Content Warnings: kidnapping, dosing, sexual assault (mentioned), restrictive food intake (captors doing), touch aversion, selective mutism, eventual smut (if I missed anything please let me know!)
Word Count: 2.3k
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Have you ever ran for your life? Have you ever ran so fast, terrified to look behind you? So breathless, your lungs are burning and your chest is heaving? Fear piercing every inch of your skin?
I have.
It's how I ended up in a hospital bed with police officers outside my door and an FBI agent watching my every move. Doctors and nurses continually poking at me and running test on me to make sure I'm okay. They keep asking me these insane questions: are you okay? How did you do it? What's your name?
It's overwhelming to say the least. No, it's more than that. It's paralyzing. Hence why I haven't answered them. It's why I haven't said anything. For ten years.
"Daisy?" I jump at the sound on his voice. The honey eyed FBI agent jumps too. He should know by now that I'm not afraid of him. Not by a long shot. In fact, he's the only thing I haven't been afraid of in a very long time. Ten years to be exact.
My eyes softened as they met his. I shoot him a soft smile, the sides of my lips pulling just slightly. I sat up slightly, resting my hands in my lap and staring at Spencer.
"Daisy, can I ask you a few questions? You can just nod. Is that okay?" Spencer spoke to me in a soft tone. Almost as if he was talking to a child. Not to say that he thought I was a child. In fact, he's told me many times how courageous I was. How resilient I was. But I didn't feel that way. I felt cowardly if anything.
Cal had been acting strange lately. Not that strange wasn't unusual. It was just... different. You have to be some kind of strange to abduct a twelve year old. I could hear his pacing from the floor above me. 125 steps in the last five minutes. Usually, he doesn't step more than 50 times an hour while he was awake. Most of the time it was him going to the kitchen or the bathroom. Or... coming down to see me.
Its been the same routine for the last ten years. He wakes up around 5 am. Comes to 'see' me and then leaves for a few hours. I don't know where he goes where he leaves. I kind of wish I did. But I also don't want to know.
"You're so fucking stupid, Cal!" his yelling made me jump. "A fucking dog could've done a better job than you." I didn't know what he was talking about. Okay, that's a lie. I'd had an idea of what he was doing. The girls I'd met gave me some idea. It was one of the only times he'd brought me up from the basement. I never asked questions.
In fact, I never spoke at all.
I learned quickly that he liked me quiet; that speaking got me bloody and bruised. So I'd decided to stay silent. And when I was silent, I got rewarded: extra food, a new blanket, new clothes, a heater. Being in a basement in the middle of the Virginia winter with nothing more than a sheet. But this was my life now.
"Sweetheart!" I stood at attention, waiting for him like how he taught me too. "Oh my beautiful girl," he gushes as he descends down the stairs. I fight the urge to curl in on myself. I know what's coming. 'beautiful girl' was what he called me when he wanted to touch me.
His hand finds my face, cupping my cheek and rubbing his thumb over it. I felt the familiar burn of bile in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I forced a smile to appear on my face and he returns it. If I didn't know better I'd even go as far as to say he had kind eyes. But I did know better.
"Sweetheart, I need to run a few errands. I might be gone for a little longer than usual. But I promise I'll be back. My special girl." And like that he was gone.
I knew something was wrong when he didn't return for three days. He'd never been gone that long in the ten years he's had me. And I was starting to run low on the supplies he'd left me. I knew I wasn't going to survive more than a week after my last meal. Maybe less if I cant learn to control myself. It wasn't every day I had all of this food.
I also knew I needed to find a way out. I had a sick feeling he wasn't going to come back. And I know the first question is why I didn't try to break out earlier. But see, I had.
Twice.
The first time, I'd broken the window after stacking the boxes he kept down there. I ran for about a mile. He only caught me when I tried to seek help from someone in the area. He played it off like I was a runaway. He called himself my father. And those fuckers believed him.
He cleaned out the basement and put bars on the windows after that.
The second time I filed down the toothbrush and stabbed him. Four years after the first time. But I didn't even make it up the stairs. I got punished real bad for that one. I guess I deserved that though.
But I knew this time was different. I knew I needed to get out of here. I knew it was now or never.
I wrapped a glass bottle in my blanket, wrapping it up nicely as to not cut myself. I hit it against the wall, my spine tingling at the sound of the glass breaking. It felt almost wrong to be trying to escape again. I'd hardly survived the last one. But I knew I needed to get away. I wasn't going to die here. I promised I would get back to my family. To my sister.
I was careful as I rifled through the pieces to find the sharpest one. And once I got the door open, I ran. I ran until I saw the lights of the police station and right into the chest of Spencer Reid. I hadn't even known I was crying until his voice cut into my thoughts. It was kind, smooth and gravely. The hints of exhaustion seeping through his words.
"Woah! Hey, hey. Are you okay?" he asked me. I wanted to answer him. I swear I did. But the second his hand wrapped around my arm, it was like I was back in the basement all over again. My screech caused him to jump away from me. "O-okay. Okay. It's okay. You're safe. You're safe. I promise. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm a profiler with the FBI. See, look." He carefully reached into his pocket and pulled out a little book looking thing. His badge. I relaxed after seeing that.
