believe me // the black phone

chapter nine

Over the next few days, the torment was unrelenting, a cruel rhythm Sydney could almost set her watch to. Every time the man descended into the basement, dread choked the air like a suffocating fog. She felt filthy, trapped in a nightmare that refused to end. Escape wasn't just a hope—it was an obsession. But there was no way out.

After nearly a week in the basement, Sydney's resolve was cracking. Her once-bright spirit had been dimmed to a flicker, barely enough to keep her going. She was huddled in the corner when the heavy metal door groaned open, its screech echoing in the oppressive silence.

He stepped inside, a predatory grin stretched across his face, and in his hand—gleaming faintly in the dim light—was a knife.

"Evening, Angel," he said, his voice smooth like silk over broken glass.

Sydney's chest tightened, her breath hitching as panic rose like a tidal wave. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "Please, no!"

He chuckled darkly, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls. "You've been so good, Syd. Hate that it's gotta end this way, but... well, life's not fair, is it?"

Tears streamed down her face as she scrambled backward, her voice trembling. "You don't have to do this! I'll—I'll do whatever you want! Just don't—don't kill me!"

He tilted his head, as if considering her words, then smirked. "You know, you beg real pretty. Almost makes me wanna keep you around." He paused, tapping the flat of the blade against his palm. "Almost."

Sydney's heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't die here. Not like this.

As he took another step forward, her eyes darted to the door—it wasn't fully closed. It was ajar. A tiny sliver of hope.

Her instincts kicked in. She lunged, making a break for it.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" he roared, his voice dropping to an icy growl as he surged after her.

His hands caught her mid-stride, tackling her to the ground. Pain shot through her ribs as they hit the hard floor. She thrashed wildly, fueled by raw desperation. "Get off me!" she screamed, her voice breaking.

"You're a fighter, huh?" he sneered, pinning her arms above her head. His breath was hot and sour against her face. "That's what I like about you, Sydney. Makes the game so much more fun."

But Sydney wasn't done. Fueled by adrenaline, she bucked hard, her knee connecting with his gut. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for her to reach up and claw at his face, ripping the mask clean off.

"Dammit!" he hissed, clutching his face as the mask clattered to the floor.

It was the distraction she needed. Sydney wriggled free, scrambling to her feet.

She bolted for the door.

The door swung open with a metallic shriek, and Sydney flew up the stairs, her legs pumping like her life depended on it—because it did.

The cool night air hit her like a slap as she burst through the front door, not daring to look back. She ran, feet pounding against the pavement, each step taking her further from the nightmare she'd just escaped.

Sydney didn't stop running until the twisted streets began to look familiar. Her lungs burned, her legs felt like lead, but she pushed forward. The graffiti-covered fence. The cracked sidewalk.

Her house.

It was right there.

Sydney stumbled up the porch steps, flinging the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. She collapsed inside, gasping for breath, her entire body trembling.

"Sydney!" Her mother's voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. "Where the hell have you been?"

Sydney turned, her chest heaving. "I— I was kidnapped," she stammered, her voice cracking. "He had me—I barely got away!"

Her mother crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "Kidnapped?" She let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Oh, spare me the drama. Do you know what time it is?"

"It's not a lie!" Sydney cried, her voice rising as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "He was going to kill me! He had a knife!"

Her mother scoffed, rolling her eyes. "A knife. Right. And I suppose he also had a white van with 'Free Candy' painted on the side?" She snatched the phone off the wall and punched in a number.

"What are you doing?" Sydney asked, her voice cracking.

"Calling the police," her mother said, glaring at her. "I'm sick of your games, Sydney. You've wasted enough of everyone's time."

Sydney's stomach dropped. "No, you don't understand—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," her mother snapped. "You went off somewhere, got yourself into trouble, and now you're making up stories to cover your ass."

Sydney stared, stunned into silence. Her chest tightened as her mother's words sank in.

"Yeah, she's home," her mother said flatly into the phone. "No, no emergency. Just another one of her attention stunts."

Sydney's knees buckled as she crumpled onto the floor, sobbing.

Her mother hung up the phone with a sharp click, turning to glare at her. "You've embarrassed me and wasted police resources. I hope you're happy."

"Why don't you believe me?" Sydney whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother didn't answer. She just walked away, leaving Sydney alone on the floor, her tears pooling on the cold tiles.