Page 39 of Inception

Yeah, that’s right. I’d rather scrub a toilet than be in the same room with Nikki Parker. And I wasn’t even on washroom duty. I thought it said a lot, and in the moment, it definitely felt like the better choice, though nearly thirty miserable minutes later, I was silently vowing to never again make that idiotic mistake.

I knotted up the black plastic garbage bag and towed it down the hall to the back exit, pushing hard into the door with my shoulder before stepping out into the cool, quiet night. The crisp breeze danced around my skin as the sky adorned itself with flashes of light, boisterously threatening to pour over us again. And with the way I felt in that moment, I almost wished it would.

I dragged the garbage bag across the wet concrete over to the dumpster just a few feet away from the door and mindlessly threw back the lid. Unprepared to handle the stench of rained on garbage, I dropped the bag and covered my exposed orifices as the putrid smell assaulted my nose.

“Dammit!” I let out a string of curses into my hand as I staggered backwards, away from the foul odor.

In my rush to clear the area, I slammed back into something hard—unmoving. I turned around and immediately felt the blood drain from my face.

This was bad.Reallybad.

And all I could do was stare at his fangs.

12. CRUEL INTENTIONS

I tried to scream out for help—God knows I tried—but it was like my voice had been ripped out of my throat by the bony claws of Fear itself, leaving me mute and defenseless.

I stumbled backwards, instinctively putting as much distance between myself and this thing as I possibly could. His fangs were fully protracted, face shadowed by his hoodie, but I could see his black eyes and they were wild with a primordial hunger that made my stomach wrench. He rushed into me fast and aggressive, forcing me further back until I stumbled over the garbage bag and fell onto my backside, crashing headfirst into the dumpster behind me.

The full thralls of panic began to cut through as his shadow descended over me like a thick, dark cloud of poison that pulsed to destroy every living cell in my body. I let out a scream from the deepest part of me, and for a brief moment, could hear my own shrilling, desperate cry for help as though it belonged to someone else—just before it got swallowed up by a clash of thunder above.

I opened my mouth again to scream but instead tasted his brackish hand as he clamped it over my mouth and shoved me down hard, slamming my head against the cold, wet concrete. I barely had time to register the searing pain before he repeated the hit, this time causing my ears to ring out like a wailing police siren. I knew I wouldn’t be able to withstand a third.

I thrashed my legs up and propelled my foot into his torso. Surprised, he staggered back a step though he was right back above me before I had a chance to make a move. His gangly fingers clawing their way to my mouth, to my neck, tugging away strands of hope each time they made contact with my skin.

I kicked at him again and again, fighting back tears as I tried to wrestle him off me, to knock him back long enough to make my escape, but he took each hit with a smile, demoralizing my every effort. I wasn’t strong enough. My limbs were just too clumsy, too frantic, numbing from the panic. I was starting to shake, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before I froze up with fear.

And then my foot slipped.

One misstep was all it took before I felt his cold lengthy fingers wrap around my neck, squeezing my larynx as he pulled me up off the ground. I hurled my legs back and forth, wild and uncontrolled, fighting with every ounce of strength I had left to get him to loosen his grip around my windpipe.

“Feisty little bitch, are we?” he growled nauseatingly as he brought his other hand up and circled my throat with double the pressure. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The air ceased. I couldn’t breathe!

I clawed at his hands with rabid fervor, digging my nails into his icy skin as I desperately fought for oxygen, for freedom, but it was futile. His hold was unrelenting, his lips upturned in glee. I was slowly suffocating to death and the sick bastard was enjoying every second of it.

My vision started to blur, darkness overwhelming the outer corners as though I were being sucked into a vortex. The realization set in that at any moment now, I was about to lose consciousness and become a comatoseunhappy meal.

It was in that moment that I felt something ignite in me. Something unfamiliar, something primal and desperate, and without any bearings, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I swung my foot all the way back, garnering the kind of momentum only desperation could muster and then blasted it forward, plunging my knee deep into his crotch.

His guttural cry wailed out around me as the death grip on my neck loosened without his permission. His knees buckled from the pain, forcing him into a slow descent towards the ground.

This was my opening. My one and only chance.

I threw him off me like a rancid, diseased carcass, and ran back to the exit door. Grabbing at the handle and tugging frenetically, I pounded on it, begging it for my escape—for my safety, but it denied me each time, refusing to budge even an inch. The stupid thing had locked from the inside and I was probably going to end up dead because of it.

I peered over my shoulder and saw him struggling back up to his feet again. Without thought, I raced off in the opposite direction, screaming out for help as another clap of thunder rolled out above us. I didn’t have a chance to try again before I felt his merciless hand entwine itself in my hair and yank me back before throwing me down onto the unforgiving concrete. I hit the ground fast and hard, like I never stood a chance in hell of making it out of here alive.

Alone on the street in the dead pitch of night, I looked up into his ravenous black eyes and fought back the urge to spew as I realized I had only made this more exciting for him, aggravated his hunger for the carnage. He was the predator, and I, always the prey. No matter where I was or what I did, nothing could stop this horror movie from playing out its gruesome scenes. This had been my fate all along.

I closed my eyes tight and sucked in a breath, too exhausted do anything else but shield my face with my quivering arms as he growled into the night and then dipped to the ground beside me. I couldn’t believe this was going to happen. I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to die.

Little flashes of my father began to pepper my mind, leaving tiny droplets of hope that maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe now I’d be able to see him again and I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. We would be together again, safe and happy and away from all of this horror and bloodshed. Every flickering memory of him made it easier for me to resign myself.

“Ay!” I heard a man’s voice shout out. It was sharp and edgy, vaguely familiar. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I rolled my head back and saw Trace trudging towards us with a large, wooden baseball bat in his hand. He seemed taller in this light, stronger with that weapon. Better than any one person has ever looked before.

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