Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I was first conscious of how much my wrist throbbed with a slow rhythmic pain. I sensed the migraine thrumming in the back of my skull. Lovely, I grimaced. I noticed that my head was no longer leaning against rigid metal. My eyes flickered open.

                Light, oh blasted light. Just get off me. I tried to wave off the weightless glow like I would a fly or gnat. Ugh, why won’t it go away? Doesn’t it see I’m trying to sleep? My thoughts were jumbled, not yet in line with reality.

My eyelids were rolling waves, reeling open only to inevitably crash back into back down. A concrete wall. Crash. A thin, used pillow under my head and the bottom of a small white fridge. Crash. A digital clock on the floor. Crash. Wait, what was the time? My eyes locked shut. Ah, sweet darkness. Too drained to have the energy to stay awake, I fell back into a deep sleep.

     Forty minutes passed in the slow blink of my eyes. I was in... I was in a bed? No, I was on ground level. I was on a mattress? No...this it didn’t have the comfort of a mattress. I was in... I was in a sleeping bag, yes. But where am I?

There was a door, a thick lead one. A small mirror was placed in the upper portion of it. Well why would I want a mirror? My mind was still battling to concentrate. My eyes began to loll back into my head once again. Where am I?

Twenty sharp pangs blasted through me. My wrist, my head, this room. Oh, dear god. A flash flood of memories hurtled passed. My hand, the handcuffs. My head, lack of water and stress from the night before. This room... This room... I took an inventory. Fridge, microwave, sleeping bag, toilet, door with mirror/window. The realization struck me like lightning. This was the same room that had once been described to me by a former friend. So then, are these the same people who held him captive? Holy....

I was instantly alert. I shot straight up and skipped out of the sleeping bag. My heart thrashed about. These are the same guys that held him. Not on the good side and not on the bad. They were their own team, with their own interests. Guess that would explain why I’m still alive. Though the thought gave me comfort, I darted to the door, sliding under the “mirror.” There, they can’t see me.

There was still one question out of hundreds that needed to be answered. Why was I here? Mr. Frankenstein-man had said his Boss thought I could be an “asset” to them... but how could that be?

I let the backside of my head hit the lead door. Ow. I glanced down at my filthy clothes and felt absolutely repulsive. My nose finally decided to work and I wished it hadn’t. I need a shower. Soon. After that I’ll need a new set of clothes. Hah, like they’ll let me. Maybe if I ask this time, they’ll give me a cool scar.

“Uhhh,” I moaned like I had a cold with my nose stuffed with mucus. My head rolled on its side against the surface of the door. My legs were sprawled out awkwardly in front of me. I allowed my eyes to close once again. Uhhh.

I knew I wasn’t going to be served breakfast; the freeze-dried meals would be stored in the fridge, just like he had once described to me over the computer. I’m sure not looking forward to trying that.

My head was throbbing like a blinker on a car, impairing my ability to hold my eyes open for too long. My mouth opened and closed as if I was tasting something. Water. Need water. I lifted my heavy eyelids once again and kept my gaze on the white fridge. Maybe there are some water bottles in there. Rolling onto my hands and knees, I crawled for about two feet then gradually came up until I was at level with the fridge. I unfastened the door with my right hand, since my left felt limp and useless. Yes, just what I had expected. About twelve small three by four inch “meals” were placed on the top rack. Aha, water bottles. They didn’t have any label on them but at least they were sealed. I cracked one open and slid down the wall to sit again and took a more detailed inventory of the room.

It was a room about five feet by seven feet, concrete walls, one heavy lead door with window. One sleeping bag, one microwave, a toilet, fridge containing five water bottles and twelve “meals” on a wire rack, digital clock, time 8:34am; all plugs went into the wall so no outlets. Next to the microwave were a few plastic plates, one plastic fork and one plastic knife. Yes, this is exactly how he described it. These must be the traitors. Finally I had some useful information.

Hmm, when they are going to come and get me.... I contemplated eating before being taken back to the room, but then decided against it. I’m going to hold off on eating those o-so-nutritious-delicious “meals” for as long as I can. I took another mouthful of water.

