Chapter 7

Time held no meaning for her any longer. The few moments that she had in the light were shadowed by him. The rest of the time, she was alone in the dark with the voices. She didn't know if it were night or day. She didn't know how long she had been held here. And she held no hope that she would ever leave.

The lack of hope was what was the hardest. At least, when she hoped, she could imagine something better, her parents meeting her at the airport with open arms and forgiving smiles. Her ex-boyfriend, the cause of all her pain and troubles, falling to his knees to apologize and beg her to take him back. All those thoughts were gone now, eaten away by despair.

Now she lived for the rattle of keys in a lock and the click of a switch bringing light. Even if that same light also brought the devil and pain.

She heard the faint rattle now and closed her eyes tight. The light was wonderful, the light was warmth and relief from the voices that came from the dark. But it hurt her eyes.

He came into the room, carrying a bundle under his arm. He hit the switch for the lights and the button on the stereo that turned off the cassette player. The tape that he let play while he was gone from his studies was reversible and the tape player automatically flipped it, playing both sides until he turned it off.

The girl needed washing. She had fouled herself while he was gone, he could smell stale feces and bitter urine from where he stood at the door. She had her eyes shut tight against the brightness of the light.

She had been the best so far. She fought him, giving him lots of raw data to mull through later. She was defiant. He liked that. When they gave up too quickly, he got bored and then the rage took over.

He took the blanket off of her and threw it in a corner to be disposed of. He took tiny samples of the filth that lay between her legs, ignoring the stench. The stench was part of the job, it was part of the experiment. The smells were just one more aspect of the 'science'.

"I have a treat for you today," he said as he dropped the bundle on his desk.

A sigh of relief. The benefactor not the knife.

She had learned quickly that he hated it when she begged and pleaded. It made him mad. The benefactor was what he called himself in the voices in the dark. He liked defiance. The more she fought him, the gentler he was.

"I don't want anything from you but to go home," her voice was hoarse and rough but she tried to sound tough.

He chuckled, pleased. He stroked her hair, the side of her face and reached behind him for a knife.

It was hard not to cringe away and show her fear but she managed. He played with the knife for a moment, pushing the blade into his own finger tip just enough to leave a welt but not to cut the flesh. He was good with knives, not as good as the other was, but in his own way, an expert.

He reached above her and did something with the knife, surprising her when she felt the ropes around her arms go slack. He was cutting her loose. She felt a pain start deep inside and realize it was hope, a tiny dim light of hope.

He cut her feet loose and pulled her up by her shoulders, letting her sit at the edge of her table and catch her balance. She didn't know how long she had been tied to that table but sitting up was making her dizzy and her hands and feet throbbed terribly. Her arms ached from being held so tightly above her head. She gasped at the pain and swayed, but he held her firmly.

"Come on, Sara," he called her by name for the first time since she had been taken. "Lean on me."

She had no choice. She couldn't feel anything but pain from her feet. He half carried her into the tiny space that she had figured was a bathroom, leaning her against the wall while he adjusted the pressure and temperature of the water in the tiny shower stall.

She stood under the hot water for long minutes, feeling it wash away dirt and his touch down the drain in a swirling wash. His hands were in his hair, rubbing firmly at the greasy, stringy mass that was too matted and fouled to clean easily. He rubbed in some sweet smelling shampoo, rinsing and then repeating the entire procedure. His hands smoothed down her body, massaging aching muscles and rubbing the dirt away.

She hadn't thought anything could feel so good. She would never take being clean for granted again. The water soaked into her skin and into her pores.

When he turned off the water, she leaned weakly against the side of the stall, not understanding why something so trivial should wear her out so much.

He pulled a couple of big towels out of a cupboard and wrapped one around her body, the second he put over her head, gently rubbing her hair to get the excess water out. Then he guided her gently out of the shower. He sat on the toilet lid and pulled her to stand between his legs as he patted her dry.

When he determined that she was dry enough, he reversed their positions, sitting her gently on the toilet lid, making sure the towel was wrapped securely around her. He pulled the towel from her hair and gently brushed through the damp tangled mess. He didn't pull, instead untangling snarls with his fingers until the brush would go through smoothly. And she sat there and leaned into him, grateful to feel clean, to be taken care of even if it was by a monster.

When he had brushed her hair almost dry, the blonde tresses laying like silk against her shoulders, he pulled her back to a standing position and helped her back into the main room. He sat her at a chair that he pulled away from his long desk. She didn't move as he cleaned up the table, long sweeping strokes with a big sponge and some heavy disinfectant cleaning the mess quickly.

He reached into a cupboard and cut some new lengths of rope, measuring it against each other for length and then securing the new bonds where the old ones had been.

When he turned toward her, Sara started shaking her head. "No, no fucking way." She hit at him when he got close to her and tried to get up to run from him. Her feet were still too numb and she fell against him, screaming as he pulled her back to the table.