A Touch From Beyond

A Touch From Beyond Ch 2

As I lay under the surface of consciousness, I dreamt of possible atrocities that could happen to me if I didn't get away from my captor in time.  I could be held for ransom, kept under lock and key for months; years even.  He could rape me, molest me, scar me for life and then just leave me on the side of the road to die.  He could just kill me, straight up, quick and clean; take away my future in a matter of seconds.  Of course all this scared the hell out of me but the final option was too terrifying to comprehend: what if he just kept me?  What if he held me captive, made me live out my childhood, possibly even the rest of my life with him?  I wouldn't be able to take it. that would just be too much to bear.

What about my parents?  How would they cope with never seeing their daughter again?  How long would they look for me before they gave up?  Would they give up?  All these questions loomed over me like an ominous black cloud as I went through the artificial sleep.

I don't know how long I was under but I woke up with a splitting head ache.  My eyelids felt like lead and I heaved them open with a struggle.  The room was still pitch black.  I stood up and shuffled randomly to where a I hoped a light switch might be.  I stubbed my toe as I reached the wall, pain flaring in my foot, letting out an audible gasp.  Shuffling alongside the wall, I prayed that my captor wasn't in the room to hear me.  My hand brushed against plastic and a squeal of delight escaped from my lips.  I flipped on the light and took a first look at my prison cell.  I had to clap my hands over my mouth to stifle a louder squeal as I saw my surroundings.

There were some dozens of knives mounted on the wall, each one with a picture of a teenage girl next to it.  Some were dressed in jeans and hoodies with modern hairstyles but some looked very 1990's.  I went over to that wall and studied the pictures closely.  A shiver went down my spine when I recognised one of the pictures of a pretty blonde of around 14 from a national newspaper I had seen recently.  The room swayed and I felt more sick than I had ever done in my life.  I ran to the corner and threw up on the bare concrete floor.  Shakily returning to the wall, I skimmed the photos and found an empty picture frame.  The knife that should have been next to it was on the floor.  I picked it up by the polished plastic handle.  I pressed the tip of my finger gingerly against the razor sharp blade, watching as the narrow stream of blood flowed down past my knuckle.

Returning the knife to its original position, I jumped as a loud creaking sound shattered the silence.  The figure of a man appeared in the doorway.  I knew at once that it was him.

"Hello Brooke.  Awake I see." he sneered with a menacing smile.  His eyes flicked to the wall of photos and back to me again.

"Ah.  Allow me to introduce you," he began.  He stalked across the room and stood in front of the photos.  "These are my girls." he said.

Author's Note:  I'm not gonna write anymore of this until I get a comment because I don't think it's going down too well.  Please prove me wrong!