I strain to open my eyes.
My eyelids feel as though they are weighted down by barbells. There's no budging. I will my brain to command them to open--even if just for a second. A small, quick peek and they can go right back to sleep. I bribe them. Promising hour long naps everyday, or with sights my eyes have never seen before--
hell, I'll take you to the Grand Canyon if you just cooperate! After pleading for what seemed like hours, my eyes start to flutter open and come to life. One at a time, with a slow and steady pace, they open expecting a blinding light to excruciate my senses.
But it was the exact opposite.
It was pitch dark. So dark that I couldn't make out a single thing that stood in front of me. So dark that I couldn't tell if I had actually opened my eyes. For a split second, I panicked thinking I had gone blind. I went to grab my face, to run my fingers over my eyes to make sure they were in fact open. But I couldn't. I couldn't move my arms an inch. Because they were bound behind my back.
This dark was far more than dangerous.
I realize that I was laying on my side, facing out. My arms were ruthlessly yanked behind my back and tied with zip-ties at the wrist and elbow. I could feel the plastic digging in to my skin and with every yank I made the plastic dig in deeper--I could feel it slicing my flesh and drawing blood. I tried to sit up but the second I moved my legs, a gut-wrenching pain shot through my body.
I could tell it was my ribs.
When I was 13, I was a top in stunting for my middle school's competitive cheerleading team. This meant I was thrown in the air, completed a toe-touch or other maneuver, and then caught by my other teammates. I had been practicing for weeks without a single problem. Our first competition was coming up and our coach started us on 6-day a week practices. We were nearing perfection, but fatigue must have set it among us all. After completing my last stunt--which I nailed-- I came back down to earth to no ones waiting arms. I slammed down on to the hardwood floor on my side--braking my arm at the elbow and bruising 4 of my ribs. It ended my cheerleading career for good.
The pain I was feeling now was much worse. My ribs were broken, I could tell that much. All of them from what I could tell. It was hard to even breath without sending my body into complete agony. But I knew I couldn't stay like this. I gritted through the pain and managed to shift my body into a sitting position by leaning against the wall behind me and bracing my legs as an anchor.
Once sitting, I leaned back against the wall trying to still my heart and stop my head from spinning. Even with the dark, everything around me was blurred and my body was shaking from head to toe. From my forehead, I could feel something dripping down on to my cheek and falling to my chest. I tasted dirty pennies and knew it was blood. Somewhere by my crown, there was a gash of some sort that had reopened and was bleeding freely down my face. I shifted my arms up, trying to wipe some of the blood from my cheek. I felt the fabric of my shirt shift and fall to the side.
The shirt I was wearing was sliced right down the middle. Exposing me.
Panic set it again. Unbelievably horrifying panic that makes a person faint.
What happened?
Where am I?
I crammed my brain for a memory. For the last thing I could remember before waking up here. Anything to shed some light on my sorroundings.
I went for a run.
It was after work. Really really stressful week--nothing went right. I needed to complete a massive pile of data reports and every time I started, I got pulled away by a co-worker who needed their hand held through one of their assignments. Naturally, I got none of my own work done and when I left work on Friday, I sat in my car and screamed at the top of my lungs.
I needed to release.
I needed a nice long run, with no distraction. Just music pumping in my head and the feeling of my feet against asphalt. I got home, quickly changed, grabbed my I-Pod and hit the road.
I remember my music was blaring. It was as loud as it could go--but naturally not loud enough for me. Nicki Minaj's "Pound the Alarm" was playing. Great running buddy and her music always pumped me up. Her beats made me run harder and dance bigger. Even with her pounding in my ears, I was focused and in control. I stared straight ahead and let my feet do the leading. I felt my heart's steady rhythm and the burning in my legs. It felt great. I never felt more alive.
"Damn," I thought as I felt my sneakers loosen. I glanced down and saw my left shoe lace flapping in the breeze. I waited until I was safely on a sidewalk before I stopped running and took a knee to tie the offending lace.
I remember the song had just switched to "Starships". I remember I finished tying the lace and switched to the other shoe--retying the laces just for a safety measure. I double knotted it and then looked up for a split second and took a deep breath.
