Chapter 23:
Day 1:
Chaos whirls within me, a relentless storm of betrayal and deceit that Derek has sown. Time crawls by, marked only by the pulsing ache in my head and the stiffness in my limbs from the unforgiving floor. No sliver of daylight offers hope or a sense of time; these walls know nothing of morning's light or evening's gloom. I'm lost in an endless night, abandoned to the mercy of when they decide I've been punished enough.
"Mom," I whisper to no one, "Ron." But deep down, dread tells me they won't come soon. Mom's life is swallowed by her job, her presence at home as fleeting as a shadow at dusk. Ron, always so wrapped up in his own world, wouldn't notice my absence until it's far too late. This cell could be my world for months, mirroring the fate of the women around me—invisible, forgotten, forsaken.
Nicole Myers' name surges to the forefront of my mind, a beacon in the dark. She must be here, somewhere among these invisible souls—if those men got their hands on her too.
With resolve, I inch toward the bars, my heels dragging against concrete like dead weight. The chill seeps through the thin fabric of my dress, clawing at my skin with icy fingers. My eyes search the expanse of this makeshift prison, landing on the door through which my world had narrowed to these four suffocating walls. Pressing my face between the cold metal, I squint, straining for a glimpse of any neighboring cells, but there's only darkness—a void where hope dare not tread.
I remember the man's warning, the threat woven into his words: speak, and punishment follows. My breath hitches at the thought, yet defiance simmers beneath the fear. The silence around me is heavy, oppressive, a blanket smothering any flicker of rebellion or camaraderie. For a heartbeat, I consider calling out, but caution clamps down on my tongue.
One final glance I cast across the room, desperate for some hint of life or movement. Nothing stirs. We're all ghosts here, bound by unseen chains and unspoken rules. The shadows hold their secrets well, leaving me alone with the echoes of my own fractured thoughts.
My breath comes out in a hushed whisper, a name that carries the weight of both hope and despair. "Nicole." The syllable hangs in the stagnant air, trembling with vulnerability. I press my ear to the chill metal, searching for an answer in the abyss of silence. But there is nothing, only the faintest shuffle of movement somewhere beyond my sight. A sliver of solace, perhaps; I am not entirely alone.
"Nicole," I breathe again, softer this time, as if afraid to shatter the fragile stillness. "If you are there, I just want you to know that Trish hasn't given up on you yet." The words are a lifeline I cast into the dark, hoping they find her ears, hoping they tether her to something other than this cold dread.
A solitary tear betrays me, trailing down my cheek in silent accusation. It speaks of fear, of abandonment, and the unspoken plea that Trish, wherever she may be, holds onto the thread of our friendship, refuses to let me fade into a memory.
Silence answers back. No echo of hope, no whispered alliance. Just the oppressive quiet that feeds the growing fire within me. My spine presses against the unyielding wall, each second stretching longer, becoming a testament to this new reality—captivity without end, without mercy.
The sadness that once clung to thoughts of Derek now peels away, replaced by a burning fury. How dare he reduce us to this—strong women caged like animals, our spirits sapped by the darkness that engulfs us. Rage coils in my belly, fierce and unrelenting. We may be demoralized, but we are not broken.
I push myself off the ground, determination steadying my shaky legs. "We can't let this place take everything from us," I whisper fiercely into the void. Even if my voice trembles, even if it's swallowed by the cell walls, I have to try. For Nicole. For all those unseen faces around me, stripped of their dignity, their will to fight smothered in the gloom.
I wait, listening for any sign that my words have reached another soul, ignited a spark in this desolate place.
Standing, my bones stiff and heart pounding. My fingers curl around the cold, unyielding bars, and I lean my face close enough to feel the bite of rust against my skin. "Listen to me," I command, voice a ghostly whisper threading through the darkness. "I need to know if any of you have tried to get out of here. If we work together, we can get out."
A shuffle echoes from the shadows, a soft scuff of movement. "There is no way out," a woman's voice fractures the silence. Her tone tells stories of worn resolve and lost battles.
