Page 3

TWO

UNKNOWN

The room is so dark, not even shadows exist here. That’s the first thought I have when my body suddenly jerks and my eyes spring open. I blink several times, hoping they’ll adjust and find something familiar—but without light, there’s nothing. I hold my hand in front of my face, just inches from my nose, but it’s barely even visible, a gray figment that my mind hardly recognizes. The air is thick and damp, reeking of mildew and wet socks. I pull myself into a sitting position and press my hands down at my sides, feeling the slight give of a spring mattress. The coils sink under the pressure before rising back into place.

My head throbs, and a harsh wave of dizziness washes over me. I feel sick, like I could throw up at any moment. I rub my fingers against my temples, willing the memories to come back. But they won’t. They’re gone—maybe for now, maybe forever. What happened last night? Did I drink too much? Did I get my hands on some LSD or E again?

“Hello?” I call out into the void as I shift my weight and stand shakily.

The pads of my feet leave the thin mattress and settle onto a cold, hard surface. I take a cautious step forward, and that’s when I hear it—the sound of metal dragging across concrete. I try to move farther into the darkness, but my leg is jerked back abruptly. A sharp pain pricks at my ankle, the metal cuff digging into my skin.

“What the fuck?” I reach down and feel the cold shackle. The realization that it’s clamped around my ankle, locking me in place, brings on a sudden panic attack. My pulse races and my breaths come out quick and hard. I shiver despite sweat oozing from my pores. “No, no, no... help ! Somebody help! Please!” The tears fall fast, and I scream until my throat is raw and all the air is out of my lungs.

Collapsing onto the mattress, I grab at the chain and yank and tug as hard as I can, shredding the skin on my hands in the process. “Come on, you piece of shit, let me go!” I scream, hoping there’s a weak link or that it’ll pull free from whatever it’s fastened to.

I crawl forward, following the chain to its source—a thick metal pole cemented into the concrete floor. Standing, I run my hands up the pole as high as I can. It must be a support beam that extends to the ceiling because I can’t reach the top of it. I return my attention to the chain, feeling my way along the length of it. Tethered like a satellite in orbit, I only have about six feet of slack to move in any direction.

With my hands out in front of me, I start to explore my surroundings. A wall appears, and I place a palm against it, following the coarse concrete until the chain cuffed around my ankle is pulled taut.

“Shit!” I grumble as my shin smacks into something hard. I lean down until the tips of my fingers touch it, feeling a smooth circular rim. It’s a bucket, a heavy-duty plastic one you’d pick up at a hardware store. I continue my search. My hands skim across a rough, grainy surface—wood, I think. Something nicks my palm, and I jerk away. Wincing in pain, I bring the wound to my mouth and suck on it until the pain subsides. The tinge of blood leaves a metallic taste in my mouth.

I return to the mattress and pull my knees into my chest and cry, rocking back and forth as I weep. My hand grazes a blanket—no, a sleeping bag. I grab it and cocoon it around my body, shielding me from the dark hell I’ve woken up in.