Connection

Chapter Thirteen: Charlotte

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Chapter Thirteen: Charlotte

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A tangible uneasiness filled the hideout Charlotte's captors were staying in. After their nighttime conversation, all they had dared to mention was the amount of days until the meeting, which Charlotte was sure they assumed she wouldn't understand.

One bleary week had passed in which Charlotte was insufficiently nourished, under hydrated and ignored. If her captors spoke to her, it was to tell her she could have two minutes in the bathroom, or a small sliver of watermelon.

Each time she saw their eyes pass over her, it was with a cold, unyielding stare. For two days she had been allowed to move freely throughout their room. She was caught sitting on a couch, something she'd been told she wasn't permitted to do, though since they didn't seem very keen on maiming her, she figured it was worth the risk.

With a shout, all the captors ran toward her. Two pairs of hands grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. Within seconds they were dragging her across the floor. Her breaths quickened as she struggled against the strength of Aria and Ross combined. Her flailing limbs made contact with Ross' beefy thigh, but it wasn't enough to knock him over.

Brooklyn called, "Hilenca," and thick silver chain appeared, attaching to her wrist with a secure cuff. She struggled against it, yanking madly as the hands let her go and moved away but she seemed tethered to the wall. With a groan of frustration she slammed the shackle against the ground and then let out a small yelp of pain as her hand hit it as well.

With a malicious laugh, Brooklyn moved away from her, saying, "It was a matter of time before it had to happen."

Charlotte moved backward so she leaned against the wall, rubbing her hand. Even if she was chained, she couldn't deny that her situation was the most bizarre kidnapping she had ever heard of.

In a desperate attempt to occupy herself, she began compulsively creating lists in her head of why they might have kidnapped her and why they haven't hurt her or even questioned her throughout all the time that she'd been there.

The best thing that she could come up with was that they needed her for something, but they hadn't yet been told what. And with that thought, she found herself building with anticipation to the day in which the meeting her captors had spoken about took place. She knew she wouldn't be let into the meeting itself, but she was sure they would be receiving new instructions. Their actions and behavior could change completely. They could give away the reason she'd been taken through this change, though she was acutely aware that she wouldn't be released. The most likely outcome was worse treatment and infliction of injuries. And she decided it would be before then that she would fight back; try to escape.

As the days passed, she began obsessively planning her escape, for she knew now that her captors weren't likely to be more lenient with her unless instructed to; her old plan would just take up valuable room in her mind if she abided by it.

But she couldn't help but notice as she formulated version after version of an escape plan, her captors seemed to be undergoing the same process that she was.

They could often be found together on the other side of the room, their heads together speaking softly. At times many sheets of paper were spread out in front of them and they were scrawling frantically. All seemed to be more stressed than usual and Brooklyn was taking daily trips outside of their enclosure, coming back each time with new scratches or bruises.

At any given time if Charlotte looked up, there was at least one captor at the end of the passageway, watching anxiously as if they expecting someone to walk in and attack at any moment. And then Charlotte remembered-they very well could be expecting such a thing to occur. They believed a group had found them and was waiting to attack.