Deceptive Captivity

Chapter Two: Hidden Revelations

It's dark. That's the only thing Charlie knows at first when awareness returns. Then the pain strikes, bolts dancing back and forth through his skull. He groans, automatically trying to bring up his hands to massage away the agony, but they don't move. 

An irrational bolt of panic shoots through Charlie upon this realization. Is he paralyzed? But it dies away soon after. It's ropes, tied tightly around his wrists, binding him to a thick pole in the ground. With this realization, an entirely new kind of fear encompasses him as memories rush to the forefront of his mind. Crap... he really should have listened to that little voice telling him opening the door at night was  a bad idea. 

The floor beneath him is solid cement, so there's no chance of escape there. He can't see the walls or ceiling... or anything, for that matter. He can only tell what his bonds and the floor are because of the feel of them. He's situated so he's sitting in front of the pole, hands behind him, spine pressing painfully against the straight metal object. There has been no sound barring his harsh breathing since he awoke, and the silent darkness is pressing at him, upping his heart rate and electrifying the air. 

Charlie lets out a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. 

"H-hello? Is anyone there? I think... there's been some kind of misunderstanding..."

His voice is higher than normal, shaky in the oppressive quiet. And worse, there is no answer. Nothing to lift the heavy cloud of dread suffocating the helpless teen sitting in the dark. He shivers and tugs in a desperate haze at his rough bindings. It has no effect but to ravage his wrists. 

"P-please..."

His terrified whisper, if heard, is not responded to. 

"If it's money you want, you can get it! Just let me go." He can't hold back a sob, head sagging back onto the pole behind him. 

Still no voice reaches his ears. The darkness does not lift, and Charlie continues pulling at the ropes until blood is dripping off his hands to the floor. He hardly feels the pain, hardly feels anything but a numbing, blinding fear. He's been kidnapped. For some inexplicable reason... Charlie freezes. 

He's obviously been captured, but why is an entirely different area. Money would be the obvious reason, but then that brings to light a whole plethora of other queries. Was it planned? For how long? Has someone been stalking his family? After all, how else could they know he was home alone? Of course, it could just have been a random robber who stumbled across an opportunity, but... whoever it was had knocked. Why do that and bring unnecessary attention to yourself? There are too many questions and absolutely no answers. 

Charlie finds himself hoping it was planned. If so, his parents will pay the whatever fee his kidnappers ask for and hopefully he'll be back home soon. If it wasn't planned, however, and this is something completely different... Bile rises in the back of Charlie's throat as horrifying possibilities rush unhindered through his head. He's powerless against the images, and finds himself fighting not to vomit. 

Get ahold of yourself, Charlie. Find your head. You've got to calm down until you can find a way out of here. 

Charlie makes it a point to breathe in deeply, using the age old in through the nose and out through the mouth technique. It works surprisingly well, and soon, he's able to complartmentalize just enough to analyze the situation better than before. 

If this was someone else here, what would I tell them to do? 

He looks around again, wondering why his eyes haven't even adjusted in the slightest to the absence of light. He can tell almost nothing more than before, but he refuses to let that get him down, pushing the frantic thoughts to the back of his mind. They're easy to cover in the pounding of his headache. 

So absorbed is he in this new task of analyzing, he almost misses the quiet voice. But when the words tickle his ear, he is immediately still, listening intently. 

The voice belongs to a man, fairly young by the sound of it. He isn't speaking to Charlie but some as of yet unseen partner. They must be in the next room, and that gives the captive teen just the tiniest spark of hope. If they're in a house, it would be easier to escape than, say, a cellar. 

"I don't think we can put him in yet. We've only just discovered him, and he hasn't even got a clue yet. It wouldn't be by the rules."

The other voice speaks now. It apparently belongs to another man, perhaps a partner, this one with a far more gravelly voice. 

"The rules? They're changing, Portner. You know that. I say we've got more on our hands than we can handle, and if we throw him in now, well maybe that'll just be one less to worry about."

"You may as well just kill him now, Matt!"

An icy feeling has been creeping up Charlie's spine ever since the first words of the conversation, and at that phrase, the ice instantly overtakes his lungs. For surely they are talking about him; who else could it be? But still the conversation is puzzling. What is this about rules and 'one less to worry about?' Have they taken other kids, as well? 

"Maybe I will." 

Charlie's eyes widen in terror. He scoots frantically back, trying in vain to loosen the ropes again. No matter his efforts, he can do nothing but stare as the door is opened and two men step in. One has a pistol in his hand. 

Charlie shuts his eyes, refusing to plead. At least if he goes out, it will be with defiance. But contrary to what he expects, a shot does not come. Instead, a hand grabs him roughly by the collar. He opens his eyes to find a harsh, grizzled face inches from his. 

"You tough, Kid?"

The man doesn't give him a chance to answer, only takes out a knife and brandishes it threateningly in front of Charlie's eyes. 

"You'd better hope so, else you ain't gonna last longer than forty seconds in here."