Serenity (Watty finalist 2013)

Shackled to the Bed

The next morning she woke up at her regular time and the door was still locked. She tried knocking and calling for the inspector. When she got no reply she went about her daily routine as best she could. To start with she washed her hair in the basin, with water from the jug. When she had finished and started to dry it a loud whistle sounded off in the distance.

She ran to her window and saw an army of workers far down the street. Soon afterwards the sound of rhythmic machinery started. By the time she had gotten her hair braided and pinned up in a bun, a gradual stream of people had formed on the street. None of them seemed to see her. She didn’t dare risk waking her captor by shouting out, instead she tried lightly pounding on the glass. Occasionally, one of the people would looked up, as if to admire something. No amount of desperate waving or gestures for help could attract their attention. Her pounding mingled in with the sound of the machinery and was ignored.

There was a creak from behind the door. She instantly jumped and forced herself against the door. She pressed her ear against the door and listened. Silence. Then she detected the barely audible sound of soft breathing. The door knob twisted slowly and she backed up against the wall. The door creaked open and a tall blonde man drifted in.

The God Apollo himself could not have even compared to the man that stood before her. His face looked like it had been carved from marble and on it were two ice crystals filled with glittering intelligence. White golden hair was neatly combed behind his ears and gathered at the nape of his neck. He had the physique of a runner and wore expensive hand tailored suits. By far he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen yet she looked past his exterior to his tainted and twisted soul; it was disgusting.

The man walked farther into the room and looked around. She slipped behind his back and ran down the stairs. The sound of quick steps on wood alerted the man. He turned and chased after her just as she slammed the bottom door shut. His booming footsteps crashed down the steps and she jammed a chair underneath the door knob. The door shook violently.

She back away so fast from it she almost tripped over herself. The wooden frame started to crack and splinter from the destructive beating. She turned away from it and ran through the unfamiliar territory. Last night it had all looked like a small room but know she knew she was at the end of a corridor lined with doors, one of them contained her escape route, but which one. Each door she opened held either something normal, like a drawing room, or something surprising, like a brick wall. As she slammed through the doors the constant hammering on the door stopped. The sound was replaced with footsteps, receding and then charging down. The door exploded in a sea of splinters and the man fell through. He paused momentarily to brush off splinters from his hair and suit and to put the chair back in it’s place.

She opened the last door and found it led to a wide open staircase, at the bottom was the door out. The man seemed to realise she found the exist at the same time she did. Both of them dashed; she ran for her survival, but he ran like a kid who didn’t want to miss something interesting. When she reached the extravagant doorway, she found it locked.

Her captor casually strolled down the stairs. His hands were coming together in a slow mocking clap. To him her efforts were nothing short of entertaining.

She took a pin from her hair and started to pick the lock; every now and then she shook the knob in frustration to make it look like she wasn’t succeeding. When she turned back, the man was waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs. He gestured to the stairs, as if to ask if she wanted to try running again. She opened the door and let it swing out wide so people could see inside. The man frowned and walked forward, but she held up her hand for him to stop; the people outside could see if he did anything. She made sure he had stopped before turning and walking out. She had gotten, three, maybe four steps out, before she tripped over a taut piece of thin wire and bashed her head on a low hanging porch lamp.

 

Instant darkness.

 

“Miss Meadows,” a distorted voice called. “Wake up now, Miss Meadows.” She woke up groggily and lifted her tired eyes. The face of an angel was stooped over her, but she knew it as the face of the devil. Instantly she tried to grab the nearest weapon, a jug, and smashed it onto his head. Her hand was forced to stop mid air as a metal restraints bit into her wrists. The man shook his head and backed away into the shadows. They were back in her assigned room and the shutters and curtains sealed out all glimmers of light. She couldn’t see very good, but she could see the man. Watching her. Examining her. Deciding what to do with her.

“I’m not going to hurt you, understand?” She receded to the corner of the bed, as far away from him as possible. He meant what he said. But for how long would he not hurt her, how long would he grow tired of caring from the chained woman in his spare bedroom. Now he was patient, for now he was patient. His patient would not last, eventually it would run out and he would snap and kill her.

He’d probably do it without a second thought and wouldn’t show the least bit of remorse or guilt. That was the kind of man he was, she could tell. It was in the way he stood, in the drawling intelligence of his voice, in the calm poise of his entwined fingers, and most of all, burning deep in the cold depth of his eyes. The room was quite dimly lit and the mans face was half cast in shadows, but she could see him clearly enough. Before she had thought him to be extremely young, around his twenties, now she saw his face more aged, roughly thirty-three, give or take a few years. The age only added to his terrifying demeanor, making him not only smart but wise. Although handsome, she chose the more pleasant option of looking at the floor.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked.

The whole escape/chase scene looked much better in my head, but action isn't really my forte. I'll probably re-write it when I go back and edit the whole book, but in the mean time you can give me feedback on how to write it better or if you thought I did an okay job. If you could vote or comment for my sake, so I know I'm not going insane and writting for nobody, I'd be much appriciative. Thank ya.