The Festival: A Psychological Thriller Novella

Chapter Six

Wednesday, October 4th

"So you remember one of the murders," Emma says, still implying that I was responsible for all of them.

"I remember all of the murders," I start, returning the same condescending tone she gave me, "because I witnessed all of them."

"You mean that you committed them," she snaps back.

"I did not," I scream at the top of my lungs again, and return to my feet, staring down at Emma, making myself feel bigger than her.

The room feels like it's closing in on me. I can feel my heart beginning to speed up and my breathing is becoming erratic. I think I'm having a panic attack. The room begins to spin and my limbs feel like they no longer exist. My eyes dart around the room, looking for anything I possibly can to ground myself with.

It's not the first time I've had one of these, but each time it happens, the worse it seems to become. Every time a panic attack comes on, it's like I forget everything I've been taught in the last couple of months about fending them off. I have to really focus on my thoughts and try to remember the steps it takes to fight them.

I sit back down, but this time is Emma's chair across the room. I need to get away from her. I can't be here anymore; forget what I said earlier, I need out. I refuse to give her any more of my time. She stands up and approaches me, her hands outstretched toward me. I throw my arms up in front of my face as if I'm shielding myself from a fire.

I jump up and head for the door, lunging at the handle, but missing it by just an inch or two. I fall to the ground and my face slams into the hard ground. I look down and see blood dripping from my nose and reach up, one last time. Checking behind me, Emma continues to skulk toward me; I've never seen her in this light before. Just her presence makes the room feel like it goes cold.

My hand is stretched out for the door handle, but I can't quite reach it. My legs feel completely numb.

It's all in your head, I think to myself, your legs aren't actually paralyzed.

But all I can do is continue to stretch for the door and hope that I can extend my fingers enough to grab onto it. That's exactly what I do; after what feels like an eternity. I can feel the cold metal as it touches my palm, and I grip tight, attempting to turn it, but it doesn't budge.

Did Emma lock the door? Why would she—

The question inside my head trails off as I feel her presence coming closer to me. I don't dare to look. I don't want to know what she might do to me. I shut my eyes tightly as I recognize her touch on my back.

"Jessica," she says, her voice sounds callous, unfeeling. It doesn't make me feel calm as it usually does. A chill runs down my spine as I hear my name slip past her lips.

"No." It's all I can muster. One simple word.

"Jessica, it's okay," she says. Her voice has this underlying gritty tone to it.

Her hands press harder into the small of my back. I can feel my vertebrae popping as she applies more pressure. Then she lets go and reaches for my hand, I tuck it underneath my body between myself and the floor in an attempt to keep it from her. I feel so weak; I can't hold it. She grabs it and folds my arm up like a pretzel behind me. Then grabs the other and does the same.

I hear a zipping sound and then a sudden pain in my wrists and can feel a slight pulling on my shoulders. I really can't move now. She's handcuffed me. The plastic material that I can feel against my skin tells me she used zip ties to restrain me.