The sun was so low in the sky, the reflection of it glittering across the sea was nearly blinding. Her skin felt hot and too tight. Emily pushed her feet through the sand, felt the grains of it between her toes. She was so thirsty - but in a detached sort of way - like she knew she should look for her water bottle, but the thought of moving seemed impossible. Something deliciously cool brushed over her arm and, looking down, she watched herself apply sunscreen over her freckled skin. As her fingers stroked over her bicep, her freckles began to peel away, dusting through the white cream like little specks of gold. Then her skin started coming off too - smearing blood over her palms. It was odd, Emily thought, but she didn't stop. It felt so lovely and cold on her skin.
The sun really was too bright though. Emily blinked her eyes. They felt dry and gritty, like her eyelids were lined with sandpaper. When they opened, a flat grey ceiling slowly pieced itself together above her. Emily just stared at it, watching little motes of colour flicker and swirl around her eyeballs. Something was moving at the side of her; a tall shadow that shifted and wavered, blotting out the ceiling lights. She could feel something cool and wet pressed along her right side. She tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry, her jaw may as well have been welded shut.
"Boh-fleh-blah-dortetz," a voice said, the shadow shifting until it totally filled her vision. Oh, it was that bearded guy from her dream, she realised, as his face went from soft focus to ultra HD. The one that watched her punch a robot with her inflatable arm.
Jesus, how utterly off her tits on painkillers was she?
Emily attempted to point at her mouth, swapping out to her left arm when her right one wouldn't move. She tried to mime drinking from a glass, but instead, her hand just flopped about her face a bit. Beardy frowned down at her. She could hear other voices, and he turned his gaze from her as he answered them back.
"Kham-edhras-zo-selern-phta," was the sound he made, smiling at her before disappearing from view. And what the fuck kind of language was that meant to be? Emily tried to figure out where she was. The plane hadn't been in the air for long when they left Cape Verde, so maybe she'd been airlifted to a hospital on the West African coast? Or taken further up towards Morocco and Portugal? The words in the air around her sounded totally alien; not at all like the Creole she'd heard walking around the sun-baked resort. Wasn't there about a billion languages spoken on the African continent? She really hoped that someone could speak English to ignorant foreigners, or she was royally fucked.
Beardy appeared again, this time holding out a twisted metal cup with what looked like a glass straw sticking out of it. He gently eased it into her mouth, and before she could get her throat to work, the thing spritzed a mist of water on her tongue. She choked a little, more from surprise than anything else, but Beardy just waited patiently, saying nonsense sounds at her, before offering the drink again. It took a few attempts, but Emily eventually realised that if you sucked, the water would flow normally. She pushed the straw away after a few gulps. Her throat was still rough and aching, but she felt like she could manage a couple of words. Thing is, what the hell should she say?
"Hi," she managed to croak out. "Do you speak English?"
A whole rabble of chatter filled the air at her question, but Beardy didn't seem to be listening to it. He was just staring at her, a little frown crinkling his brow, as though he was almost as confused by the whole thing as she was. He said something - it sounded odd and clipped, like it came from the clicking of his tongue. Emily stared blankly back at him, which he seemed to take as a cue for making the oddest assortment of noises she'd ever heard. Some were high pitched and warbling. Others were ground out; like the beat of a drum. He would pause after each one, his blue eyes searching her face for a reaction, before he would continue. Emily wasn't sure how long it went on for. Occasionally, other voices would cut in, making their own contributions to the medley of random sounds. Eventually, Beardy seemed to exhaust his verbal beatboxing. He turned from her, looking across the room at something that lay beyond her field of vision, and shook his head. That seemed to trigger a conversation that she wasn't in a position to contribute to.
Emily opted to check out the room instead. It hurt like hell to move her head too much or too fast, so she just let it slowly droop to the side, until she could get a better view. The walls around her were exactly the same as in that weird-ass dream; smooth grey with grooved lines running across them. At points the lines would merge into strips of soft lighting, or screens that glowed blue with strange symbols she couldn't make out from where she lay. She shifted her head the other way, and saw that the room opened out. There was another bed a fair distance from her own. Clothes lay neatly draped over the headrest. A pair of high, brown leather boots leaned against the brushed metal base. If this was a hospital, it wasn't like any she'd ever seen before. It looked like something from the set of Dr Who.
