believe me // the black phone

chapter seven

      Sydney sat on the thin, scratchy mattress, her legs drawn close to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as if trying to make herself smaller. The room was silent except for the faint hum of a ventilation fan somewhere far above, the monotonous drone only amplifying the emptiness around her. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and cold concrete. Suddenly, a metallic click shattered the stillness. She froze, her entire body tensing like a coiled spring. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest she was certain he could hear it.

      The key turned in the lock, the slow, deliberate motion dragging out like a warning. The door, a hulking slab of metal, groaned as it swung open, its hinges creaking in protest. A figure stepped through, his silhouette tall and imposing against the dim glow of the hallway light spilling into the room. He moved slowly, each step purposeful, like a predator savoring the anticipation before the strike. The flickering light cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of his smile into something sinister.

      "You're awake," he said, his tone light, almost playful, as if they were old friends meeting unexpectedly. But there was something off in the way he spoke, something wrong in the lilt of his voice. It dripped with false warmth, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. He stepped further in, closing the door behind him with a solid thud that seemed to seal off every trace of hope.

      Sydney didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat felt dry and tight, like she'd swallowed sand. She shifted her gaze to the floor, staring at the cracks in the concrete, willing herself to blend into the shadows. The room felt smaller with him in it, the walls seeming to press closer, trapping her.

      "You're a quiet one, aren't you?" he remarked lightly, taking a step closer, his shoes scraping against the gritty floor. The sound made her flinch. He stopped in front of her, looming over her small frame, and crouched down so they were nearly at eye level. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, like he was peeling back layers of her with just a look. "But that's okay. We're going to have a little chat, you and I." He tilted his head, studying her like she was some fascinating puzzle. "Let's start simple, hmm? What's your name?"

      She hesitated, feeling the weight of his stare. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to keep silent, to hide every part of herself. But the words slipped out, small and frightened. "S-Sydney... Sydney Cameron."

      He leaned back slightly, his smile widening. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" He nodded approvingly, as if she'd just given the right answer in some twisted game. "Good girl, Sydney." His voice softened, taking on a coaxing tone. "How old are you?"

      Sydney swallowed, the motion painful. "Thirteen," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

      "Thirteen," he repeated slowly, savoring the word. His smile widened, and his eyes glinted with something dark and hungry. "Perfect." He let the word hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Then, as if deciding something, he leaned in closer. "Do you have a boyfriend, Sydney?" His voice dropped to a low murmur, like they were sharing some intimate secret.

      Her pulse raced. She shook her head quickly, trying to shrink back, but there was nowhere to go. "No," she said, her voice a trembling whisper.

      "I knew it," he breathed, his tone soft and almost affectionate. "I knew you weren't like those other girls. You're special, Sydney. So pure. So sweet." He reached out, and she stiffened as his hand brushed against her thigh. The touch was light, almost gentle, but it sent a shudder of revulsion through her.

      "You're my little angel," he murmured, his voice a low, sickening croon. "Aren't you?"

      She squeezed her eyes shut, every nerve in her body screaming to run, to fight, to do anything. But fear kept her rooted in place, paralyzed under his gaze. His hand lingered on her leg, moving in slow, deliberate strokes. She bit down hard on her lip, refusing to cry, refusing to give him that satisfaction. She'd never felt so small, so utterly powerless.

      He stayed there for what felt like an eternity, just watching her, his eyes never leaving her face. Then, slowly, he straightened, his hand drifting away. "It's getting late," he said softly, his tone shifting to something almost paternal. "You should get some rest, angel. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow."

      He took a step back, and Sydney dared to open her eyes, staring up at him through a haze of unshed tears. He looked down at her, his expression eerily calm. "Remember," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're mine now, Sydney. And I take good care of what's mine."

      With that, he turned and walked to the door, his footsteps echoing in the small, suffocating room. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, glancing back at her one last time. "Good night, Syd," he said softly, his voice dripping with mock tenderness. "Sweet dreams."

      Then he was gone, the door swinging shut with a heavy thud, the lock clicking back into place. The silence rushed back in, heavier than before, pressing down on her chest. As soon as he was gone, Sydney's fragile composure shattered. The tears she'd been holding back spilled over, silent sobs shaking her small body. She curled up on the mattress, hugging her knees to her chest, shaking with fear and exhaustion.

      "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please... someone..."

      But there was no one to hear her. No one to answer her desperate pleas. The darkness pressed in, the cold walls offering no comfort. She was alone, and the knowledge of it crushed her. All she could do was lie there, trembling, praying for the nightmare to end.

      But deep down, she knew it wouldn't.

      Not yet.