"The bed's still warm."
With those words, the room seems to freeze. For a moment both Peter and the intruders are frozen in time, not moving, not breathing. Peter, in a moment of earthshattering clarity, realizes he's been caught. He forgets to be silent, to hold his breath, and air comes to him in a single gasp. Barely an intake of breath, but in the silent and frozen room, it may as well have been an air-horn siren, announcing to the intruders that they weren't alone. Petter acts on adrenaline.
He doesn't register how exactly he got out from under the bed or across the room, he isn't sure how he found his way into the blinding hallway that he still can't even look at, running with his eyes squeezed shut and navigating on memory alone. He does register the sound of the feet behind him, the muffled curse as one of them trips, the ever nearing presence- he strains hard, he knows he's almost there. If he reaches the end of the hallway he can once again disappear into the darkness, and lose the pursuers forever in a maze only he can navigate. He's the only one left to remember how.
"Wait!" a voice call, further behind. The whiney one. "We don't want to hurt you!" Yeah, Peter's heard that one before. He knows what the sound of "don't want to hurt you" is and it sounds like screaming and begging and vomiting and the crunching of bones as a heavy fist connects with the ribcage. Peter takes courage in the fact that Whiney Voice is far behind, not close enough to hurt him, but the courage curdles into fear when he realizes that means the sharper man is behind him.Peter knows that the quieter ones are always scarier. Theyseeand they use what they see to hurt you. The loud ones don't see, they just grab and crush whatever they can.
Peter is skinny, malnutrioned and starved. He knows he cant go on much longer. He makes a reckless choice, and opens one eye to squint down the hallway to see how close he is. This is his undoing.
Its not the sudden intake of light that causes him to stumble, though it does blind him, nothing but a haze of white. What causes him to stumble is his own body's natural reaction to the light. Even as he instantly squeezes his lids back shut, he can feel it building. He's too busy trying to run and breath to try to hold it back. He sneezes, violently, and Peter's body recoils with the force. His foot lands wrong and Peter goes sprawling, throwing his hands out in front of him.
He's up in barely a second, but its enough. There's a rough hand grabbing hold of his shirt, dragging him back into the captor's strong arms. Peter refuses to give up. Giving up means something worse than death.
"Calm down, mate, we won't hurtcha!"
Peter struggles harder. He aims a weak fist for the sound of the voice, hoping to punch the face. His fist meets a palm, and his hand is captured. His other arm is caught from behind, twisted behind him to stop his fighting. Peter has watched enough children get caught to know how to fight. He kicks his leg back into the one behinds him, and knows his heel hit its target by the instant release of his arm accompanied by a groan of pain and a thump of a full grown man hitting his knees.
"You can't hold 'em like that, mate. They'll kick yeh." The uninjured man offers helpfully, catching Peter' s foot as he aims for his privates too. The sudden jerk to his foot makes Peter lose balance, and he falls down. Before he can jerk himself loose, his arm are pinned by one man and his legs by the other. Peter struggles, but he knows its no use. He's already drained all his energy.
Peter comes to the terrifying realization that its over. Peter has been caught. He stops struggling with a muffled half-sob. Maybe it's for the better, he thinks tiredly to himself. Peter has been fighting to survive for so long he's forgotten why. There something in the back of his mind that tells him dimly that there's something he's waiting for, but he's forgotten what it was, the same way he's forgotten the lullaby he once knew by heart.
One of the men is laughing, a sound as innocent as a child's. "He's alive!" The voice marvels, joyfully.
Peter swallows his bitterness at the sound. No wonder the man is happy. Now he and his buddy won't starve. Not now that they have Peter. The second man is amazed too, but in a different way.
"How is that possible?"
Peter cant let him think about it. He starts kicking and squirming again, trying to open his eyes enough to see past the brightness. If he can see, he can escape. The grips on his wrists and ankles tighten. The voices are soothing, attempting to calm him, repeating "You're alright. We won't hurt you." but Peter can't believe them. Because there is no "alright" anymore. There hasn't been an alright since long before the lights went out. The voices are still talking soothing.
"Its okay, we've come to take you out of here. What's your name kid?"
Peter knows it's best to play along at times like this, that if they get angry they'll hurt him. He tries to speak, but the words crack and die in his throat and the sound that comes out isn't a real word or name.
The voices sound concerned.
"Shit, maybe he can't speak?"
"That cant be it." The second voice wavers, sounding less certain. "Kid, can you speak?"
Peter jerks his head in a terrified nod. He can't afford to make them angry. There's a part of him that wants the give up, to just let them have him. He's been terrified for so long he wonders if its even worth it. But there's something else, almost forgotten, but not quite, that reminds Peter he's holding out for something. He cant remember what, but he knows its important.
He feels the absence of the grip on his wrist temporarily, but before he can even react, something soft is being pulled over his head. A sweater of some type. Why would they give him a sweater? Peter tenses, ready to run, as the answer becomes clear.
"Sorry mate, but we don't want any of us getting injured-" -a cough from Whiney Voice- "-more." The other voice amends, crossing Peter's arms and knotting the ends of the overly long sleeves behind his back.
A straight jacket. Peter is shaking now, practically rattling, and he tries to force it too stop. "They can taste fear." he reminds himself, stiffening his limbs. Its not enough, and the captors notice.
"Crap, he's scared!" Whiney curses, then tries to plead. "Hey, hey, its okay,. We just don't want you to hurt us, okay?"
Hurtthem?Peter is incredulous. He's only a child, and they're adults, strong adults, from the outside. How could they be scared of him? There's something empowering about this thought, that despite their age, their strength, they're scared ofhim.Peter thinks he just might have a chance after all. He squints at the light, trying to see his captors. If he can find a weakness, he can escape. The second voice notices his squinting.
"Hey, Alfred, can you dim them lights? Its too bright for the boy." The second voice instructs, and reluctantly, Whiney Voice obliges, complaining that he's not afraid of the dark, but you can't see the monsters coming in the dark, you know?
Peter can. His eyes adjusted to the dark long ago. Its the only way to survive. He welcomes the dimming of the lights, till the room is barely lit, and finally Peter can open his eyes enough to see his surroundings.