Page 4 of Don't Say A Word

For now.

CHAPTER THREE

MIA

My body jerks. It is only then I realize I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t think it was possible. But there’s something heavy that keeps dragging me back to that oblivion. Surrounded by silence and darkness, time has become a meaningless concept. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It must be hours. But how many, I don’t know. There is nothing to measure the time and time doesn’t exist if it cannot be measured.

No light.

No sound.

Nothing.

My body is numb. It hurts to move. Every time I attempt to shuffle across the cold floor, or roll my shoulders, or try to stretch out my legs, a sharp jolt of pain reminds me it is pointless. My muscles and bones are nothing more than a memory of my captivity.

I’ve given up yelling for help as there is no one here to listen. I imagine myself in a room with a large wall of one-way glass. Maybe I’m in some sort of social experiment to measure the levels of terror of people in captivity. Maybe they are watching me, scribbling notes, silently observing. Maybe someone took me in error. Any explanation other than the obvious.

I have been kidnapped.

Summoning what little strength I have left, I test the boundaries of my chains. They haven’t changed. There is still a wall behind me, a floor below me. Nothing else I can decipher.

My thoughts remain thick as syrup, though some are pushing their way to the fore. Like saying goodbye to my mother. Walking to the front door, waving goodbye with her blowing a kiss like she always does. But I don’t know if it’s a memory of yesterday or a memory of two thousand yesterdays ago. I’ve said goodbye to her a million times over the years. A thousand times she’s blown me a kiss. A thousand times she’s watched out the window, frantically waving, a smile plastered on her face. A thousand times I hopped into my car and drove away.

So what memory was I recalling?

The last time I saw her, or one of the thousands of times before?

Was that my last memory before I was taken?

What happened next?

I push through the fog, trying to remember how I ended up here. Who put me here. But it is pointless. The harder I try, the harder I push, the thicker the fog gets.

I’m brought back to reality by the beeps of a keypad and the gush of air signaling the opening door. It’s not a creak or a groan, more of a sigh.

It is him. I know this because of his scent. The same as before. Musk and wood and dirt. His footsteps are still padded. I can’t feel the heat of him so I know he isn’t close. My skin prickles. I wonder if he is watching me, if his eyes are roaming my naked flesh. Panic ignites and I push the thought from my mind.

“Hello?” I say.

He clears his throat. It’s a deep sound and my head automatically twists in the direction it comes from.

“Hello?” I say again. Only this time it is more desperate.

“Don’t say a word.” His voice is a command.

“Please,” I beg. “There’s been a mistake. I—” But before I can finish a hand clamps to the back of my head and something soft is shoved in my mouth, muffling my startled scream. Further and further he forces the material until I can’t make a sound. I can barely breathe as it pushes against the back of my throat and I gag. Tape is stretched across my mouth to hold it in.

“Don’t say a word.”

My tears can’t fall; instead, they soak into the material covering my eyes. My screams can’t echo; instead, they get lost in the material shoved in my mouth. So I stay still, pressed against the wall, waiting in terror for what will happen next.

Then I hear it, that same mechanical clunk of before, and the chains begin to rise. I struggle to get to my feet before I am dragged. My body cries out at the movement but the chains keep lifting until I find myself, once again, stretched on my toes, swaying to balance myself.

A whimper gets caught in my throat as he touches the skin below my right wrist. Just a single finger that slides slowly along my arm, the tip of it rough and calloused. It trails down my forearm and over the bump of my elbow. I resist the urge to cry as it slips lower, brushing over my armpit and just missing the swell of my breast. He stops when he reaches my hip and changes direction, drawing a line across my belly. And then he repeats the action in reverse, up the other side of my body.

I attempt to suck in air and material scratches the back of my throat. I gag again. I am suffocating and hyperventilating at the same time. My lungs scream as I retch over and over, desperate for anything to stop this nightmare.

“Breathe.”

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