Washout

Last Words

To all whom it may concern,
My name is Melanie Andrews. I am 15 years old, and the way things are going, my odds of making it to 16 are not that good.
Please accept my apologies, the lighting in here is dim, and my pencil tip is dull. I fear that the tip might break completely, but it hasn't happened. Yet.
I am sitting on the cement floor of what seems to be a warehouse, though as to where this building is located, I have no idea.
If you are reading this, I am almost certainly dead. So in a way, I suppose, these are my last words.

I know not the days, I sleep when I am tired and I wake when They tell me to.
I do not know the last time I ate, only that it was not today, and not the day before.
When They do give me food, it is slightly moldy bread. They let me drink more often, a plastic jug filled with dirty water is refilled daily and brought to me.
If only They would let me use the bathroom more often. Once every two days, they lead me up the tight staircase, and let me use the cramped toilet.
This however, is not always enough, and several times I have had to relieve myself in the corner of the cellar. In normal circumstances, this would be quite embarrassing, but I suppose we are past that now.
Besides my washing my hands in the basin by the toilet, I have not showered or bathed in what must be over two weeks. I suppose I must smell quite horrible, though everything else in this place reeks as well.
They tell me that they at forcing the money from my parents, every bit of it.
They say They have told my family that if they ever want to see me again, they must pay them an enormous sum.
I do not think this is the truth. I have a feeling I will never see my family again.
I think of them every night. I will try to hold their memories with me, so when I die I can keep them with me. I don't know if that's how it works- but it's a good piece of mind.
   I remember the smell of my mother's lemon cake baking on Sunday mornings.
   I remember my father's big overcoat, and the stubble on his face.
   I remember my sister, Avery. She's 19.
   I hope they will remember me. I don't think i have much time left.

They got me when I was walking home from school (2 weeks ago?! 3?!). I walked along the curb, and I remember I was anxious.
  That morning, when I got on the bus, I had noticed a man in a dark green car around the corner.
   That afternoon, when school got out, I could have sworn it was the same car parked in the parking lot.
   By the time I had started walking home, I was sure someone was following me. The car inched slowly behind me, never more than a block or a streetlight away.
   And then suddenly, it was gone. I thought I was safe. Then I turned the corner.
   The car was parked just   around the bend.
    I tried to run, but He was already out, and running down the sidewalk.
   He caught me and spun me around.
   Let go.
   Shut up kid.
   Please. Please, let me go.
   I said shut up dammit.
   Please, I-
   Get in the car, before I  
   make you.
   No, no please, I- HELP!
   HELP, SOMEBODY!!

   That was when he picked me up, and dragged me into the car.
   I struggled, and I must have whacked my head on the car door.
   It was blurry. I remember, the windows were painted black. Hardly any light could get in.
   He wasn't speeding, in fact He was careful to maintain the speed limit and not skip red lights.
   No radio. But it wasn't quiet.
   I didn't speak. When I tried, my words slurred. I must have eventually passed out.
   When I woke up, I was here. There are more of Them, but only one of me.
   They never come near me, except to give me water and lead me to the lavatory.
   I shiver whenever They touch me.

I have realized that I miss the sun. I miss the rain. I miss music, and laughter. And I miss clean water and milkshakes and veggie burgers. But I think I miss the sun most of all.
  It is so dark here. I want to cry, but I will not let them see me. I think I am crying on the inside.
   I am lonely, I am afraid, I am cold and hungry. My head hurts, and I have thrown up several times. Because I am fairly certain I'm not pregnant, these must be the signs of a concussion.
   I must go now, They are near.

   It has been a long time since I last wrote. It is hard to find a minute when I am certain i am not being watched. They always lurk near.
   I am so sick of this darkness, this despair. This is hell, I think. When I die, it will not be as bad as this. For what is hell, but the absence of hope?
   Yes, I have no hope. I have given up. I am too weak to go on like this. I have no strength.
  

My entries grow shorter mad shorter. I sleep more often, and I have less will to write.
   My time is near, I see it. No one will come for me. I am on my own.
   It will not be the hunger that kills me, nor the thirst, or the sickness' I have acquired.
   It will be the darkness. I hate it. I want the sun, I want the light.
   I try to picture the light in my mind, and sometimes I can recall glimmers, bits and pieces.
   It is so precious, so beautiful. Please, do not squander the light. Without it, we are nothing.

"God what is that smell?" Lois flicked on that light as he arrived in the basement.
  "It's definitely coming from down there." Andrew followed his partner down the creaky steps.
   As the two waited for their eyes to adjust to the light, they made out a musty, dull room with a few boxes.
   "Figure this is where they stored the dope?" Andrew flicked on his flashlight, casting it around the room.
    After the NYPD had tracked down a group of drug dealers to this Brooklyn hideout, the suspects had been identified and arrested.
   Andrew and Lois had been called in that morning by their sergeant.
   "Yea Smith, we need you and Harris to go downtown and check out that warehouse." Sergeant Wilkins had said, sucking in his large gut as he stepped around his desk.
   Andrew and Lois had exchanged a look.
   "The one those drug dealers were staked out in?" Lois scratched the back of his head, raising his eyebrows.
   "Yea, Smith. That one. Don't you two look at me like that. This is a case and you're gonna check it out. Just get the scope on the area." Wilkins squeezed his way out from behind his desk and let out a breath.
   He held open the door to his office.
   "Take a camera, i want some pics and a full report." Wilkins stepped back to allow the me to pass.
"We'll have it sir." Andrew replied, putting on his hat.
And that was how they had ended up here, on a perfectly good Saturday, in the middle of nowhere. It smelt too.
"Well, you heard Wilkins, let's get this over with." Lois took out his camera and began snapping pictures.
"Shit, it really smells though." Andrew wrinkled his nose as he ventured further into the room.
"It smells like piss." Lois replied.
"Nah, there's something else too." Andrew glanced around.
"Whatever, let's keep looking." Lois brushed off his partner.
Andrew shrugged and continued to shift through the boxes.
   Frowning, he pushed aside a drop sheet stretched between two boxes.
   "Oh shit!" He cried stepping back.
   "What is it?" Lois asked from behind him.
   Andrew pointed to the limp figure of a girl, maybe 15, curled into a ball with her arms wrapped around her legs.
   "Jesus." Lois pushed forward, kneeling in front of her.
   "No use, Lois. She's dead." Andrew scratched the back of his head. "Figure maybe she's been dead a few days, a week at most."
    "Shit." Lois stepped back, ducking his head.
    "Guess we gotta clear her out."
    "Guess so." Andrew answered.
    "Damn. I'll call the coroner." Lois headed for the stairs.
   "Hold it." Andrew bent down to the child.
   "What's that?"
   "Don't know." Andrew gently pulled something out of her hands.
   Lois walked back to him.
"Whadya think it is?"
   Andrew didn't answer. He turned the papers over in his hands.
   "I can't tell." He looked up at his partner. "Looks like maybe it had somethin written on it, but the writings all blurred. I can't make out a thing."