Page 11 of Written in the Scars

Is it him, did he bring me here? He’s the only one who knew where I was going to be on what day and at what time, he used a blocked number to contact me, he followed me to work, followed me at Crawl the same night, knew where I lived before, I told him.

I’m internally screaming at myself! How could I be so fucking stupid? How could I put so much trust in someone I don’t even know?!

My thoughts are interrupted by the sting of the tape being ripped from my mouth.

“FUCK, that hurt, you basterd!”

I realize getting verbally aggressive with him isn’t going to help me right now. I take a deep breath, appreciating the ease of breathing again.

I flinch as his hand grabs my chin, his grasp pulling my jaw down. A cool glass contacting my bottom lip as liquid begins to fill my mouth. As he lets go, I spit it straight back out, coating him in whatever he tried to feed me.

“For fuck’s sake”, finally a voice but it’s not Orion, I’d know his voice anywhere. “It’s just water.” He repeats the process, however he holds my mouth shut this time, when I refuse to swallow, he holds my nose too. I try to stand my ground but it’s no use, I begin to see stars in the darkness of my closed eyes. It tastes like water but that means nothing and doesn’t ease my discomfort.

If he isn’t Orion, then who the fuck is it? Maybe, I was just too nosey. You know, wrong place, wrong time. Story of my life, right?

Maybe it ishim, maybehegot help, waiting in the shadows all this time for his revenge, to finish what he started all those years ago.

“Look, I haven’t seen your face, I don’t know who you are, you could drop me off at the side of any road and I’d have no way of identifying you or the location you have me in.” I sound desperate, but who wouldn’t in this situation?

Orion

The lobby is getting busy now, as the offices begin to empty, leaning against the central column I keep my eyes peeled for the bubbly receptionist. I had time to go grab coffee before the end of her shift. I wasn’t sure what she drank but she seems like the kind of girl to go for something oat based with syrups and decaf, with a whipped cream topping.

She comes into the lobby, all smiley and flirting with a couple of businessmen, I presume from one of the other floors. She makes eye contact with me and makes a swift turn to go back towards the elevators. Not today, I have questions, and she knows something.

I catch her by the elbow, bringing her back towards me, our bodies closer than I’d prefer. Moving my mouth close to her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, I just need to talk”, my voice soft and reassuring. But I’m not lying, I won't hurt a woman, not unless she is my black hair, green eyed queen and even then, the pain I cause her is for her own pleasure. The receptionist turns to face me, eyeing the two coffee cups in the holder. Reaching, I pass her the sickening concoction the barista made up for her and nod my head towards the front doors.

Crossing the street, we find a bench in the small green area, there’s not as much foot traffic here. She hangs her head low, staring at the lipstick on the lid of her take away coffee. “So, we both know Reagan isn’t home ill.” Her eyes fill with water as she turns it slightly away from me, a jagged sigh leaving her mouth. “You know something, if she is in danger and you don’t say anything then you're just as bad as the person who has her.” Anger seeping into the tone of my voice, I don’t try to calm myself.

“I don’t know anything, I know that she didn’t contact the office in regard to being ill and working from home” tears begin to fall down her rose tinted cheeks, “No one at the office as heard from her and her roommate has been asking after her too” she finally looks at me, she suddenly looks childlike, soft and innocent.

“Tell me, what’s the story Reagan was working on before she went missing?” if she’s been taken then it has to do with this story, or her scars but we can’t find anything in her background check in regard to how she got them. “She was scoping Crawl most nights, what’s going on there?”, her expression confused as I shoot question after question, she wipes away her fallen tears, blinking up at me “I’ve no idea, I only ever overheard her complain to two of the other journalists about how boring it was. There were never any updates or interviews”, her eyes widened. “Do you really think that it has something to do with Crawl? It's just a dirty gents club though, right?” I give her a forced smile. “Look, I appreciate your help, but I should go, and we don’t want to get anyone else in trouble”, I bring myself to my feet. “Don’t tell anyone I was here, we don’t want to alert anyone that I’m looking into this.” I leave her with a nod as I walk away.

Reaching for my phone, I hit a call on Frank. He has to turn it back on sometime. A sigh of relief as I hear the dial tone echo from my headphones. “Orion.” He sounds tired, I can hear him pounding at the keys of his computer. “Do you have anything on Crawl?” he sighs at my question. “Nothing, I don’t know who gave the lead for her story but I can't find anything that stands out!” It sounds like he slams his fist into the keyboard. “The street cameras show her crossing the street after a close call with a black SUV then nothing, like she just vanished into thin air” there’s frustration in his voice.

After Frank hangs up, I head straight for Reagan’s apartment. After checking the camera feed of her apartment I know Selene is home and I think it’s time I spoke with her. She won’t have answers, but maybe she can give me something to tide me over till tonight.

Reagan

I feel weaker and weaker by the minute, not that I can keep trackof time. It's always dark for me now, I’ve adjusted to the dingy smell and every now and then he feeds me and gives me water. The first glass didn’t affect me, however I’m most likely going to die here so why hesitate at the chance of the quick release by poison.

I’ve been in and out of consciousness for what feels like forever, he isn’t here all the time, and when he is, he doesn’t talk much. And I presume he doesn’t want me dead, yet. though he has a bloody funny way of showing it, having me hanging here like a piece of meat waiting to be slaughtered.

I need to think of a way out of this, play into his game somehow.

I won't die like this.

I didn’t die like this the first-time round, I won’t die like this now.

I hear the door open behind me, footsteps and what sounds like a metal trolley rattling on the concrete floor. I try to keep myself calm as panic begins to flow through me again. Speak Reagan, use your fucking words, that’s what your good at.

“Hello?” I clear my throat, it's dry, making my voice husky. It's kind of hot if I’m being honest. Trying to sound unfazed by the situation he has me in. “So do I ever get to see who has me hung and displayed like a work of art?”, maybe flirting isn’t the best idea, but I’ve got to try something. Anything.

He chuckles, it's low and menacing. A draft coming from the still open-door casts goosebumps along my skin, and he lets out a whispered growl at the sight. Does he think my body isresponding to him? “All in good time, first eat and drink.” , he repeats the motions, grabbing my chin and feeding me.

My mouth fills with water, I can’t remember a time I ever savored the lack of taste and feel of water, but right now it’s like ecstasy as it hydrates my throat. Next, I take a few bites of a sandwich, it’s the same as usual, chicken salad with a small amount of salad cream. After he is finished, I can feel colour coming back to my face, a little more strength in my body.

The sound of a wooden chair drags along the floor, it creaks as I presume, he takes a seat.

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