A VERY DARK tale (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 3

While I was eating Mike and the big man kneeled in front of me and started examining the wounds on my legs and arms. The way Mike would glance up at me made me uncomfortable.

The disgust I noted at first vanished from his look and got replaced by something similar to aversion, but already directed not at me. His eyes traveled from my thin face to my bony neck, then down to my hands and then to my knees. Black and purple bruises on my skin captured his attention and in a moment I sensed his fingers lightly touching the scratches on my calf. I didn't retrieve my leg from his touch, but my insides squirmed. His touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't desirable either.

"Where did you get that from?" He blurted out and looked taken aback by his own inquiry.

Reluctantly I glanced down and shrugged. "That one I got from a bear."

As soon as the words were out, my head snapped up because of a snicker that disturbed a dangerous atmosphere that was floating around. I met a quizzical expression of The hazel eyes, and even my accusing glare didn't stop his humor from pouring out.

"Are you saying that you killed a bear?" He chuckled.

"Why would I kill a bear?" I replied calmly. "He just wanted to play and left some scratches on my skin," I smiled at the memory. "I met him by a brook. He was fishing, and I just happened to fall asleep near the water. When I woke up, it was too late for me to run away and then we ended up snuggling."

"Yeah, right! A bear whisperer," he snorted shamelessly showing me his contempt.

"Anyhow," I said cutting off the chucking, "this is a bear scratch. The rest I obtained while escaping the place where I've been held." There was no need for me to give into a picturesque description neither of beings that held me nor my survival route, not how I managed to escape the prison in the first place.

Yet again a dreadful silence overpowered the room. Already disinterested, I watched Mike and the man applying something on my skin. Both of them worked swiftly paying attention only to the task.

Mike's expression grew indifferent again, and the faces around lost their humor, too. I had nothing else left but to think of my mother and the principal question of the day, that bothered not only me, but I must also add. How did I get here? Indubitably, after being held captive by demons for almost three months, I've learned a thing or two about the way this world rotated. However, in my wildest dreams, I couldn't imagine that such thing as time traveling exists.

Slowly, I retrieved step by step in my head from the moment I set myself free from the prison cell to this day. I had only two minutes to sneak out unnoticed and used that time with profit breaking the window and jumping out of it.

That night when I returned from another session with my demon psychologist, I noticed that there was something different about my prison cell. The changes were barely visible, but I knew better. It was too neat; the tucks I left from sitting on the blanket were spread flat and arranged. Demons and fallen angels are compulsively orderly beings. It irritates them to have their things in a slight mess. Even dust can become a subject of their ire. I watched numerous times my physiologist Dr. Farmosa giving nervous looks to the places where I would leave my finger marks. Mr. Palu's office was always spotless, and he washed his hands every hour and never touched anything without using handkerchief or gloves. And that's how I placed two and two together.

I trusted my instinct. I made a bump in the middle of the bed imitating my body, and all night long stayed in the corner watching the room. And let me tell you, my instinct told me correctly. The door to my room had been noiselessly unlocked at three in the morning and a man in a black suit walking in. In one hand he held a pillow and in the other a gun. I witnessed him firmly walking to my bedside and pressing the pillow to the place where my head should have been lying.

Never in my life, I expected that kind of courage out of myself. When he made the first shot, I jumped out of the corner and pirouetted into the doorway grabbing the side of the door and shutting in behind me.

The next thing I knew I was running by the hallway hearing gunshots behind my back. I tried several doors, and one of the handles gave in, and I unlocked the door, ironically it was the office of my doctor.

Thinking fast I grabbed her chair and started hitting the window glass. The glass fell out of the frame and with a clink reached the ground. I looked out from the fourth-floor window not actually processing the consequences of my window escape. A little farther down I saw a tree of a solid build.

I remember my heart racing and sweat pouring down my face. My fate was written black and white. I was certain that it was the last minute of my life. But when I heard footsteps rapidly tapping by the hallway going my way, something clicked inside me. I took a deep full chest breath and jumped out of the window aiming for the tree...

"Here," Mike brought me back from the memory lane by shoving something into my mouth. I didn't look up at him. I just parted my lips accepting whatever he held in his fingers, and let it down with water. "It's medicine. Should help with a headache and fever a little," he explained, and I nodded.

The blue eyed man that was second oldest of the group slowly advance to our little circle and leaned on the wall next to me. His expression was somewhat amazed as if he just saw Jesus walking on water.

"George," he addressed to the oldest one not taking his eyes off me. "You should see a surveillance footage that was recorded from the place where we found Stacy." Purposely he made an accented on my name. Then he smirked and bit a side of his lip contemplating.

Then, the three of them retreated to the wall with the screens, constantly glancing my way, and then their attention was fully absorbed by something out of my view. Silence again filled the room, but this time, I could hear breathing and light shuffle. A minute or two I've been waiting for any sort of reaction, maybe some explanation on what was going on, but received only more silence.

"Rewind! From both cameras," someone asked. "Are you sure no one touched it."

"Who? We just got here. All five of us."

"Shit! This can't be real. Maybe it's a trick. You know with the mirrors and stuff..."

"The other camera shows the same. It's the same from any angle."

"Well, there should be a logical explanation," George said and finally looked over his shoulder at me. "Right...Do you mind Stacy coming over here and explaining this trick to me."

Curious to know what this fuss was about, I got up from my chair and unsteadily went to stand by George.

When I came closer, the guys recoiled from me as if I had a plague, leaving generous space between us. Even George inched away visibly not liking me so close to him.

I dismissed their scorn and focused my eyes on the screen awestruck watching something that made no sense to me. On the screen, I saw myself falling out of nowhere and landing like a sack of potatoes on the ground face first.

It was evident that I was unconscious, but that's not what made my skin crawl sending chills all over my spine. No, definitely not the fact that I somehow made my leap for two thousand ten. I saw one of the collectors jumping right after me. He had a gun in his hand, and his actions were professional. Right after he landed onto his feet, he straightened up, as if it was his everyday routine, jumping into the future and killing some runaway girls.

He made his way to my body and descended onto his heels near my head. I watching him pressing his gloved fingers to my neck checking something. Then he stood up, turned around and looked straight into the camera. His gaze locked with mine and I heard him saying, "burn this video, change your name and lay down low." After that, he hid his gun under his coat and jumped into the air vanishing without a trace.