Working the Case

21

𖤍𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚗𖤍

My heart pounds uncontrollably in my chest as I work hard to breathe. I hum quietly, turning my head away from the pain. The pain follows me.

I can't see. I can't breathe.

It's a new panic that I've never felt before in my life. I can't breathe. I try, and try, and try, but it's never enough air.

It's like hitting the very bottom of the deepest part of the pool and then turning around to swim up to the surface. But your chest is already constricting and your throat is beginning to burn.

That pure panic grows too much for me. With one of the breaths I try letting out, a desperate sound escapes my throat. Almost like a pathetic whimper.

"Relax."

The voice is strangely calm. Soft, even. And it's familiar.

"Will," I call for him desperately, wondering if he can help get rid of this panic.

"Just breathe."

"I can't."

Will huffs at that. "Fuck." He curses quietly. The little hint of anxiety in his voice only makes my panic greater.

I start trying to stand, realizing I'm sitting. On the hard ground. It's not quite cold, but it's not warm either. It's uncomfortable.

The heel of my boot hits the ground loudly, coaxing the sound of rubber on wood out. I realize it's a familiar sound, not just walking on any regular wood.

It's the cabin. I'm on the floor of the cabin. And my wrists ache. I tug at them, but don't get far. Something rough bounds around my wrists, attaching me to the wall behind me.

"Will," I repeat, wondering if he's feeling the same.

"You're fine." Will dismisses me quickly. "You didn't get hit that hard—You're fine." He insists. It's almost like he's trying to convince himself that I'm fine instead of me.

I didn't get hit that hard. Something hit me. In the head, maybe. That's where it aches. The first conclusion I come to is that there was an accident outside the cabin and now I'm here with Will while he figures it out for me.

But it doesn't make sense the more I think.

I can't see because something is over my eyes. Black, soft fabric is tied over my eyes and around my head. And the restraints behind me feels like tight rope. I try to remember the last thing that happened before I got here. And when I realize it, I stop calling to Will for help.

That panic starts getting worse—I didn't even think it was possible for it to be worse. I'm drowning.

"Will, untie me." I demand. I grimace when my head falls back against the wall, shooting white hot pain up the right side of my head.

"You're fine." Will insists. I start to grasp the situation better and better the more I kick around.

I still can't make sense of any of it, but I know it's not good.

"What are you doing—What are you doing?" I groan loudly, giving up on kicking the ground uselessly for now.

"Fuck—I'm sorry." Will blurts out. His panic doesn't help me, but at least doesn't make this worse for me anymore than it already has.

"Will, untie me." I order again. "If you're sorry, you'd untie me."

"I can't."

"You can." I argue quickly. "I can't breathe, Will. You have to untie me."