Chapter 43
Seven days gone
Fading. If Alexa Clarke had to describe herself in one word, that would be it. But if fading felt like this, then Alexa didn’t mind. Fading was far better than facing another second of the torture she had endured during her time in the white room.
Never again would Alexa Clarke look at common household items in the same naive way. Not when her time with the captor had taught her an array of different purposes they could have.
A pair of tweezers, for example, could scour skin as effectively as a blade if plunged into it hard enough. It was all about the force and depth of the cut. That ratio was something the captor had been working hard to perfect. Alexa’s smooth skin had been optimal for their experiments.
The belt of a dressing-gown might help keep the cold at bay, but it was also an excellent tool to choke someone with. Twice the captor had wrapped a flannelette cord around Alexa’s neck. Twice they had strangled her to the point she passed out.
In fact, every time the captor entered the white room, they brought a new object with them.
They would hold it in the air to show Alexa what it usually does.
Then, once the innocent function was demonstrated, the captor would show Alexa their version of how best to use it.
Each time, a polaroid was taken to document the occasion.
Everyday innocent items, taking on the role of something else entirely when in the captor’s hands.
Alexa Clarke, waiting for the moment her body finally surrendered completely.
A moment that was creeping closer.
A moment she hoped would hurry up.
As someone shuffled about downstairs, Alexa wondered if that meant the captor was preparing to come into the room again.
She wanted to care about what they were going to do next time, but she couldn’t.
There was nothing left inside her to give to those worries.
No spirit, no fight, no hope. The captor had taken it all.
Fading. Yes, Alexa Clarke was fading. Fading into the darkness of sleep, where no pain and sadness could ever touch her again.