When T1562 had been in this situation before, I had offered to help him plan an escape, but that wasn’t what he wanted. I then asked him to inventory everything in the room, down to what material the sleeping bag was. With the picture of the room formed, I began to create ideas for crafty weapons he could use when a certain someone would come to kill him, which would include taking the rack out of the fridge or slicing up the sleeping bag for string/rope. I never found out what happened to T1562. ... Maybe I’ll see him soon.

I was slightly more aware now. The couple ice-cold swigs of wonderfully replenishing water drained down into my stomach, waking up nerves along the way.

It was 8:41am. They still hadn’t arrived. My stomach turned, longing for substance. Well, I guess I wouldn’t be so bad if I took a bite of one of those meals.

I pushed myself forward onto my knees and coiled up to reach the fridge door. Opening it, I picked one of the packages; they all looked the same. Turning it over , I looked to see if there were any instructions as how to heat it up. Hmm, nothing. I tried to open it using my teeth but it was too tightly sealed. Oh, duh. Realizing there was a flap on the back, I opened it like a bag of chips.

Oh, that’s disgusting. Inside was some kind of oatmeal which looked quite sickening. But then, when I thought about it, it looked the same as any homemade oatmeal. After all, the general description for oatmeal was “Wonderfully tasteless and perfectly sludge-like.” I glanced down at the plastic fork and knife. They give me a fork, they give me a knife, but they don’t give me a spoon. How intelligent of them.... My face contorted, I scooped up the fork and plunged it down into the oatmeal. I dragged it back and forth through the substance a few times and finally pulled the fork out with grainy chunks falling off. I drove the fork into my mouth to keep any from falling onto my clothing. Oh yes, quite magnificent. No taste like rocks and sewer water in the morning!

And what a perfect time it was for my captors to come in and get me. I was practically gagging on the food as two burly men walked in.

They both looked under the age of twenty, both wearing regular everyday clothes. The older one of the two kept his blonde hair as stubble, a neatly trimmed beard at the chin. The other had his glossy black hair a couple inches long, his face smooth and beardless.

My mouth was open like it contained something on fire; they could see the revolting oatmeal inside as I tried to use my tongue to shove it down my throat. I pointed at the package with my fork as to indicate what it was they saw. As I tried to swallow, I sounded my disgust with, “Uwwhhhh, blehh, nuhuh, rrrrr.” Finally I swallowed the contents of my first bite.

“Hi guys.” I set the package down on the top plastic plate in the pile then turned my head to the side and coughed. “Echem. Mmm yea, good stuff.” I pointed to the freeze-dried meal and patted my thin stomach.

The men’s faces did not break bearing. Two sets of eyes beamed down at me, mouths straight as a board. Wow, I would have to take classes to keep my face that straight. The thought made me giggle.

“Alright then,” I clasped my hands together, “We going now? Oh wait.” I stuck out my right hand in front of me, “I'm Jenny, nice to meet you....” I let the end hang for their responses.

The shorter and younger looking of the two men grasped my hand first, “T1657, Miss. This here is T2793.”

T2793, nodded, “Miss.”

My face lit up in delight. Finally, some contact with these people. “Well good morning gentlemen. Where might we be going this fine, fine day?”

T1657 seemed to be the talkative one, “Boss wanted to talk to ye’.”

My eyebrows lifted up as I inquired, “Oh, Boss himself, eh?” They both nodded. “Well then by all means. ...” I glimpsed down at my clothes. “Uhh, you gentlemen think I could wash up first? See, I really do hate making bad first impressions. And it would really be a terrible thing to come in looking something like this,” I gestured at my clothes, “especially when it’s your boss I’m meeting. You two think you could direct me to a shower or something of the sort before I meet up with your Boss?”

T1657 glanced up at his buddy. I quickly added, “If he thinks you took too long or anything I’ll take the blame no problem. Hah, I’m probably in enough trouble with him as it is.”

T2793 gave a nod and 57 followed up with, “Sure thing Miss. Just follow me.”

“Oh yea, sure!” The door had been ajar the entire time, I guessed they had no doubts in their abilities to contain me and nor did I. 57 led the way out into the hallway, 93 brought up the rear.

The corridor was narrow, about two people wide, a couple doors off to the left and right, some with keypads above the handle. I could tell my cell was at the end of a hall, but I didn’t get a glance back on the outside of my door to observe what lock mechanism was used; 93’s bulk was blocking my view. I gave him a gentle smile in case he saw me trying to peek, and then turned to follow 57. Oh well, maybe I’ll get a look at it when I come back later.

