Chosen Girls

Chapter 7

7

Darkness is the last thing I remember and the next thing I see. I don't hear any sound or feel any movement. So I know I'm not in the back of a truck or van. It's so dark I can't even see my own hand in front of my face. The more I come around, the more aware I become.

I'm lying on my side on a cold, hard floor. I feel a fine dust against my skin, over what feels like a lumpy concrete. I push myself up with the palm of a hand. I wait for my eyes to adjust, but I can't even make out the walls of the room. If that's even what this is.

Still drowsy from whatever was on that cloth, I struggle to my feet. I feel a weight around one ankle. But I try to walk anyway. Slow, unsteady steps into the blackness. My hands out. I hear something metallic dragging across the floor behind me.

I get a few feet across the floor when my right foot jerks. It won't move any further. The weight around the ankle pulls me back. I realize it's a chain. I reach down and feel a rusty manacle bolted around my gym sock. I start to panic, back to full alertness. My hairs on end. A rising tide of horror. I fumble around the lock. Tug at it, turn it. The damned thing won't come off.

So I pull at the chain with my foot. Maybe it's attached to a weight. A weight I can drag. But there's no give.

I retrace my steps, the chain in my hands, following it back as far as it goes. My hands run over chunky, rough, metal links, until they reach an anchor point. It's bolted to a wall. A brick wall. I try pulling close to the fixing, but it doesn't make any difference. So I shuffle sideways along the wall, running my hands over the brickwork. Uneven. Old. Some of it cobwebbed. I go as far as I can in each direction but find nothing. Not a door, a window, a grate or even an adjoining wall. I pick the cobwebs off my fingers and turn around. I walk as far out into the room as I can and strain to see something. Anything.

I see nothing.

My mind races in the dark. Who took me? What do they want? Could it be him? No, don't even think it.

I picture the look on my boyfriend's face as he comes out of the bushes with the football. He runs over to the pickup and sees I'm gone. I imagine him thinking it's a joke. I'm hiding, ready to jump out at him, like I sometimes do. Then he realizes I'm gone. He'll have raised the alarm by now and they'll be out there looking for me.

But will they find me? Maybe I'm close by. Someone might hear if I scream. So I scream. Loud. Louder still.

"Help! Help!" Over and over. But no one comes. So I change approach. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

I hear nothing in return. Only the faint echo of my voice. Which tells me the room is pretty much empty. A basement, maybe? It's cold enough. I rub my hands up and down over my goosebump-covered arms.

"Help!" I scream again. "Help me! Someone!"

Still nothing.

Yet, was that a footstep? Another? Yeah, footsteps. Heavy boots on stone. Echoing. Coming at me from a distance. At first I'm filled with hope.

"Down here!" I shout, as the boots grow louder.

But I soon wise up, backing up, body trembling. It's bound to be the man who took me. And he's coming to get me. Maybe he wants me awake. It's part of his plan.

Those boots get louder and louder. Closer and closer. I have nowhere to run.