Then a lot happened at once.
I know I was grabbed from behind. Big hands with powerful arms gripped me around the waist and pinned my arms to my side. I think I went into shock because my body went rigid and I let him take me. Then I went into attack mode and kicked and thrashed as hard as I could. I screamed at the top of my lungs until a rag was put over my mouth and I was stiffened. I remember taking long, huge breaths and I felt myself slipping away. The world went dark and everything around me started to disappear. The last thing I remember is my body being lifted off the ground.
I had been taken.
This wasn't a game or a cruel joke from one of my friends.
This was real.
"Oh God! Oh God," I cried out, feeling the dark getting darker and my bonds tighter. Panic was seeping in to my bones--I could feel my heart racing.
How long have I been here? Hours? Days? I wracked my memory for any small clue, anything to figure out what happened between being taken and dumped here. I knew I was beaten to a pulp--my aching ribs and the blood pouring down my face were clue enough--but had anything else happened? My torn shirt could only mean one of two things, and I hoped to God it was the lesser of two evils. It scared me down to my core that I couldn't connect the dots. That my mind was completely blank.
I didn't want to cry. I wanted to stay strong and resolute. Be the strong independent woman I had always told my mother I was. But the tears flowed anyway. I couldn't be strong. Not now.
Was anyone looking for me? Did anyone know I was missing? My parents? Friends? Did anyone see it happen and do nothing? Were policemen searching the streets? Did I drop anything that would lead someone here? Maybe there were outside right now....
"I'm here! I'm here! My name is Sarah Updike! I'm here! Someone please! Help," I screamed at the top of my lungs. Out into the dark. I screamed and screamed until my throat went hoarse.
Maybe there's a window? I struggled against my bonds, I tried to squeeze my wrists out of the ties. They wouldn't budge. I tried to stand up, anchoring myself against the wall again. But my ribs wouldn't let me. I inched myself against the wall, into a corner where at least there I felt safer.
I had to come up with a game plan. A way to get out of here. A way to save my sanity and my life.
I heard a floorboard creak.
From right in front of me.
With as much effort as I could muster, I braced myself against the wall again and forced myself to stand. My ribs felt like they were braking all over again, but my anger got me through it. If whatever I heard was coming to where I was, I would be ready. I'd go down kicking and screaming if nothing else.
Another board creaked and this time I heard footsteps with it. I tried to calm myself down and steady my heart. Whoever it was, they were taking their damn time getting here. Every second he got closer, my energy and inner fight rose.
A blinding light hit me full on in the face.
I turned my head towards the wall, trying to protect my aching eyes. After a few seconds, I forced myself to look back at the now fully lit room. Blurred objects started to take shape--a turned over night stand, a thick wool blanket that seemed to be covering a window, an lampshade-less lamp. It was small--only slightly bigger than my office at work.
Then I saw him.
The man standing in the light that poured in from the hallway. He was tall. Very, very tall but lanky. The rest of him was cast in shadow so I couldn't make out any facial features. Except that he wore his hair long and tied back in a pony tail. He took long and labored breaths--I could hear him breathing from the safety of my corner.
I prepared myself for what was to come next. For him to enter the room and chop my body to pieces. For him to rip the remainder of my clothes from my body and rape me--if he already hadn't. For him to destroy me body and soul. I knew I was here for a reason and it couldn't be a good one--with such a sinister figure before me, this was not a casual kidnapping. But I would not be his victim. I wouldn't give him that.
So I waited.
And stared him down.
And he didn't move.
Not an inch.
He stared right back at me--I assumed, because I couldn't see his face. He just stood there and did nothing. And I wasn't about to give in--I stared right back at him, trying to convey everything I was feeling through my eyes. He wasn't budging and neither was I--although my legs were starting to give way. I felt my knees buckle and I slammed back down to the floor, with an agonizing blow to my ribs. My eyes teared up in pain, but I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't let him see me cry. Once the pain abated, I looked up and to see my ominous captor still hovering in the shadows by the door.
