Seraphina
The world didn't fade to black. It shattered into white.
Something hard crashed into the side of my skull with enough force to turn every bone inside my head into ringing glass. For one impossible heartbeat, I genuinely wondered if someone had dropped the moon on me.
How inconsiderate. Pain arrived a second later.
Not the polite sort. The violent sort. The kind that burst behind my eyes until silver stars sprayed across my vision like someone had taken a shotgun to the night sky.
The chair skidded across the concrete. Rope tore deeper into my wrists.
Something warm rolled down the side of my face.
Blood.
Wonderful.
"...You know..."
I whispered through a mouth that suddenly felt full of pennies.
"Hitting someone who's tied to a chair is statistically unimpressive."
CRACK.
The pistol smashed into my cheek. My head snapped sideways. Something inside my mouth split open. Copper flooded across my tongue.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
The warehouse swallowed the words, throwing them back in ugly echoes.
Who...the fuck...are you...
I blinked slowly until the room decided to stop spinning. The man standing over me was breathing harder than I was. Interesting.
"My name..." I smiled, tasting blood between my teeth.
"...is Seraphina Calloway."
CRACK.
Another strike.
"You're very repetitive."
"What the fuck did you tell Detective Elias Reed?"
I frowned.
"...Who?"
The fourth hit landed before the sentence finished. Honestly. People became terribly predictable when they were angry. Inside my head Gerald sighed the sigh of someone watching a train derail in slow motion.
"You're antagonising the inventory again."
I've noticed. I replied in my head.
"Your skull has suffered significant structural compromise."
I've also noticed.
Frank cleared his throat dramatically.
"Personally, I think she's doing marvellously considering she's currently leaking."
"Frank."
"What?"
"She's concussed."
"Yes, but she's being funny."
"She's being punched."
"Both can be true."
I smiled despite myself.
Ow.
Don't do that again. Smiling apparently required muscles I'd recently donated to the cause. Instead, I looked past the man. Past the warehouse. Past the yellow light. Past everything. Straight at you.
Yes.
You.
You're still here. Good. May I offer a small piece of author advice?
People always tell you bravery means never being afraid.
That's adorable. They are entirely different creatures.
Bravery feels the weight of the dark and walks into the clearing anyway because it has a destination.
Bravery is being terrified and refusing to move.
Stupidity...stupidity is looking your kidnapper directly in the eyes after the third concussion and asking whether that's really the best swing he has.
Stupidity pokes the bear with a short stick simply because it looks bored on the page.
I regret to inform you...I'm currently somewhere in the middle.
Tell me something. Have you figured it out yet? Have you finally seen the monster? Or are you still searching the trees while it smiles beside the campfire? I genuinely hope it's the first one because if it's the second...we're all in considerably more trouble than you realise.
SPLASH.
A bucket of freezing water crashed over me.
It hit like a collapsing lake.
The shock ripped every last breath from my lungs as icy water flooded my face, rushed into my nose, soaked my hair, and slid beneath Elias's jersey until it clung to every bruise and cut decorating my body.
I coughed violently, choking on it.
"Oh..." I sputtered between coughs.
"That's refreshing."
Water dripped from my eyelashes.
"I was beginning to think the hospitality around here had completely disappeared. Thank you. Truly. Nothing says welcome to your kidnapping quite like hypothermia."
Someone sighed. Not irritated. Disappointed. That was somehow worse.
"Enough."
The single word settled over the warehouse like wet cement.
Immediately the room obeyed. The two men behind me stepped back without argument, boots scraping softly across the concrete before disappearing into the shadows.
Interesting. Hierarchy. Someone here wasn't simply participating.
Someone here was in charge. I slowly lifted my head.
One eye refused to open properly, swollen almost shut beneath the bruise blooming across my cheek. The other looked through blurred halos of yellow light hanging from the ceiling.
I smiled anyway.
"What?"
I croaked, blood running into the corner of my mouth.
"Not enjoying yourself anymore? I was just starting to understand the plot."
The slap cracked across my face so hard the chair rocked on two legs before slamming back onto the concrete. Pain burst behind my eyes.
"Ow."
I blinked.
"...That one actually had effort behind it."
"Seraphina."
There it was again. My name. Spoken slowly. Almost gently. The grin faded from my lips not because I was frightened but because something about the way he said it made every instinct inside me quietly stand up.
"Seraphina..."
The voice moved closer. Calmer. Lower.
"We can do this all night."
A rough hand brushed wet strands of hair away from my face. I recoiled instinctively, jerking my head sideways before his fingers could linger. The movement earned another sharp grip beneath my jaw.
"The warehouse walls are thick," he murmured.
"No one's listening. No one's coming."
