bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter six.

Silence.

Silence, save for the undercurrent hum of electricity. The lightbulb sizzled overhead inside its wire cage. Even the soft, whistle of his breathing sounded rough and hard against the vast stillness.

Again, Case didn't have a way of knowing how much time passed, but he felt it dragging by. He imagined Father Time, old and beaten down, crawling across a barren wasteland like something from a horror movie poster.

Eventually, his arms grew sore from holding the ceramic lid, and his fingers ached as if the tendons were locked into a disfigured claw. Don't let go, he told himself, tightening his grip.

Wires and filament crackled and buzzed inside the glass bulb. The dim, yellow light never waned. Not so much as a flicker. Maybe that should have been symbolic to Case – a sign to stay hopeful. Instead, it left his nerves taut. It left a tension pulling at the muscles in his shoulders and neck. A sickness at the back of his tongue.

He exhaled, wanting to deflate the nerves. Focus. Focus.

Case strained his ears. Listening for any movement or noise on the other side of the door. Waiting for footsteps, his cue to strike.

He mentally rehearsed his escape. Sir would come through the door, unaware Case was behind him. Case would smash the lid over Sir's head, knocking him cold and letting his body tumble face-forward down the stairs. Maybe he'd even snap his neck as he landed at the bottom.

Regardless, Case wouldn't stick around to enjoy the gory details – he'd be running out the door, shouting to the neighbors for help. He'd be safe at a police station with his parents by the end of the day.

Case held on to that fantasy, even as his eyelids flickered and his head lolled on his shoulders. He jerked awake. The adrenaline was slowly wearing off, leaving him drained and tired. How long had it been since he slept? Being drugged unconscious didn't count; waking up after being knocked out felt like the exact opposite of waking up from peaceful sleep.

Case remembered learning something in Psychology class last year – information he'd filtered out of his memory immediately after whatever test he'd taken. He remembered his brain needed REM sleep to allow his body time to rest and recover.

No sleep. No food. He was running on fumes.

There was a dull, lingering ache in his cheekbone where Sir had struck him. There was a gnawing pang in his stomach as the first wave of hunger began to swell.

Focus, commanded the voice of reason. He had to stay alert, he had to be ready for –

Click-thunk.

The latch-bolt twisted upright.

The door swung inward, blocking Case into the corner. In came Sir, his profile appearing from the other side of the door like a shark's fin above water.

Case broke into a sweat. For an everlasting second, he was too scared and nervous to move or breathe. His hands trembled around the hard ceramic.

Sir turned, the back of his dark head towards Case as he moved to close the door.

NOW! Case raised the lid up over his shoulder.

The motion must have caught Sir's attention, at least from the corner of his eye. His expression was already slack with surprise as he turned to face Case.

Case swung, hard. A solid crack against cheekbone, earlobe and skull. Sir gave a short bellow – stunned as well as pained – as he collapsed to his knees. A hand pressed over the bloody split across the side of his face.

Case stared down at Sir, breathing hard and fast. Oh, god. Oh, god. What had he done?

RUN! the voice of reason shouted the sense back into him. RUN, NOW!

He dropped the tank lid, letting it land inches from his bare toes. The door was ajar, Sir's doubled-over form blocking it from swinging closed.

Case yanked the door open wide. Trapped himself in the corner, almost. He swerved through the tight gap. Stumbled over Sir's hulking body. And he was out.

Running blind towards freedom.

For three steps.

He hit a dead-end. Another door. He grabbed the handle – thump-thump-thump.

Locked.

"No . . ." Case stared down at the silver lever in his hand. Then noticed the same code lock on its panel. He pushed down again on the handle, feeling the resistance against his effort, his "No-no-no-no," punctuated by a firm and clunking thump-thump-thump-thump. "Shit!" He slammed his closed fists against the door. "Shit! Fuck!"

There's gotta be a way out. He whirled around – quick quick quick – searching. Has to be a way out. Somewhere. Somewhere. He scanned his surroundings, panicked eyes darting over details.

Beige plaster walls. No windows. A single overhead light.

That was it.

A closet-sized vestibule. A holding area between two doors.

Two locked doors separated Case from his escape.

And then it hit him: the reality, the defeat. He'd say it dawned on him, but no, that wasn't right. This was dark and eclipsing, creeping in and blotting out all light and hope.

He was trapped. Well and truly trapped. With no way out. With zero chance at lasting any longer unharmed, untouched, unbroken.

This was it. His fate was sealed.

Sir groaned, stiffly getting onto his feet. He swept a hand over his forehead, the front of his dark hair slicked back with blood. Wincing, he gave a quick glance at his stained hand, before his black eyes narrowed on Case.

Case cowered, back pressed against the solid door. He couldn't help let out a pathetic whimper.

Sir lunged forward. Bloody fist seizing the front of Case's shirt.

Case's feet left the ground. He was in the air, the tips of his toes skating over cold tiles as Sir hauled him back towards the basement.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Please! Please!"

Sir threw him through the door, sending him crashing into the opposite brick wall. Dazed and unsteady, Case landed with an oomph on all fours, tumbling down the first few steps.

With a ferocious scream, Sir slammed the door.

The lock clicked in place.

Case's wrist throbbed with pain. But he didn't get up. He stayed on hands and knees, despair finally consuming him absolutely. All this time, he hadn't cried. Not once.

But now he did.

He cried and cried and cried.

🎍🎍🎍

Exhaustion finally caught up to him. The last remains of energy wasted on crying alone in the dark. Whatever concerns or anxiety he had surrounding the bed vanished, his need for sleep too powerful to deny. Case curled up on the bare mattress, cradling his aching wrist to his chest.

And he slept.

Long, deep and dreamless.