"What! What the hell do you want from me," I screamed at him, unable to take it any longer. Again he didn't react--just shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"Answer me!" I screamed again. I hated him more than I thought I could in that moment. Not simply because he stole me off the street, but because he just stood there and did nothing. I wanted him to move. Do something. Do what you brought me here for and then end it!
He moved towards me. Slowly with thought out steps. As he got closer, his hand shifted up towards his hip and pulled something out from his pocket. A glint of metal blinked from his hand--it was a long, thin cylinder. I felt my heart drop, I knew what it was when he held it in front of his face and liquid squirted out.
A syringe.
I shifted my legs up into a protective stance. "Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed when he was within inches. I kicked at his hands when he grabbed for my legs. He grabbed my legs and pulled me towards him, pulling my head to the floor with a smack. I screamed and tried to wriggle away from him, but he held me down and straddled himself across my chest. No matter how hard I tried, there was no budging him.
I was trapped.
He leaned down close to my face, as if he was going to kiss me. In a last ditch effort, I spit in his face. He was startled and he pulled back from me, wiping his face on his t-shirt. He grabbed my face before I could blink. He pulled me towards him.
"We don't spit," he whispered in to my ear, still holding my face in a death grip. His breath was hot and thick. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave--I felt like I was going to vomit. He continued to hold my face like that, squeezing harder on my cheeks and draining all the blood from my face. He looked at me like he was waiting for a reply, so I shook my head.
"Good girl," he said and let go of my face.
I spit in his face again with all the force I could muster. Without wiping his face, he jumped off my chest and flipped me around onto my stomach. I screamed out in pain, unable to contain it. I could feel him pulling down my pants and I screamed harder and tried kicking my feet again.
Then I felt a sharp prick pierce my skin.
"Now you'll be good," he whispered again, massaging my back side.
I knew I had only minutes left. That.....that......it would....all....slip
away
***
"And now we move on to the next ward," Doctor Shields said to his young intern. He took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the chained gate that stood in front of them. Both handed their IDs to the waiting guard who checked them in and allowed them to walk down the hall.
They walked for a few minutes, in a barely lit hallway with no decorations or signs of life. Making a left at the end of the hall, it wasn't much different. Except now there were nurses and other doctors.
"This is Ward 9. The Psychiatric Ward. Most patients on this hallways are on 24 hour surveillance and are monitored. These are our most extreme cases, and the utmost care and protection is given to our staff and patients alike. Thus the guards on each hallway," the Doctor continued as the intern took notes in a small notepad he held in his hand.
"Shall we take a look," he said turning to one of the bolted doors that lined the hallways. He pulled the patients file out and handed it to the intern, encouraging him to read aloud the diagnosis.
"Updike, Sarah. Age: 26. Admitted to Ward 9 at the age of 15. Diagnosis: Acute Schizophrenia with manic tendencies. Thought to be the result of a fall from a sports competition."
"Yes, yes. Sarah is one of our special patients. Care to take a look," Dr Shields said, motioning to the small window in the center of the door. The intern stepped forward and peered inside the room. It was fully lit, as must rooms were on this ward. Housed a single chair, a night table and bed that were all bolted to the floor. In the bed was a woman, laying on her back with the blanket pulled up to her chin. She was awake, but staring straight up but at nothing. There was also an IV drip set next to her bed, pumping fluids into her.
"Is she comatose," the intern asked, turning back to the doctor.
"At this time, yes. Her fits are unusual as they result in a comatose state that we are unable to revive her from. This current state has been active for a few weeks--the result of a lax in medication when she awoke the last time. Sometimes she comes out of it, for a few hours at most. She is acutely aware of who she is, but not why she is here. Her delusions have convinced her that we kidnapped her. We found a stash of her meds hidden in a crack in the wall the last night we searched her room. Soon after she slipped right back into the "dream" as we call it. We can tell there is brain activity as we can see eyelid movement and occasionally she screams out. It is really an interesting case--of which we are trying to make a study of. If only we could keep her awake for more than a few hours."
The intern looked back in to the room. At the girl sleeping soundly in the bed in the lonely room.
"On to the next?" the doctor asked.
