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Chapter One

I awoke that morning restrained. Not with something so frail as rope or twine, but by chains. I am unaware of how I remained unconscious during my binding, but I'm happy to see that whoever is responsible used Master locks. I've watched YouTube. Instructional videos providing a walkthrough for average Joe's to unlock the device with parts of tin cans, zip ties and other handy materials that can be found throughout most households. At least this gave me a little hope.

I look around the room and it doesn't seem at all familiar to me. The walls were once painted an off-white, maybe a light vanilla hue, dirtied by what seemed to be years of neglect. A fluorescent light buzzed above me, one long tube flickering it's displeasure. Cobwebs joined two corners of the room, the inhabitant and architect of such beauty not present. A steel grille covered what looked to be a ventilation shaft, paint chipping off the vertical bars. The air being pumped into my makeshift prison carried a chill, the web a swaying pendulum in its presence. To my left is a large picture window, the length twice the height. Roughly three feet by six feet, fogged in one corner where the ventilation duct air collided with warm glass. Finger prints and palm smears littered the surface. To one side was four bloody fingerprints that ran vertical to the bottom sill. Though troubling, I couldn't let much bother me. What could be done while chained to-

It occurred to me then that I wasn't chained to your typical twin size bed, but rather a hospital bed. Metal railings flanked me, lifted to their upright position. The head was raised enough to promote comfort, but not a sitting posture. The chains clanked as I moved my arms, trying to toss the stained bed sheet aside and investigate my bindings further. I had to at least attempt an escape while no one was present to keep a watchful eye on me. My wrists had an inch or two of slack before the chains fetched tight. My legs were allowed a bit more freedom, but not enough to swing the sheet off. With swift upward motions, I repeated the same movements. The sheet moved fractions of an inch with each effort. I watched it to take measure, then the door for incoming captors before focusing again on the sheet. It quickly became evident that my efforts were in vain. My range of motion was far less than what was needed to remove my coverings. Hopes of breaking the Master locks free without the assistance of a key were washed away. This is when I began to panic. Pulling tight against the restraints, cold steel cut into my wrists and ankles. Bruising and redness, swelling and a dull roar of pain force me motionless. I stare up into the white light produced by the tubes above. The flickering bulb casts no visible shadows from my position in the otherwise empty room.

I look to the exit - a steel door - its window tinted green with steel bars preventing entry should someone break the glass. A horizontal handle needs nothing more than a downward push to leave the room, should I free myself. The bars on this window also tell me a lot about the large picture window. It will surely be strong enough that I couldn't break through if I tried. There's no doubt the door is locked.

I return my attention to the walls, all four haunting me with the threat of extended seclusion. A lifelong solitary confinement. Sadly, the term lifelong would define a period of time far shorter than a bulk of the population would agree upon as being the expectancy of todays human race. How long can my body sustain itself with no nourishment? I'm aware that the lack of hydration would sever my ties with this world before the hunger fed on my tissue from the inside out. I find myself wondering how it would feel. What sensations would I experience as my body pleaded with me to take just one drink? Just one drop to roll across my tongue and down a dry throat. The thought has me immediately parched.

My mind paints the decaying walls around me with crimson stains, a canvas brushed with bloody hands. The upper walls where they meet the ceiling begin to drip. The rivulets steadily increase until a full flow of blood runs the length and puddles on the floor. The level rises by inches within moments. Soon the flood, which fails to drain beneath the door, curls over the edge of my hospital bed. I lift my head from the pillow, calm in this traumatic scene as if I've simply given up, but still want those last few seconds of life to hang on. Maybe the spider will return to its webbed home, my last vision of life before the pool raises above my nose and pulls me into its darkness. The spider doesn't make an appearance. The blood flows into my ears first as I grit my teeth and pinch my lips tight. As it enters my nose, I feel it's warmth slide down my esophagus and into my stomach. A radiant heat brings the temperature inside to an extreme that I cannot bear for long. No, the blood isn't burning me from the inside. It's my lungs. They're full, unable to take in the precious oxygen needed by many organs, most importantly my heart and brain. Being denied the breaths I need spins my mind into a cataclysmic state. The darkness behind my eyelids flashes bright, returning to black again periodically as I quiver in writhing pain.