit, okay? Yes. Thank you, and do like my url says and have a great day! X
Everything was so dark and heavy weighing on my body and my mind, and I could barely make out the bleary shapes in front of me, let alone the muffed sounds. I think I was in a basement of some kind, the scent of damp water and sewage was saturating the air around me. It took me a second to work through the sludge of fatigue, and truly focus on where I am right now.
After a few calming breaths, I felt my vision tunnel and the mist began to clear up, and I could finally focus on what was around me - or lack thereof. I was located in the centre of a blackened basement, like I had guessed earlier on, sitting on a mildew stained, wooden chair. My feet were tied to the two front legs of the seat and my hands were handcuffed behind my body by itchy, thick ropes.
My head lolled side to side and I groaned out in pain - my neck was tight and my head was on fire. I tried to wriggle my hands, and felt friction blossom. I would have ugly, green bruises blooming over my ankles and wrists by the time I was done. I glanced around the room, trying to find something substantial that I would be able to use to free myself, but found the room completely barren and empty.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is anyone there?"
My voice echoed in the dark room, and I felt the first trickle of fear enter my bloodstream. There was a short pause and then I heard the door behind my slam open, and the wooden staircase creak as someone walked down, ever so slowly.
"Well.. Well.. Well. Sleeping beauty's awake now, I was wondering how long I would have to wait for you to open those big eyes of yours. I know you're a little disorientated, but that'll pass soon enough - then we can get to the fun part."
His voice was familiar, too familiar in fact. I knew him, I know I did. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue, and it was beyond frustrating as I couldn't spit out his name. Where the hell do I know this man from? He circled me slowly and rather menacingly, once, twice, and on the third time, he stopped in front of me. It was too dark to see his features, but it was blatant that he was taller than I was.
He was at least 6 foot 4 in height, and squared, broad shoulders and was wearing a cap and a waterproof hoodie, zipped up to the hilt. He knelt down, so that he was leaning on one knee, and he was now at eyelevel with me, and I could see everything, and it hit me.
I was going to die.
It was Edward Adams - the parent of the last woman my father murdered back in 2002. Well, they found her body in ten years ago, nobody knows how long he kept her for. His daughter was only 24 years old - only a few months older than I am now, and my dad ended her life. She had been raped numerous times and experienced deep stab wounds around her face, neck and chest area - indicating a sudden and violent overkill. He left her in a park, near the house I lived in with my father in New Orleans before I got put into care. Edward Adams and his wife lived opposite us, and Juliana used to come down from Miami for Christmas and such holidays.
That was where my dad would see her. Year after year, my father would sit in the chair in the living room, pretending to watch the football game, when in fact he was watching their house. It made me sick to my stomach to think that it was going on right beneath my nose, and I didn't even know it. Not until the police came and knocked down my front door, screaming and hollering for my father - all while I was eating breakfast in the kitchen. I would never forget that day, as long as I lived.
His New Yorkan accent was obvious when he finally spoke, "So you recognise me then, Charlotte?"
I nodded, and shakily replied, "Edward Adams, I remember you."
He chuckled, bitterly, and said, "You were only 13 when his court case was being heard. I remember you sitting there, in a seat that was far too big for you, with such artificial confidence and strength that it made me laugh," he paused, and his face grew sombre and bitter, and he continued, "I hate you, you know that. Why should my Juliana be gone, and you're still here? In what world is that fair? You shouldn't be here - you should have died instead of her. Why didn't he kill you? Just because you're his daughter doesn't mean that you should have gotten off so lightly. Who did you lose? What did you lose? Your dad is in jail, and your mom.. Well she's God knows where, but you're still standing. She isn't. She's gone, forever. It's only fair that you join her. Make him feel what I felt for the last 10 years, and see if he doesn't think about ending his life every single day."
By the time he had finished, he had tears lining his eyes and his fists were clenched and shaking with bottled rage, and for a moment I believed he would hit me, but after he let out a shout of irritation, he unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off. He threw it in the corner of the room and it fell to the floor almost soundlessly. With a proud, arrogant smile on his face, he whispered, "See, we're going to play a little game, and when we're through, you're going to wish you were never born, believe me."
The worst thing about it was that I did believe him. I knew that he was going to hurt me, and I could only pray that I would get through this. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat and working under duress, in hostel situations, but I had needed to put this training into action, for the longest of times. It was going to take everything I had inside me to get through this. Then only thing was, I wasn't so sure I could.
Okay, first off, thank you for the critiques I have gotten, as well as the appraisals, I appreciate and accept every single one of them. I enjoy writing for you guys just as much as, I hope, you like reading this story. Have a wonderful day, and I love you guys.