After 5 days of being tortured and having the truth of my life explained to me, I sit in the same situation that I was in when I awoke. In the dark garage, strapped to a chair and knowing full-well that X is on the other side of the room. The only difference between then and now is that 5 days ago, I woke up with a fire burning inside me. I was determined to escape and return to the ones that love me. Now, however, I know better. So I sit in this metal chair, cold, covered in dried blood and in unimaginable pain.
Today, I have a feeling that I know what's going to happen. I'm going to die. Going to be murdered, by X probably. I'm glad for it actually, so I know I won't have to live with the pain of all my false memories. Even after everything that has happened in this room, I still think about Dan and my father constantly. A stab of pain enters my chest every time I do because I wonder how I could have been so blind that I didn't see it.
As my thoughts trail off again, the door opens the room, however brief it may be.
"Hello Rebecca." X greets me, coming to stand in front of my chair.
""X,"I reply quietly.
"Do you know what today is?"
"The day you're going to kill me in order to fulfill your revenge mission." I answer, my voice unwavering. There isn't a doubt in my mind that I'm not going to die today.
"Correct". Now," he pauses and leans over, cutting the restraints off my wrists and ankles. "Come on, let's get moving. We don't have all day." In shock, I remain in the chair, staring at his silhouette.
"A-aren't you going to kill me?"
"Yes, but I want you to look better than this. I'm going to get you cleaned up, then you will return here. Where you will die." His voice is calm and confident. Slowly, I get to my feet with incredible difficultly and not without shouting in pain multiple times. When I finally manage to get to my feet, I collapse and hear X huff in annoyance. Before attempts can be made to get myself back on my feet, X grabs me around the waist and half walks, half carries me out. Cries of pain echo off the walls since his hold causes me extreme pain. X continues to walk, stopping when he reaches a door.
Setting me back on my feet, the door is opened and he pushes me inside before entering himself and closing the door. Holding on to the doorknob for support, I inspect the room. Quickly I realize that it's the bathroom I have been using for these past several days. The walls are plain and inside is a toilet, sink and shower. In the shower are two red bottles which seem to be shampoo and conditioner. I turn to stare at X.
"Why?"
"Why are you cleaning up? Because I want you to look...clean when you die. Just like your mother did." I bite my tongue in attempt to suppress the sadness that fills me when he says that. Slowly and as gently as I can, I begin to remove my shirt, expecting X to turn around-but he doesn't. I stop, my shirt halfway up my stomach.
"Aren't you going to turn around?"
"Why? You're my prisoner, at my mercy and I'll look at what I want to look at." X gazes at me and moves closer while I take a quick step backwards. "And I'll touch what I want to."
"Like hell you will," I snap. I may not have any fire in me to fight for things that were false, but I know my own mind. He's not touching me if I can help it.
"Becca, why do you fight when you know you will lose?"
"Old habits die hard." I snarl. He eyes shine though the holes in his mask and I wish that I could see his face. My curiosity is still eating away at me regarding that. Turning my back to him, I finish removing my shirt, knowing that he isn't going anywhere. Cautiously, I begin to remove my shorts, which is no small feat, all things considered. X stands behind me, but he doesn't move and doesn't speak. Using most of my strength, I move forward and open the shower, closing the door behind me. The hot water feels so good on my cold skin, however the joy is short lived. The instant the liquid touches my wounds I shout and scramble out of range.
"You'll never get clean that way Rebecca." X comments, nonchalantly. I'm sure he doesn't care all that much, he likes to see me I pain and is enjoying the view, I'm sure.
"Well then doesn't that suck for you." I counter, staring at the water with a mix of longing and distaste.
"I don't have time for this," I hear X mutter. When I turn around, he has removed his shoes, socks, gloves and is in the process of rolling up his shirt sleeves.
"What-what are you doing?" I ask, panicking slightly.
"You're going to get cleaned up whether you like it or not. If you don't do it yourself, I'm doing it for you. We tried the easy way, this is the hard way." As he continues talking he takes off his pants and then decides to remove his shirt as well. I refuse to look at him as he enters the shower, some of the water spraying out as he does so. His mask remains on, along with his boxers. I back away, pressing against the far wall in this 4 by 4 shower.
"Stay away from me." I order, meaning for it to sound stern, but it comes out sounding more like a plead.
"You had a chance to do this under your own terms. Now come here," X orders, standing directly under the spout of water. I shake my head and he reaches out, grabbing my arm which provokes a scream from me as I am forced under the stream of water. While I continue to cry out in pain, X reaches around me and grabs one of the red bottles behind me. As I try to move away he grabs hold again. "Keep doing that and this will become worse for you." I tense the muscles in my body, trying to remain in place as X lathers the shampoo and rubs it into my hair. The momentary relief from the sting of the water is something I gladly welcome. It doesn't last long as he pushes me back underneath and keeps me there, despite my struggling. The second the soap begins to rush of my head and on to my skin, a cry erupts from within me. X's attempts to quiet me fail as I flail and thrash, struggling to relieve the pain somehow. His lips clamp over mine, muffling my screams as my body is slammed into the wall, sending a wave of pain coursing through me. X is pressing his full weight against me, refusing to let me move, no matter how hard I try. His one hand leaves my forearm and a moment later the water is pouring over me once again. Removing his mouth from mine, I can feel him smile as I struggle to catch my breath.
"Now I know how to quiet your screams. Let's get moving, shall we?"
YOU ARE READING
Tracked
Mystery / ThrillerWhat would you do if you thought your mother had died in a car accident and it was a lie? What if you thought you were safe, but that was a lie too? Your dad wasn't anywhere near your mom when she died...another lie. Well for 17 year old Becca Jones...
