Untouched (Untouched #1)(Old Work)

Chapter Six

Ellen opened her eyes, her vision out of focus and hazy. Her head was pulsing but she couldn't rub her temples; her hands were bound by thick, heavy chains that clanged on the stone tiling underneath her as she attempted to move. Her feet were also in shackles. As she regained her sight, she took a glance at her surroundings although she wished she hadn't and had kept her eyes closed. It was akin to a dungeon, and it appeared as if it came from the middle of a horrible experimentation laboratory.

It reignited her anxiety.

She was perched on the cold, hard stone floor which was damp and covered in moss and brown splatters.

Dried blood. 

The four walls that towered over her were made from the same quarried stone as the floor, each block stacked precariously on top of the other. Light was being emitted from a single, bare light globe that flickered on and off. A heavy, reinforced metal door stood across the floor from her, closed and assumed to be locked.

Am I underground? she wondered to herself, all alone in this empty room.

Roots sprouted at odd angles from the crevices formed between the individual stone blocks, and water trickled down the block faces. There was a musky smell, very rich in earthly tones. This was mixed with something much more vulgar and sterile but she pushed this out of her mind. She didn't want to know but she had the suspicion that she would find out, anyway, with time.

Ellen gazed upwards at the roof. It was made of wooden panelling, this too caked in moss and leaking water. There was a plop! as each drop fell into a small puddle. Several of the slats were becoming bowed from the wetness and the compounding pressure coming from the top. It was an old room, and suffered greatly from neglect. It was a marvel that it was still intact.

She swallowed hard as she comprehended its scarce furnishings.

At the far end against the wall, there was a metal work station with a myriad of tools hanging above it. Knives, saws, hammers; they were all there, and they were all filthy and rust-riddled. In the centre of the room, below the bare bulb, was the centrepiece, an equally rusty surgeons table with heavy, leather restraining straps at both hands, feet and neck.

Ellen, now arriving back to her full senses, leaned the back of her head against the wall and closed her eyes. How foolish she was for believing a stranger that she had never seen before. She hit her head against the wall several times in disbelief, tears threatening to wet her cheeks. Because she had believed him, because she had been naïve, she ended up in this hell-hole.

She didn't want to die here. 

With hope quickly fading like a flame without oxygen, she kept her eyes closed and wished – hoped ­– that Hans could hear her, track her down, feel her.

There was a metallic clink and a high-pitch squeal. She watched as the door slowly cracked open to expose two different people. The first was a tall, slender man in white doctor's robes with glasses and grey hair, who was immediately followed by the other man. The second man though, was familiar to Ellen. He was slightly shorter than the doctor and had cropped blonde hair with a slim face.

I know him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rake through the memories and visuals that she could remember. Whilst she was in a frenzy, struggling to remember where she had seen him before, the two men conferred with each other, the doctor flicking his head in Ellen's direction and crossing his arms. The younger man sighed, and reluctantly made his way over to Ellen. Obviously unhappy with something, the man pulled a key from his pocket and yanked the heavy leg shackles off her. Her legs felt so, so light with that weight lifted.