Chapter 3
Sophie
My head is pounding, and my body weighs a ton. Why is my bed so uncomfortable?
The knowledge hits me like a knife to the chest and panic consumes me, quickening my breath and the frantic beat of my heart.
“She’s waking up,” a voice says, way too close to me.
I remember to open my eyes, but my world is still wrapped in darkness.
I try to move my hands, but they are tied up, just like my ankles.
My throat does its best to scream but there’s something in my mouth stopping it.
Molten lava builds in my stomach, incapacitating me.
My freeze response kicks in and my limbs are useless, unable to move.
My head scrambles to stay present, trying to rationalize what’s going on.
We’re moving.
Someone is carrying me.
I’m alive.
Other than the migraine I’m sporting, probably from the prick in the neck I’ve felt, I don’t seem hurt.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I try to use the grounding exercise that helps me with anxiety, but I can’t name five things I can see. I see nothing but black!
Four things I can feel.
I grip the ropes I’m tied with, rubbing the tips of my fingers on it. Next are my sweatpants. The soft fabric is a stark contrast to the rough ropes and my current emotional state. There’s not much to touch.
Three things I can hear.
My heartbeat is one.
“Need some help?” a voice asks, a hint of an accent detectable.
“I’m fine,” another voice grits out, right next to my ear. It’s deep and gruff and so close he must be the one carrying me.
Two things I can smell.
I inhale deeply, relieved at least one of my senses isn’t disrupted. A musty scent hits my nose, like the thing I have over my head stood in the closet for too long. A hint of something else reaches my nostrils. Tobacco, maybe?
One thing I can taste.
I lick the item in my mouth, my stomach rising with the taste of cotton.
A door clicks. The guy carrying me takes two more steps. The door clicks again. A few more steps and I’m dropped to the floor.
The fall feels like eternity, my heart stopping while I gravitate towards the merciless ground. But then I stop, bouncing off a soft surface that is definitely not the floor.
Next thing I know, someone is yanking the cover off my head, and I almost say thank you, because not knowing what’s going on is a fate worse than dying.
I blink, getting used to the light, though the light is barely there. It’s dim and the walls of the room are black, adding to the goosebumps now tattooed on my skin. Two figures stand in front of me, both of them larger than life.
They wear masks that reveal only their eyes, but it’s too dark to discern the color.
Black cargo pants and combat boots cover their legs and feet.
One of them wears a dark gray hoodie, while the other sports a black undershirt stretched tight against his intimidating muscles.
Dark ink sprawls across his exposed skin.
“Mmm! Mmm!” I thrash my head from side to side, trying to expel the gag from my mouth.
“I’ll untie you.” The tattooed one says. I recognize the voice as the one who carried me. “Feel free to scream. But no one will hear you.”
I’m freezing. Not because of the temperature, but because of the chill enveloping me. The man proceeds to untie something behind my head, and I spit out the piece of textile from my mouth.
The panic in my stomach reaches a boiling point and bubbles out of my mouth on a scream. “Help! Help!” It’s an instinct, a reflex, because my mind tells me he was telling the truth. There’s no way someone will hear me.
He rolls his eyes behind his mask, as if disappointed in me.
My screams continue while he turns to his accomplice. They start talking, which makes me shut up to hear what they’re saying. I need as much information as I can possibly get.
“?ta ?emo s jebenim psom?” the one who hadn’t carried me says in a foreign language.
“I’ll handle it,” the other one responds.
“A ja?”
“Untie her,” the tattooed guy shoots me a disinterested glance, “but don’t let her out of your sight.” He starts for the door.
“Why am I here? What are you going to do to me? Where’s my dog?” I yell in a desperate attempt, not expecting an answer.
Still, the guy turns to me, his voice hoarse like gravel. “Your father is the reason mine is dead. You’re here to pay the debt.”
Breath whooshes out of me but before I can recover, he’s already out.
The other one unties my hands and feet. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says. “You’re going to be here a while.”
He turns his back on me, entering a small, connected room.
From the white tiles peeking out, and the sound of running water, I’d say it’s the bathroom.
As soon as he’s out of my sight, I jump to my still wobbly feet, rushing to the door.
My head spins with the remains of what they’ve drugged me with, but my hand grips the doorknob with all the strength I can muster.
It’s locked.
Of course, it’s locked.
Still, I try one more time. Two more times. Three more times. As if my body isn’t ready to give up on the fight. As if I could will this door to unlock by sheer hardheadedness.
“Jebemu mater!” I hear behind me, and a hand drags me by the hood of my sweatshirt back to the couch.
“Don’t try this again,” he bites out.
My chest heaves as I try to calm my breath. I speak seven languages, six of which I’ve learned online, and not one of them is the one they’re speaking. The rolled Rs make me think it could be something akin to Russian. Another Slavic language maybe?
By the intonation and inflection of his words, what he said was most likely a swear word. Which gives me no extra info.
Luckily, it keeps my brain busy enough to relieve some of the panic, so the thump in my head slowly fades.
The guy goes back to the bathroom, but this time, I stay put.
My gaze trails the room, trying to figure out where I am.
There’s a weathered black leather couch, which I’m sitting on, a small table with a couple of chairs and a bed covered in dark sheets.
There’s also an X-shaped wooden cross next to the bed, and a black metal cage.
Hooks and chains hang from the bedposts, making me swallow around the lump in my throat.
This looks like a torture chamber. One that might include being chained to the bed.
Spots appear in my vision.
I need to get out!
The man returns, and I barely mutter out, “Bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Be my guest,” he says, motioning to the door he just stepped out of.
I get up and run to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
My heartbeat buzzes in my ears while I take the room in.
There are no windows. Fuck. The bathroom is grimy and dated, but the tub is the biggest one I’ve ever seen.
It can fit three people comfortably and I don’t know why, but it makes me even more anxious.
The white tiles have seen better days, but at least the toilet looks clean.
I turn on the limescale-crusted faucet and splatter some freezing water on my face.
Drops of it land on my hoodie and a few strands of my hair get soaking wet, but I don’t care. The cold grounds me.
It’s fine, Sophie. You’re fine.
I’m not, of course. But I’m alive. And they haven’t hurt me so far. I’m here because of my dad. Tears prickle my eyelids as my throat constricts. Why doesn’t that surprise me?
They want him, not me.
Still, if they are using me as leverage against him, I might as well be dead.
Energy leaves my body, draining it completely.
I wash my hands to give them something to do, dry them on my pants and barely get back to the couch before collapsing.
I’m in a half-sitting, half-lying position and even though my brain is wide awake, the rest of me feels asleep.
They might not want to hurt me, but they are holding me in a torture chamber, and I have no idea where Alan is.
They might want my dad, not me, but he’s hardly the one to sacrifice himself to save me.