"Shh, you both need to be quiet. We can all be punished for speaking," another whisper flutters, fragile as moth wings.
My breath hitches, but defiance sparks within me. "Nobody is in here," I lie, emboldened. "Please tell me everything you know about this place. We can—"
The door interrupts with a jarring bang, and my heart stutters. A dark silhouette looms in the frame, a harbinger of pain. The slam of the door is a full stop, sealing us in with our fear. Metal kisses metal, a sinister melody as he taps each bar. "Who was talking?" His question is velvet wrapped steel, soft yet threatening.
From the corners, whimpers seep like water through cracks, betraying terror. He isn't Derek, that much is clear. "You all know the rules," he sighs, a sound that chills my blood. "Who needs to be punished?"
His gaze travels cell by cell; the metal bar dances in his grip, an extension of his malice. He retreats to the beginning of our row, key shining dully in the dim light. A lock clicks open, protests with a metallic shriek. Then, a woman's scream—a raw, anguished sound—cuts through me.
"Hey! Stop!" My voice crashes against the walls. Muscles straining, I pull at the bars, summoning strength from my core, willing the door to yield. It doesn't budge.
He drags her, hair a cruel leash, into the room's center. The metal bar swings in arcs of intimidation. Each tap on the concrete sends tremors through the victim's body. "Leave her alone!" I demand, louder, fiercer.
He pauses, eyes scanning his captive audience. He lifts the bar like a swordsman taking aim—my pulse races, a drumbeat of terror. Without thinking, I slide off a shoe, grip it tight, and launch it through the bars. It arcs, a missile borne of desperation, and strikes true. His shoulder buckles under the impact, his rhythm broken.
His head snaps in my direction, a scowl etching deep into his features. Fury simmers in his eyes, but I don't flinch, I can't. My breath hitches, and I push out my chest as if the air itself could shield me from what's coming.
"I'm the one who was talking. Leave her alone," I command, voice steady despite the trembling fear that threatens to undo me. For a moment, he just gazes at me, sizing up my defiance. Then, with a grunt, he hoists the woman by her collar, shoving her back into her cell with such force the metal groans in protest.
He strides toward me; the metal bar clanks against the floor as he releases it, discarding it like an unnecessary toy. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as he inserts the key, twists it, and the lock clicks—a sound far too ominous for its simplicity. The door creaks open, and I step back instinctively, pressing my spine against the cold concrete wall.
"Do you need to be punished?" His voice is quieter now, laced with a threat that chills more than the damp air swirling around us.
"You can try," I shoot back, not allowing myself to show any signs of weakness. He smiles, a crooked smirk that doesn't reach those green eyes—eyes that gleam with dark intentions.
He leans in, crowding my space as the door swings wide. "I'd be in a lot of trouble if I hurt you," he murmurs, so close now that I can count the flecks of amber in his irises. The uneven rhythm of my breath betrays my outward calm. In the distance, the soft sobs of the other women form a haunting chorus to this twisted encounter.
"The rest of them don't matter." His shoulders rise and fall with a dismissive shrug. Coldness seeps into my bones, realizing I've become the focus of his disturbing interest. "But you..." He drags out the words, savoring them like a secret. "You are exactly what we've been looking for."
Trapped between him and the wall, his arms bracket me. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating. The scent of spearmint wafts from him, a stark contrast to the stench of despair that permeates the place. My breathing quickens; I'm a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf.
"Get away from me," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice even as it shakes with barely restrained terror. Each inhale is labored, each exhale a silent plea for an escape that seems impossible.
His hand is cool against my skin as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering with unsettling tenderness. "I haven't had the pleasure of a woman in a long time," he whispers, his breath hot against my cheek. I flinch, turning my face away to escape his gaze, but he's unrelenting. His hands rest on my shoulders, and he pulls me closer; his body presses into mine, trapping me against the unforgiving wall.