The hallway was similar to my room, concrete walls, single ceiling bulbs every five feet or so. The traitors’ heavy boots made thumping noises as they strode through the corridor while the only sound my Converse made were miniature squeaks due to their old age. The air was blade sharp, the air conditioning silent. I’m going to have to look for the air vent in my cell and determine if I could find a small hole to store inventions of my own.

We passed six doors, four of them with an electronic keypad lock. I could make out no sound from any of the other rooms or passages. Am I the only captive here? I was attempting to keep my head facing straight forward as I scanned the walls for cameras. No cameras, at least none that I could discern. As I was being escorted I was forming a detailed blueprint in my head. Never know, I told myself, I might need it later.

The seventh door was different than the others; this one had no electronic lock, not even a keyhole. 57 turned the handle and swung it open. Aha, the shower room. I never thought there might be a shower room in a place like this, though I guess they didn’t want any prisoners’ stench wafting throughout the facility.

Tiles lined the walls of the room. Four curtained off areas, about a foot wider than bathroom stalls, were set in the back area. White unpolished sinks were set off to the right side, water droplets dribbling off a slightly open faucet. Tall metal cabinets, no doubt holding shower and dental products, were stationed at the left side of the room. The room itself was around twelve by seven feet, only large enough to hold the necessities to clean oneself.

“Here you are, Miss,” 57 gestured to the showers.

I smiled up at him then put a hand to my oily hair, which was flailing out in random spaces. “Might you have some shampoo or soap in there?” I nodded my head towards the cabinets.

“Oh, yes Miss.” 57 took only a few steps before his long legs had carried him towards the cabinets. 93 was still hovering behind me as I stood in the open doorway. I walked to the center of the shower room, hoping to shake the man off my back. He didn't follow, but instead, took one step backwards and shut the door, keeping watch outside. 57 had taken out a key from his left pocket and slipped it into the cabinet lock. He was then rummaging through the supplies in the cabinet until he chose two bottles and a dark green towel.

“Uhh, here you are Miss. I hope these will do.” He held them up as he stumbled over and placed the containers and towel in my hands.

I smiled sweetly, “Thanks, 57.”

I knew not to ask any of these young men for their real name; it was standard for them to not have one. Almost everyone in the Crew started at a very young age, sometimes from birth, learning the ways to kill. One question I might be able ask him though, was what his former “name” was. Whoever had a “T” at the beginning of a “name” had been marked Traitor to the Crew. So, they must have had one before.... Would he consider it rude if I asked? Uhh, I’ll ask him later.

T1657 had been lingering. “Oh, right. So, 93 will be outside if you need anything. I’m going to see if there are any clothes around here that might be small enough for you.” He pointed with his two forefingers at the door, took a couple steps back, then finally stopped staring at me and turned around just in time not to run into the door. I had been keeping his gaze, giggling when he almost bumped into the exit.

I had read it a hundred times in books; get to know your captors, be friendly with them and your imprisonment might be slightly less unbearable.

 Almost immediately after the door fastened, I checked the ceiling corners for any cameras. They shouldn’t have any in here, I hoped. Again, there were none that I could observe.

I first walked to the backside of the room, reached behind the black shower curtain, and turned the water on. I then zipped over to the cabinets and checked their locks. The keyholes were just like any others, just needed the right key. I always wanted to learn how to pick locks, I sighed. The cabinets themselves were a grey metal. I knocked softly on one of them; they weren’t too thick by the sounds of it. Then, I proceeded to check the sinks and other three showers for anything loose that I just might want to grab. Anything could be helpful in circumstances like these.

It didn’t take me more than three minutes to search the room. There was nothing at all that I could get my hands on, everything was either bolted down or snaked into the wall. I finally proceeded to take my shower. The water was faintly cool, though I had turned the handle entirely to the “hot” side, and the pressure was higher than normal. 57 had given me only shampoo and soap, no conditioner.

Without conditioner I was concerned my hair would frizz like it had just survived a static storm, but maybe, since there was no humidity in this place, I might be saved. I made a mental note to ask for conditioner next time.