His breath smelled faintly of wintergreen. Cheap aftershave. Coffee. Something about it scratched against the back of my memory.
"What..."
He leaned close enough that I could see my own bruised reflection swimming inside his pupils.
"Did you tell Detective Elias Reed?"
I blinked once. Twice. Then smiled again.
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, but I have to say you are incredibly scared, Sheriff."
Silence. Heavy. Dense. Like the entire warehouse had stopped breathing. Inside my head Gerald spoke first.
"Don't look at him."
Frank answered quietly.
"Especially don't look at the badge."
"She isn't."
"She's looking everywhere except the badge."
"Good."
"She's smarter than she looks."
"That's a frighteningly low standard, Frank."
"Move the transport."
The voice broke the silence again.
"We're ahead of schedule."
Heavy boots turned away.
"The detective's going to realize it sooner than later."
My stomach tightened so violently I thought I might actually be sick. Transport. No… No… Not the women. Not yet. Please...
I squeezed my eyes shut not because I was afraid but because I could already hear them. The crying. The chains. The container doors. If they moved those women… Elias would lose them again.
Boots echoed farther away.
One.
Two.
Three sets.
A heavy door groaned open somewhere deeper inside the warehouse. Voices faded. Another steel door slammed shut. The deadbolt slid home with a long metallic scrape.
Then… Nothing. Silence reclaimed the building. The kind of silence that makes abandoned places feel alive. I let my head fall back against the chair. Every breath scraped through my ribs like broken glass.
My wrists had gone completely numb beneath the ropes. Something warm trickled down my side. Knife cuts. Still bleeding.
Fantastic.
I closed my eyes.
Elias… Please. Find the women. Find me before they move us. Before...
The thought refused to finish itself. Some stories don't like saying their endings out loud.
Only then did I let my head hang and closed my eyes, the tears finally breaking through my lashes to mix with the well-water on my apron string.
Every breath I took scraped through my ribs like a broken piece of glass.
At least three of them were cracked. Possibly broken.
The knife cuts along my forearm from the initial struggle burned like fire under the wet fabric, and my fingers had gone completely numb beneath the restriction of the rope, my body shivering violently in the dark room.
I opened my one clear eye, looking back at the empty space behind my shoulder, a weak, broken whisper leaving my teeth.
"This..." I murmured into the quiet,
"...would make an absolutely excellent chapter for Joey, wouldn't it? They always say... write what you experience. Collect the raw data. I suppose... I’m just doing my research for the next book."
Footsteps.
Again. Not from the back exit. From the side corridor near the old boiler room. Slow. Measured. Vain.
I sighed, my shoulders pulling inward as a long shadow began to crawl across the concrete toward my bare ankles.
"Oh... for the love of all things holy. Not again. The pacing of this act is completely exhausting."
The long shadow stretched across the concrete until it reached my bare feet. It stopped. Then the owner stepped into the yellow light. Still smiling. Still wearing that perfectly pressed uniform. He crouched in front of me. Not close enough for comfort. Close enough to enjoy it.
"I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered.
His voice was almost gentle.
"You aren't so clever now...are you, Miss Calloway?"
His fingers wrapped around my chin, forcing my face upward. My bruised jaw screamed. I smiled anyway.
"Oh..."
Blood dripped from the corner of my mouth onto the polished leather of his boot.
"I bruised your ego...didn't I?"
His smile vanished.
"Did the little quarterback never learn that popularity expires after graduation?"
His jaw tightened.
"Or...does it still bother you...that Detective Reed never trusted you enough to let you sit at the grown-ups' table?"
For a second… Something cracked behind his eyes. Not anger. Something uglier. Hatred. Real hatred. His hand shot to my throat. Fingers like steel. My airway disappeared beneath the crushing pressure.
"Fuck."
His voice shook now.
"YOU. Seraphina."
My vision exploded into stars.
"You think you're funny?"
His grip tightened.
"You think you're smarter than me? I saw you crying over that stupid dog. I wished I had killed him. Sliced him open for you to find."
The world narrowed down to a tiny, suffocating point of black ink. My lungs burned for air, my chest heaving against the chair rungs, my core clenching as the pressure behind my ears turned into a violent, rhythmic thrum.
Inside my head, Gerald was screaming.
"Fight, Seraphina! Fight the restriction!"
"SERAPHINA!"
Frank shrieked louder, his ceramic voice cracking into a dozen white fragments.
The room shrank. The black dots exploded across my vision, the yellow bulb above me fading into a flat, grey mirror. His face was right in front of mine, his grin creepy and wide, watching life leave my eyes.
BANG.
One gunshot. A violent, air-snapping rifle crack that ricocheted off the four-inch concrete walls like a thunderbolt.