I shudder at the soft kiss he plants on my neck. I'm trying not to cry, fighting the urge to scream, to shout, to do anything that might make this stop. My stomach churns with revulsion. He's too close, his weight is a cage I can't break.
"Please," I gasp, a futile plea.
He doesn't listen. His hands roam lower, fingers gripping the hem of my dress, pulling it up inch by torturous inch. I lurch forward, lips parting to yell, but he's faster—his mouth crashes against mine, silencing me. I push him, putting every ounce of defiance I possess into the shove, and for a moment, he stumbles back. But then he returns, fury sparking in those green eyes. He pins my arms, his strength overwhelming.
"Stop. Get off me!" I scream with all the air left in my lungs.
My legs flail, seeking leverage, desperate to land a kick anywhere that might make him relent. It's no use; he's wedged too close, and each struggle seems to spur him on. My dress hikes higher, exposing more skin to the chill air, to his wandering hands. I thrash against him, but exhaustion is setting in, and tears blur my vision. His fingers hook into my panties, tugging roughly.
"NO!" The word rips from my throat, a ragged sob following close behind.
"STOP!"
Then, suddenly, his weight vanishes. I gasp, disoriented as his body is wrenched away. I catch a glimpse of black fabric, a masked figure standing where he once was. The other women's gasps echo through the cells, a chorus of shared terror and surprise.
"That's not what we do!" The voice is muffled behind the mask, but there's a familiar edge to it—it's Derek. The blond man scrambles to his feet, pain contorting his features, a slight limp betraying the force of Derek's intervention.
"Don't ever touch her again!" he roars, and the blond man retreats, slipping out the door with a glance over his shoulder that promises this isn't over.
I slump against the wall, the remnants of adrenaline leaving my limbs shaky. Derek's silhouette looms in the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing, yet somehow less threatening than the man who just left. Despite everything, relief washes over me in waves—I'm safe, for now. Derek's intervention doesn't absolve him of his own sins, or the role he plays in this nightmare, but in this moment, his actions speak louder than any words could.
My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic rhythm that belies the stillness of my savior—or captor. His figure is imposing, yet his movements are gentle as he steps into my cell without a word.
Our eyes clash for a fleeting second, and I glimpse something human behind the mask, a swirl of conflict and perhaps... regret? He reaches out, his touch careful as he lifts the strap of my dress back onto my shoulder, a silent apology for the chaos that has unfolded. The fabric slides down, concealing my skin once more, and the cool air retreats from my exposed thighs. A shudder runs through me, not from cold, but from the uncertainty that this small act of decency brings to my mind. Is Derek as corrupted as the others, or is there something more beneath that black fabric, hiding along with his face?
Without another glance, he turns away, leaving the door of my cell gaping wide like a mouth poised to swallow me whole if I dare escape. The possibility hangs in the air, an unspoken invitation or perhaps a cruel joke. I remain frozen, skepticism anchoring me in place.
He retrieves my abandoned shoe with a quiet efficiency, the echo of its partner already forgotten in the corner of my memory. Next comes a blanket, folded neatly on a shelf—a stark contrast to the disarray within these cells. He unfurls it with a snap, the fabric catching air before it settles around my shoulders. It's a makeshift comfort, but it anchors me, a tangible reminder that I'm still here, still alive.
Derek's gaze meets mine once more, a silent exchange passing between us. There's a heaviness in his eyes, one that echoes the weight in my own soul. I reach through the bars, my hand trembling as I grasp his. The leather of his glove is cool and smooth, a barrier between his skin and mine, yet the contact sends a jolt of connection through me.
"Thank you," I mouth, the words soundless but clear. He understands; his nod tells me so. Then he's gone, retreating into the shadows, leaving only the clink of metal as my cell door swings idly on its hinges.
I'm alone again, draped in a borrowed blanket, clutching the bars of an open cage. Freedom beckons, but fear roots me to the spot. For now, I'm caught between the desire to flee and the dread of what lies beyond these walls. Derek's actions have given me a sliver of hope, but even that is a fragile thing in this place where trust is as tenuous as the flickering light from the hall.