The Ones That Descend Into Misery

Knowing Darkness

"Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people."

~Carl Jung

Where am I? What am I laying on? Where's Spencer? Her head hurt, her arms hurt, her legs hurt, and most of all, her abdomen felt like someone was driving a sharp blade repeatedly through her skin and ribs. For a moment through the pain, she didn't care where she was or what was happening. She just willed it to go away.

Groaning, Evie opened her eyes to a blurry image of a ceiling above her. Colors and shapes surrounded her in an unrecognizable image. Wherever this was, it didn't look like a hospital. Closing her eyes again, Evie squeezed them shut and opened them, the room around her now clear.

It was all unpainted wood for walls and ceilings. It wasn't too big; about seven by seven or as big as the bathroom in her and Spencer's apartment. The floors were completely cement, a cold and unforgiving gray. The entire room looked like a closet in an unfinished basement, minus the shelves. The only thing in the room was the shabby bed with a rusted metal frame beneath her. It was uncomfortable. Not only was her side hurting so much that she was hoping she'd pass out again, but it was cold all around her and she could feel the springs poking at her back through the thin material of the mattress she laid on.

At first, there wasn't much that she could remember. How'd she get here? Why was her abdomen hurting so badly? And once again, where was Spencer?

Soon however, the memories flooded back. The case in Boston, the shooting, the gun pointed at Spencer and her running in front before she even had a second thought. After that, everything went black. So that explained the pain. How'd she get here, though? And where was here?

Before Evie could even try to move, a clicking sound emanated from the opposite side of the room. A panel in the wall that looked like all the rest of the walls popped out, a dark hallway stretching beyond the threshold. A figure stood in the entrance, and instantly Evie knew this wasn't good.

The figure stepped into the dim light of the room she was laying in. The man was revealed to be a small wiry figure, looking of Indian descent. He wore tattered clothing that looked like it was once nice, but had worn down over time. He had dusty glasses held up low on his nose and he barely had hair left on his head. He looked to be about fifty or so, grayish black stubble covering his face. Upon entering, he kept his eyes down, only glancing up at her once.

Another man followed him in. He was Caucasian and wore dark clothes. He held his arms stiffly at his side, his expression hard and unwavering. Evie could see the mark of the gang symbol on his wrist as he closed the door behind him, the sound of a lock clicking in place after the door was closed.

At first, she couldn't find the courage or strength to speak. What if he had a gun? What if he killed her? Taking a deep breath and cringing after it hurt her side, Evie opened her mouth to speak.

"Where-" she tried, it only coming out as a whisper. "Where am I?" she tried again, sounding louder and hopefully more confident this time. The men didn't even flinch. The Indian man went to her bedside, only interested on the area that was shooting stabbing pains through her body. He reached forward, obviously intending to examine her injury.

"Hey!" she protested, groaning a bit after from the pain that coursed through her from using the strength to speak even moderately loudly. Once again, they didn't even flinch. The man in front of her gently pulled up the hem of her shirt to reveal her lower stomach. She hissed in pain as his hand gently poked at what felt like thick bandages wrapped around her waist and stomach.