Captive

Chapter 20

Across the city, a young woman curled into a ball wept in her cell. She sobbed, tears streaming from her wan face and dispersing onto a soaking pillow. Bridget Dunn's worst fears had been realized. It was not her fear of the dark or the fact that she had been subjected to images and creatures that haunted her dreams. No, her greatest horror was that she did, indeed, know her captor. He was her first love, the person that separated night from day. She searched her memories of him to determine if he was always a monster, and despite the fact that she knew he was, she hoped that there was some recollection that showed him in a happier light. All she dug up were reminders of his verbal abuse, the way he scoffed at her when she said something silly, the one time he grabbed her neck and pushed her into the side of the shower stall.

Nathan Jones was always cruel, but she never thought he would rule her terrors. He was the reason she was in this place. He brought her here, isolating her from the outside world and tormenting her to his heart's content. Bridget sobbed harder. She realized just how wrong she had been. In her cell, on her little standard-issue metal bed, she began to see daylight. There was no hope. Every feeling before this moment led her one step closer to the gates of Hell. Now she was standing inside the gate, reaching outward, trying to keep her sanity. She had no more strength, so there was no reason to fight anymore. She opened her sopping eyes and looked at the wall.

Bridget began to consider her only solution. She lacked shoelaces, so she could not hang herself, but she did have bed sheets. She looked at the ceiling and tried to determine if hanging up was possible. The frames between each of the potentially asbestos-filled tiles appeared extremely flimsy, so they would probably snap trying to support her weight. There was water in the toilet bowl, but it seemed highly unlikely that she could drown that way, as the idea of sticking her face into septic water—no matter how clean—made her cringe. She was not allowed to bring her toiletries with her into the cell, so she had no razor blades to open a vein. She had a fountain pen near her stack of books, but turning that into a shank or something sharp would take time, and she was certain Truitt was watching her from the Tower. It would take too long. Her options were extremely limited, so she resigned herself to the idea of starvation. Perhaps if she did not or drink for a long enough time period, she would die. Dehydration would kill her first. That seemed to be the only answer.

"Bridget?" a voice called from the other side of the wall. It was Matthews. She ignored him, hoping he would go away, but he lingered. He called again, "Bridget?"

"What do you want?" she whimpered.

"You okay in there?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think I'm okay? No, I'm not fucking okay. Now leave me alone."

"What's wrong with you? Ever since your last session, you've been off. No witty remarks, no sweet words. You didn't even look at me when I brought you back her."

"You wanna know what's wrong? Go fuck yourself. That's what's wrong."

He was quiet, "What did I do to you?"

"You work here—for him."

"For Doctor Spencer?"

"His name is not Doctor Spencer 'I'm a Friendly Asshole' Lewis," she replied as she stood and moved to the wall. "His name is Nathan Arthur Jones, and he's a monster." Matthews was quiet. Bridget imagined him staring at her.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Your boss is my ex-boyfriend. His name is Nathan Jones. He's a piece of shit who likes to lock his girlfriends in cars at night and leave them there. Go look him up. If he runs this place, there's gotta be a picture of him somewhere."

"I know who he is," the guard responded quietly. "I've already looked him up." Bridget listened, waiting for him to continue, but the wall was silent. "There's something you should know." His tone was solemn, and Bridget's eyes grew wide. She leaned against the concrete, straining desperately to hear his faint voice.