Chapter 1 #2
Chemical fumes burn my eyes. I thrash, trying to scream, but the world around me tunnels into inky darkness. Sounds turn muffled by the increasing rain and my own panicked heartbeat. My sandals skid on wet pavement as my knees buckle, and darkness claws at the edge of my vision.
My last thought before the world goes black is that next time I see Daniel I’m going to give him a knuckle sandwich.
I don’t know how long I’ve laid with my face pressed into the cold concrete beneath me, but when I lift my head, I feel the stiffness all over.
Hammers pound against the side of my head and every time I try to open my eyes all I see is a blur of grays and browns.
For a moment I’m disoriented, chasing memories of rain and city lights and the sharp burn of fear.
Light flickers overhead—a bare bulb, swinging gently, casting wild shadows. The air smells of mildew, copper, and something sweeter. Chemicals, I quickly realize. My wrists burn, too. I try to pull them in front of me, but there’s something rough wrapped around them.
Rope. Someone tied my hands behind my back.
Muted voices seep through with the light but give me no clues where I am. It’s not like I threw myself in here so someone has to know something.
I adjust my body to where I am sitting up with my feet in front of me. I cast about and try to feel for anyone or anything. “Hello,” I call out softly. Nothing.
After a few moments, I feel strong enough to rise to my knees and try to stand. I take a few careful steps and that’s when I notice there’s a body next to me.
Daniel. His face is slack, lips blue, eyes glassy and vacant. I choke on a sob, my throat clogged with a rush of emotions clawing to get out. I fight back the tears that want to break free at finding my friend dead.
I fall to the floor in front of him and grunt when my knees hit the floor. I reach for Daniel, but the booknerd in me screams for me to keep my hands off the dead body.
Footsteps thud against the cement, drawing my attention to a slit of light coming from the far left corner of the room. The same three men from the parking lot enter through the door. The first man—the one with the smug smile and the one I suspect drugged me—crouches in front of me.
“Professor Vren,” he says, sounding almost pleased. “Velcome. It’s nice to have you finally join us. Veles, look. See I told you I didn’t use too much on her. She’s fine, da.”
My brain fog takes a minute to clear along with my vision.
Veles, I mentally repeat. I have a name to go with the face.
Behind him stands the older man. The one with the diamond cuff links and the smug smile. His eyes are hard and cold as he considers me from across the room.
He’s handsome, but I guess he’s proof that not all monsters have jagged teeth and claws.
Veles tells his hired muscle something in Russian that I can only imagine makes the man feel the size of a flea given his sudden sulking expression.
“You make formula for us. Euphoria.” Veles states as if I will do anything he says. And yeah. He’s probably right. I’m the one tied up in what I assume is a basement. Arguing with the thugs isn’t the smartest way out of this situation.
“You cook or you die.”
My blood goes cold at the flatness in Veles’ tone.
“Um, I’m not a chef. I’m just a professor of—”
He cuts me off with a gesture, pointing at Daniel’s body. “He cooked for us and then decided he didn’t like it anymore. He is dead now. You will not refuse.”
The hired muscle scatters photos across the floor. They’re all of me: walking to class, at a café, unlocking Daniel’s apartment door. My whole life for the last nineteen days, catalogued and used as evidence against me.
“You’re alone. No family here. No one will come looking,” Mr. Muscle points out, almost kindly. “You’re perfect.”
His buddy, Mr. Muscle 2.0 comes to kneel on my other side, gathering a lock of my hair between his fingers.
“Or I can find other uses for you.” His accent is as thick as the others.
He takes in my skirt, the crop top and my bare feet.
This morning it was a super chick outfit.
Now the front dips to reveal my ample breasts and the layers of my soft skirt have ridden up to reveal more than just a little thigh.
I look away, shame burning across my cheeks.
Veles steps forward and sets a folder on a nearby table. “You help us cook, you live. You refuse, you die.”
The logic is as brutal as it is simple.
He gestures to the file. “Come. Read.”
Mr. Muscle 2.0 reaches around me and cuts the rope binding me. My fingers are numb, but I manage to push myself to my knees and then stand. It’s not like I have a lot of options. I would have to get past the three of them before I could make it out the door and who knows what is beyond that.
I sit at the table under the harsh lamp. They put a list in front of me made up of compounds, measurements all written in Daniel’s handwriting. I really wish I would have taken up some kind of self defense at some point.
I squint into the low light. “Sorry, I don't have my glasses.”
Veles snaps his fingers and Mr. Muscle produces my black frames.
I slip them on and read over the stack of papers again. “What is Euphoria?”
“A designer drug we need your help cooking.”
My mouth hinges open. “You want me to cook fucking drugs for you?”
Veles pulls a gun from under his suit jacket and holds it leisurely at his side. Like this is just another day at the office for him and the scary part… it probably freaking is.
My heart has slowed down in the last five seconds. It races to the point that little white dots fill my vision.
“Da, malyshka. This is a recipe for Euphoria and you are going to follow it or I will put bullet through your head. Deal?”
No. No! But not only no but also FUCK NO!
My hands shake, but I keep my voice steady. “I need proper equipment. Supplies. If you want the process done right. I see none of that so I can’t help you.”
Yeah, what a way to show them you are really tough.
Veles’s gaze is flat. “You do what you are told. Or you end up like your friend. Equipment we have.”
My eyes flick to Daniel again, and something inside me twists into a tight ball and dies.
Mr. Muscle 2.0 smirks, pushing my glasses up my nose, his touch lingering too long. “Don’t make us regret picking you, Professor.”
The third man grabs my arm and hauls me to a small room off the main basement. There’s a cot, a bucket, and nothing else. The door clangs shut behind me, lock sliding home with a final, echoing click.
I slide to the floor, curling into myself. My wrists throb, my face aches, and my throat tastes of chemicals and bile.
No one is coming for me. Not Daniel. Not campus security. Not my parents. I am alone.
For a few raw, silent minutes, I let the grief crash over me. Grief for Daniel, for my lost freedom, for the girl who thought she was just here to help a friend.
But I do not let myself break.
I stare at the narrow window high on the wall, where rain streaks in silver lines.
Tomorrow, they’ll ask me to cook poison for them and I’ll play their game. What other choice do I have?
But tonight, I gather my strength. I’ll need all of it and my wits, if I don’t want to end up like Daniel.
Because if there’s no one coming to save me, I’ll have to find a way to save myself.
And as I close my eyes, I swear to the darkness that when I get out of here, I will burn them all down and walk on their ashes.