Fight or flight response. A simple concept I had been taught during my college years. Strange how your brain can turn you into a fighter or a flighter when facing something that requires a quick response; an automated response.
As a child, I was a flighter. I remember once, when I was five, maybe six, I was at my grandmother's farm. Being ignorant as I was, I wasn't paying attention to my footing, nor my surroundings for that matter. I heard a leaf crackle underweight to my right. Immediately, my eyes trailed after the sound. It was a snake. A small, unharmful, snake. It only took me a second to turn my heel and run back into the grandmother's home. I refused to go back outside by myself for the rest of my visit.
At least, back then, I was too innocent to react to the opposing side. I wasn't putting myself into situations where I would have to react to survive. How unfortunate it is, that I can't have that innocence back.
My hazel eyes darted to every person that participated in the circle I was currently in. The chair I was seated on was metal, cold, and most uncomfortable. We were all seated in an empty gym of Gotham's Recreation Center; some of us were familiar with each other, others not. I could always tell when a fresh one decided to come. They would normally have a hood up; they wouldn't make eye contact with anyone else. Even as someone who was frequently at these meetings, my palms still became clammy every time.
"Would anyone else like to share?" Tim, head of the Narcotics Anonymous Group, asked. My gaze danced around the participants around me, none of them flinching a muscle. A man to my right coughed, breaking the silence for just a moment. Someone else sniffled. Still more silence.
I cleared my throat. "Hi. My name is Rayne. I'm a recovering heroin addict." My eyes immediately shot down to the toes of my black, combat boots. They were slightly scuffed at the tops. Beneath my boots were the light, hardwood floors covered in wax that was slightly corroded.
I could feel everyone's eyes directed to me. My thighs began to sweat, as well as the back of my neck. My mouth instantly became dry and I grabbed my bottled water that was to my right on the floor. I quickly unscrewed the top, took a swig big enough to satiate my thirst, twisted the cap back on, and placed the water back to my right. My dog, Hades, squeezed in between my chair and the persons to my left. His brown eyes glanced up at me, ears perked, before plopping his 130-pound body at my feet.
Hades was my Cane Corso, who was now five years old. He had my back better than anyone else's. He was the last of the liter, whom I discovered later on was the runt. He was very loyal and very protective.
I cleared my throat again, my heart rate starting to regain a steady pace. "I've been in recovery for five years now. I was a daily user. I've fucked over my friends, my family. Jesus, I sold my grandmother's expensive jewelry for half it's worth just to get a few stamps to ease the withdrawals. I even risked 10 years or more hiding drugs on my body for my own drug dealer." My eyes decided to start glancing around everyone within the circle. "There are days where I wish I could spend $20 just to have the best massage of my life. You know, the one where you feel your nerves starting from your toes, going all the way up to the tip of your skull, turn over. You even get that shiver up your spine that makes your whole body shake into relaxation. Monday morning starts off with spilled coffee. Instead of going to work, I'd love to just text my plug. Do I? No. If everyone else can function normally with small inconveniences, then I should too."
Autumn in Gotham was not as pretty as magazines that it out to be. Yes, we had parks where the leaves were starting to turn into beautiful hues of gold, yellow, and red. But, within the city streets, it was dark, cold, and wet.
My boots sloshed within the puddles of the alleyways while Hades followed next to me. We passed a man, seated on the ground, his back against the cold brick of a building. He was covered up to her neck in an old, wool blanket, pieces of cardboard covering it around him for extra warmth. This was a frequent sight in the reality of the city of Gotham.
We exited the alleyway, taking a left and walking into the apartment building I called home. Luckily, I was able to find an apartment within the city that allowed large dogs. Most didn't. My apartment wasn't in the richest part of town. But, rent for a one-bedroom apartment was still about $2,000 alone in rent.
I retrieved my mailbox keys from my jacket pocket as I stopped at the wall of gray boxes in the entry of the building. I opened box 120 and grabbed the two letters that were in it. One was my gas bill and the other, I stopped at stared at for a few moments. It was hand written, the return address of my father, James Gordon.
I sighed heavily, feeling a sense of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Since my mother passed away, I've avoided my father like the plague. Text messages went unanswered, phone calls left to voicemail. He had blamed my addiction for her passing; stated the stress she had endured caused her decline of health.
Looking back, it may have been a possibility, but her continuous need to finish a bottle of the cheapest vodka you could buy didn't help.
I looked down at Hades, who was staring up at me with observant eyes. I raised my brows and took another deep breath, flipping the envelope for him to see.
"Another letter from grandpa," I said to him. Hades tilted his head, as though he understood exactly what I said. I patted his head with my free hand, then locked my mailbox closed. I began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, where my apartment was, Hades trailing behind me. As we reached the final step and turned right towards our apartment door, I separated my apartment key from the mailbox key between my fingers. As we began to approach the apartment door, I heard Hades emit a low growl and his nails clicking against the linoleum floor stopped. I turned around, my brows furrowed. His hackles were raised, and his head was lowered, his eyes staring at where our door was located.
"What is your deal, dude?" I asked as I inserted the apartment key into the dead bolt. I turned the key, hearing the lock slide back into the door. Hades stood still, his growling getting louder as I began to open the door. I kept my eyes on him, before a rag covered my nose and mouth, and a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into the apartment. I went to scream, but my vision became blurry and my limbs became heavy. My eyes began to flutter closed as I heard Hades bark viciously.
The nerves in my nose felt like they were on fire, and the sensation quickly traveled its way into my sinuses. My eyes snapped open and I tried to bring my hand up in hopes to squeeze my nose, but, to my discovery, my arms were limited in movement to the thick rope that had them tied to the arms rests of a chair. My heart rate quickly spiked, and my thoughts began to race.
I quickly scanned my surroundings. I was somewhere underground, where it was cold and damp. I heard violently running water outside of the area I was currently in. All I could smell was water and copper. It was dark, with only one lumen shop light hanging from the ceiling. It was then that the migraine came crashing into my frontal lobe. I winced in pain, my sight almost becoming blinding from the pain.
"Fuck," I whispered to myself, hoping that maybe that would elevate the pain. Of course, saying expletives never did.
It was then that I heard a door's hinges screech behind me. My body instantly froze and I held my breath. I heard foot steps behind me, the persons boots stomping heavily against the concrete floor. Softer steps followed behind. The sounds of their footsteps got closer until they stopped right behind me. A shadow enveloped my own, the presence behind me making me feel small, like a mouse. I could've easily tilted my head back to look, but everything in my body screamed to not flinch a muscle.
"Good morning, Ms. Gordon." the being behind me stated. The voice had a strange accent to it, muffled by mechanical undertones. "I hope you slept well." I heard someone behind the speaker chuckle under their breath. "You will find out in due time, why you are here. You will be safe, for now." With that, I heard the speaker's heel squeak as they turned and walked away, their shadow following along with them. I heard the door squeal shut and a bolt getting locked in place.
Whatever that thing was that spoke, scared me. It shook every single nerve I had left in my system. I could only think about the snake I had encountered at my grandmother's house and I didn't even see the person who stood behind me.
I needed to figure out a way to escape. After all the times I've danced with the devil, this was the first time I didn't feel confident I'd be alive at the end of it.