I never heard anyone open the door while I was in the shower, but, when I was finished and had stepped out, I spotted a clean set of clothes hanging on one end of a sink. I padded over to the sink, my wet feet skidding on the white tile. My dark blonde hair looked almost brown when it was wet; the tips were dripping with onto the edges of my towel.

The entire room had been slanted down towards the showers, where the drains were placed, so no water would carry out of the door. It was challenging not to slip as I crossed to the other side of the room.

The mirror above the sink was heavily coated in fog; I was only able to see a faint outline of my figure. On the left side of the sink were the clothes, a new pair of blue-grey jeans, size two, a black camisole, some underwear, and a beautiful black blouse with opaque and transparent stripes. Under the sink were low heeled shoes, thin straps that fastened around the ankle. Just went to see if anything fit me, did he? It looked like to me that someone just went shopping. Under the pants was deodorant and perfume.

When I had finished dressing, the air conditioner had swept away the vapor on the sink mirrors. I looked fantastic, smelled heavenly, and felt remarkably better than just twenty minutes ago. I took up my old folded clothes and Converse into my hands; the towel I put hanging over the shower curtain. Now as I walked on the tile there was a clattering of heels. Why on Earth did they get this for me? Is this their way to get me on their side, to be their asset? This was all still too confusing to make out.

I came to the door and knocked a couple times, not knowing if I should just barge out or ask to by knocking. I stepped back as 57 gently opened the door. His eyebrows rose up when he saw me in my new garments. I could see 93 towering behind his friend; even he seemed surprised that I could actually look clean and polished.

It was then my turn to raise my eyebrows as I questioned 57. “Haha, is this what you found when looking for something that was ‘my size’?”

57’s eyebrows were still up as he took in the sight before him, replied, “Uhh no Miss. I’ve been informed that when you first arrived, someone was sent out to buy you a new wardrobe.” Sounds like they want me to stay.... Well at least I know they aren’t contemplating stabbing me in the middle of the night.

“Ah, so,” I nodded and looked off. “Well thank you for allowing me to clean up. Umm, do you think I could run back and throw these things,” I held up my old clothes, “back into my cell real fast?”

“Oh, yes, sure thing Miss.” 57 finally stole away his gaze and brought up his wrist to look at his watch. “But we really must hurry. Boss has been waiting since eight this morning.”

“Agh! Well then lets run shall we?” I was pretty sure I could run a bit without falling over myself. I had never been one of those girls that wore heels every day or had shoes for every single different outfit. I was more of the adventure- wear Converse or tennis shoes when I could- kind of gal. My earring holes had even closed up after not being used for a couple of months. But, when I was wearing the new clothes, I felt more confident than I ever had before. When they say what you wear can give you confidence, they were sure right.

I was again escorted with 57 in the front and 93 behind. We jogged to the end of the hall, their boots making the usual thumping while I ran on my toes to keep the clattering from echoing into every room in the building.

I discovered that my door was locked by and electronic keypad when I heard the code being entered. 57 swung the door open. I tossed my clothes over his head, “Alrighty, let’s go,” I told them. Instead of the two switching places so 57 was in front again, 93 led the way down the hall.

With 93 in the lead, our pace was just a brisk walk instead of a light jog. I gave up on walking on my toes and the click-clack click-clack hit the floor.

As we were walking I had a bit of time to think. Who is this Boss? Is it someone I know? Maybe it’s T1562.... No, of what I know happened to him he is probably dead. Even if it was someone I knew, I would have no way of telling if I did in fact know the person, I would only be able to recognize one of them by their name, I had never received a description of anyone I spoke to on chat.

We made the first right then passed two doors before we reached our destination.

93 turned and spoke for the first time, “Here we are Miss.”

Author's Note

Again, a few minor changes. Criticism welcome. :)

Reviews

[r]

Oh, wow, this is amazing, and i love 57, who cares if he's a bad guy!! His part was really funny, and this is an amazing chapter, love the descriptions. Another amazing chapter that i love!!

[Jennifer Negri]

Best chapter so far. You really have brought your readers into your world through this. I like the pacing as well. You don't rush her out of the room, but let your readers explore the situation with her. Good descriptions throughout and i really felt a part of your character.

[Kiynteyh]

Interesting turn of events. These men seem a lot nicer than the one before. I'm wondering what makes men of the Crew traitors. Can't wait to read the next chapter!