Page 55 of A Light in the Darkness
And then he’s there, standing right above me. I can’t hear anything beyond the wail of the alarm, but I can tell by the way his mouth moves and the rage in his eyes that he’s screaming, furious. He drops his weight on me— a hand across the face sendsrippling pain over my cheek, and then I see the wrench in his other hand just as he brings it through the air. Instinct guides my hands to cover my face.
Though I don’t get enough slack to keep the blow from glancing off my head, it hits almost perfectly between my wrists.
Maybe the impact of the fall let the link at my wrists loosen, and his attempt to shut me up with the heavy iron actually breaks the chain. Maybe I have a sadistic guardian angel who isn’t yet ready to let me out of this cruel misery. However it happens, I feel the release as my wrists are freed, so I scramble to grab the chain before it falls away as my captor seems to get his bearings back. He’s even less used to the darkness than me, which is my only advantage.
I don’t know what his play is right now—maybe the alarm isn’t backed up to a fire station. Maybe it isn’t as loud as it feels. I don’t know if he means to kill me or just shut me up for a minute, but he’s already told me he’s playing for keeps. So, I do the same, gripping the chain that was wrapped around my wrists, pulling it taut between my hands.
He’s too busy trying to scramble for the wrench he lost control of to notice, and when he gets it in his hands, he turns back to me, and I see the objective. He doesn’t want to kill me—he wants me to suffer, slowly, painfully. He wants to break me apart bit by bit; he’s already begun. My ploy for freedom has angered him, but he is controlled enough that he isn’t willing to sacrifice weeks or months of fun with me for the sake of it.
But I am. I’m willing to die to spite him. He drops the wrench like he’s had a better thought and fumbles in his pocket for something, slipping it into his palm as his hand comes down to cover my tender nose and mouth.
A sudden tugging at my neck tells me exactly what he took from his pocket—a remote. It drags me steadily and slowly backwards across the cold and wet ground, and he moves over me, the strobing red light making his cruel eyes seem so much more malicious.
But I’m a killer, too. And there’s no time like the present to remember it. In one fluid motion, I get the chain around the back of his neck and wrap it tightly around it, pulling so hard that his fear is immediate, visceral. His hand leaves my face to claw at the chain, but it does little to allow me to breathe… just as it does little to allow him to pry his away.
“Let’s see who can hold out longer.” I hiss, even knowing that he can’t hear me.
He wanted to fuck with me, not kill me. I want to kill him, and I’ve got the chain in just the right spot to do it. I don’t let it drop even as his eyes bug out of his head, desperate with fear and the pressure I’m forcing into two directions.
I catch glimpses of his struggle in the strobing red light—his tongue poking out from behind his lips, trying to scream for mercy he wouldn’t give me, his eyes wide with terror that he stoked in me.
I’ve linked my fingers through the ends of the chain, and I pull them so hard in opposite directions that I think my fingers may fall off. I welcome it before his body goes limp, easing against me even as he still fights slowly, his motions becoming jauntier, less coordinated. He weighs me down, his body pinning mine to the cement, and I choke the life out of him with intention.
I watch as the life leaves his eyes, as they flutter with his fight to stay awake. I watch him succumb, his neck dropping at the same time as his hands, until only I’m keeping him up by the chain in hand. I feel the warmth spread out around me when he pisses himself over top of me, like he just wants to land one last hit. And I think I feel the minute his soul is gone, ferried away to whatever Hell exists for monsters like him.
I’m shaking when I drop the chain, but I won’t let it go just in case he’s still alive. I waste no time bucking him off me, though. He falls to the ground without ceremony.
I turn behind me to get a look at whatever he had me attached to—a massive spool of chain, clicking and groaning as it pulls me toward it.
It’s going to strangle me.
Panic tries to ignite in my veins, but it’s blunted by the common sense that I need to get out of this. My feet gain no traction on the ground, slipping in the water and piss, a useless attempt to slow myself down. I reach behind my neck, forcing my fingers beneath the chain, trying to pry it away with all my might. But when my fingers graze over the cool metal, I know it’s useless. He fucking padlocked me to this thing, and now the motor is reeling me in like brush into a woodchipper.
The flame behind me flickers and grows despite the water raining down upon it, sparking over wires that are sticking out of what I presume to be his control panel. It’s my last hope, and it’s so wild and desperate that I lunge at it, blindly feeling for a button, a lever, anything.
The touch sends a shock straight through me, racing up my fingertips, tracing a path through my stomach, and zipping out my toes. For a moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe, every part of me on lock as I’m dragged, nearly lifeless across the wet floor.
And then the grinding sound of the chain coiling turns to a whine, the movement slows, and the tugging stops, leaving me breathless, flat on my back as I try to catch my breath.
The world’s gone quiet, peaceful in a way, as I stare up at the ceiling, the darkness no longer suffocating. In fact, it’s actually kind of comforting, a welcoming difference from the angry red lights flashing in the edges of my peripherals.
There’s no more fear or cold as I lie there and focus on breathing freely for the first time in too long.
Iamdarkness, and for once, I’m at peace with it.
I don’t realize my eyes have closed until they’re fluttering open, surprised at the sudden warmth on my skin, the touch. The lightoverhead makes me blink hard against it, turning and expecting to see my captor, my father, my mother’s rapist.
I don’t even recognize the man looking down at me, just as I don’t hear the words that are falling from his lips, which are moving rapidly, opening and closing around words that I’m not sure are meant for me.
When he scoops me up, I expect to feel the weight of the chain drag me back, but it doesn’t. I’m weightless in his arms, and it occurs to me that I’m somewhere between consciousness and not. I feel myself bounce against his chest with every step, a little of the chain still holding fast to my mind falling away with each stair we ascend.
By the time we reach the top of the staircase, awareness has me putting my fragmented thoughts together enough to realize I know the man who picked me up… the man who hasn’t yet set me down.
“No.” It comes out as a whisper, but seconds later, it’s a cry. I dig my nails into the skin at his neck, his arms, trying to push out of his grip. “No!”
“It’s okay!” He says, ignoring my pleas. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.”
“NO!” I push out of his arms, taking him by surprise so that he doesn’t have a chance to try and restrain me.