She was done with lying down. Everything about this place was off. Where were the doctors and nurses? Why wasn't she hooked up to a machine? Emily pushed herself up on to an elbow. Her right side was completely encased in a brilliant white wrap. The outside was shiny like moulded plastic, but when she moved her arm, it flexed and shifted like lycra, keeping smooth and tight against the skin. She could feel the spongy layer underneath; it felt like those squishy silicone pads you put in stiletto shoes to cushion your feet. Emily could feel it clinging to the side of her face and neck. Just how badly injured was she?
Beardy noticed her trying to get up. A calloused hand pressed down on her left shoulder, but she batted it off with a scowl, even more determined than before to get on her feet. He was talking to her – all warbling sounds – and slowly moved, so that when she had finally managed to sit up and swing her legs off the bed, his body was blocking her from standing. He was wearing the most complicated set of pyjamas Emily had ever seen, pale oatmeal in colour and wrapped in several layers around his body. His pale, bare feet stood out against the dark floor.
"Move," she said, feeling her frustration bubble up from her stomach as he continued to body-block her, his hands either side of her shoulders as he attempted to press her back. Emily glared at him, feeling her growing anger burn in her lungs and against the back of her eyes. "I mean it - get your hands the fuck off of me."
Maybe it was her tone - or maybe he actually did speak English - either way, Beardy eventually dropped his hands and moved to the side, not quite as far away as she would have liked, but not crowding her at least. Emily pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the bed for support. Her legs looked an absolute riot. There wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't mottled with bruises or covered in scratches. A large gash trailed across her left thigh, puckered and scabbed over. The big toe on her right foot was bloodied and missing its nail. Emily's head spun as she slowly took a full inventory of her body. They'd dressed her in plain white shorts and a cropped sleeveless top, and other than what was hidden by the bandages, the rest of her torso looked like she'd been tossed over the Niagara Falls in a barrel full of rocks. She took a little step forward, but her knees dipped under her, and she was only saved from a nose dive by the steady grip of Beardy's hand at her elbow. She managed to make it to the nearest wall, her shadow silently keeping step beside her, before taking a brief moment to rest against the metal panels. If she looked this bad, had anyone else survived? She turned to ask Beardy that very question, but stopped short when she caught a glimpse of a window from just over his shoulder.
"What the actual…" Emily said, taking a few seconds for her brain to register the faces. She wrenched her elbow from Beardy's grip, stumbling back from both him and the window that spanned the far wall of the room. There, behind a large stretch of glass, two people stood watching them, dressed in what looked like badly conceived Halloween costumes. The smaller one was wearing something that looked like a Mickey Mouse mask that had been melted in a microwave. The taller of the two had painted their skin a khaki yellow and wore a headdress that reminded her of King Tuts death mask. Beardy tried to approach her again, hands up and out like she was a spooked horse, but it was too late. She was fucking spooked alright, the adrenaline hitting her like a slap in the face.
"What is this place?" Emily said, gasping down her breaths to keep her heart from hammering out her chest. As she retreated back, Beardy kept pace following her. She looked around for something to defend herself with, but the room was empty. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the water bottle sitting on the bed. She made a grab for it before Beardy could stop her.
"If you come near me, I'll pan your fucking face in, I swear to God!" she shouted, her newly won weapon gripped tight and held high in as threatening a manner as her left hand would allow. She wasn't sure that she'd be able to do much damage with it, but if push came to shove, Emily would make sure they regretted kidnapping her.
"It's like The Hostel isn't it?" she continued, waving the bottle at the window. "Or that movie Saw? So, you're what - some rich, sick fucks wanting to torture me? Playing mind games while you stand about in your masks and cosplay?"
Nobody said anything. Beardy kept looking helplessly at the weirdos behind the glass, as if she was somehow being the odd one here. Emily had seen enough movies to know that he was probably the ringleader who came up with this whole twisted thing. She trusted him even less than Melted Mickey and Goldfinger.
"Back off!" she screamed, when Beardy tried to edge closer again, but her voice broke to pieces against the jagged edges of her throat. She kept moving further back, inching along the wall until she hit a corner. Emily desperately tried to look for a door or a window or something that she could use to get out, but the whole room appeared seamless and whole.
Fine, she thought. If she couldn't break out, then she'd hold them off for as long as she could. If they thought they'd chosen someone vulnerable and weak to mess with, Emily would show them why you never fuck with a Scot.