"Good. Good. Okay, now, are you hurt?" I nodded. But I really didn't know if I was hurt. "Okay. Can you tell me your name?" I shook my head. My own captor didn't know my name. Spencer Reid looked at me with confusion. "O-okay? Do you need an officer?" But the answer revealed itself when the unthinkable happened.
His laugh rang out into the police station, bouncing off of the beige walls and cutting open my skin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my special little girl." My eyes locked with his and I felt the chill run up my spine and wrap around my neck. "Tell these men I've never hurt anyone. Go on. Tell them how great I've treated you."
I was frozen in my spot, my mouth dry. His smile made my stomach twist and the bile rise in my throat. It was like I could feel his hands on me all over again. I thought I was free, I thought this was over. It was supposed to be over.
"Come on, tell them!" His raised voice caused me to flinch and even though he was cuffed, I was terrified he'd beat me.
Spencer Reid stepped in front of me then, blocking Cal's view of me. "Hey? Why don't you come with me and I'll get you something to drink? Yeah?" Spencer Reid waited for me to nod; my arms wrapped tightly around myself in protection. He looked behind me at someone before leading me away. That someone was a tall woman with raven hair and a kind smile. But it was hard to pay attention to anything with Cal's screaming.
"Where are you going? Hey! You cant take her! That's my daughter! Are you listening to me?" With each word I shrunk into myself more and more, my shaking hands moving to cover my ears like a child. I wasn't his daughter and I wasn't going to defend him.
I hadn't realized I was sobbing until I sat down and Cal's voice turned into a muffled sound from the shut door. My hands moved from my ears to rest in my lap. I felt like I was going to vomit.
No, actually, I was going to vomit.
"E-emily I think she's going to-" the woman, whose name I now knew was Emily, was quick to bring the trash under me as I emptied my stomach. My coughing filling the otherwise silent room.
"No! Don't touch her!" I froze again. Emily's hand went back to her side at Spencer Reid's statement. I was grateful.
Spencer Reid put down a Styrofoam cup next to me. I peeked inside and found it was just water. But I was still weary and it was clear he noticed. "It's just water, I promise." I looked up at him from under my lashes before looking back into the cup. "I'll show you."
He stood, walking to where the cups where and grabbing one before coming back to sit across from me. I watched him with confusion as he leaned over the table and grabbed my cup, pouring some into his own before taking a sip. I cant put into words the way that made me feel. Happy? Ecstatic? I was so used to drugs being in almost everything I drank.
I gulped that water down quickly, barely breathing until I finished all of it. Emily and Spencer looked at me with soft eyes once I put the cup down, sliding it closer to Spencer before sitting back in my chair. I smiled at him gently, my nerves calming down just a little.
"Is it okay if I ask you a couple yes or no questions?" Spencers voice was soft, like any louder would break me. And in a way, he was right. I nodded and he smiled.
"Is he your father?" I violently shook my head no. That man was no where near my father. "Okay! Okay, it's okay. He cant hurt you. As long as I'm here, he cant hurt you." I looked at my hands, tugging on them gently.
"Did he keep you in his house?" I nodded. "Okay, good. Good."
Emily spoke up next, but not before placing six photos in front of me, "do you know any of these women?" I carefully looked them over one by one and making two piles. A pile for those I knew, and a pile for the ones I didn't. I knew 4/6. She smiled at me, "okay good!"
"Do you know your name?" I nodded at Spencer question. Of course I knew my name. But he hadn't earned the right to know it as well. "Good! That's good!"
I watched as his tongue poked out to wet his lips, "by using your fingers, can you show me how long he's had you?" I gulped before holding up all ten of my fingers. "Ten years?" I nodded.
"Oh my god..." Emily muttered. I only heard it because I'd trained myself to listen for everything.
"Can you tell me how old you are? By your fingers?" I held up two fingers on each hand. "22?" I nodded. "Okay. We need to get you to a hospital to have to checked out. Is that okay?"
I curled in on myself at his question. The idea of being in an environment that had a chance of being unsafe is terrifying. But the idea of being away from Spencer was even worse. He was kind and he understood me without me using words. It was like he could read my mind. I wanted him to come with me, I needed him to protect me. I was scared I'd be brushed off by the doctors or labeled as 'crazy' or a 'hypochondriac'.
Spencer could see I was weary when I didn't immediately answer him, "what if I come with you?" I perked up as he continued, "we'll have an officer outside the door and I'll stay with you. Would that be okay? I promise he will never hurt you again."
I wanted to cry at how relieved I felt. To know this was finally over. To know he couldn't touch me anymore. I was free. Finally, finally free.
....
"Jane Doe. 22. Captive for 10 years. Signs of sexual assault and abuse." I listened to the stats the doctor was giving to Spencer and the officer. I sat on the hospital bed in a hospital gown while I waited. "It seems she has select mutism, probably from being abused. PTSS and is very untrusting."
All of it was true. So very true. My heart hurt at the diagnosis she—my doctor—was reading off. Spencer had specifically requested an all-female staff and officer to make me more comfortable. I was grateful.
"Daisy," Spencer mumbled. I lifted my head, confusion most definitely mirroring the doctors and nurses.
She shook her head, "I'm sorry?"
"Call her 'Daisy'." Spencer looked at me for a moment before turning back to my care team, "she isn't some corpse. She's living and one day will be able to give us her name. She's not a nobody. She's a daisy; it symbolizes new beginnings. So, call her Daisy."