Captive

Chapter 30

Bridget sat in her lit cell, reading Interview with the Vampire. She read it once in her teen years, but this time, she saw the faces of the characters portrayed in the movie of the same name. She liked Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, and she empathized with Louis. He was a delicate creature who never really accepted his so-called gift from Lestat. Bridget was halfway through this book, and she only started it that morning. Her routine was different now that Doctor Spencer had revealed himself as Nathan Jones, her former boyfriend and her now captor. She no longer went to the viewing room to sit through tortuous hours of slasher films. Her time outside the cell was fifteen minutes spent in the shower room. Her conversation with Officer Matthews had also changed. He was often quiet, and when he spoke to her, it was usually cryptic. She was unsure about how to handle his shifting hot and cold exchanges. The prisoner sat in her room reading every single day. She came to believe that she was there now simply because Nathan/Doctor Spencer wanted to keep her locked away in order to pursue the replica of her that existed. In short, she was close to losing all hope.

"Dunn," a voice called from the hallway. It was Hale, the night officer whom Bridget despised. "I'm not sure what you did to deserve this, but it seems that you get a little treat tonight."

"I'm sorry?" the prisoner responded. Her food tray opened, and a plate of milk and cookies entered her room.

"I'm told you like white chip and macadamia nut." The guard sounded perturbed.

"I do." Bridget looked at the cookies and asked, "What are these for?"

"They're for you, dumbass. Now, eat up. You've only got about ten minutes before I take the tray away."

Bridget was confused but responded, "Thank you." She climbed off the bed and picked up the plate and glass of milk. She could not remember the last time she was even given a snack let alone milk and cookies. She happily picked up the first cookie, dunked it in the milk, and took a bite. The milk tasted a little strange, but Bridget never really liked the beverage in the first place. The only time she ever drank it was when she had cookies to eat. She savored each morsel, swirling cookie halves in the white liquid before shoving the soggy chunks in her mouth.

"Hurry up, Dunn. You've got two minutes." Hale was not the type of person who liked to wait. Bridget finished the last cookie and swallowed the remainder of the milk in two big gulps. She placed the dirty dishes on the tray.

"Thank you, ma'am," Bridget said solemnly. "The snack was much appreciated."

"I'm still not sure what you did to deserve it," the coarse woman replied before closing the food slot. Bridget maneuvered herself back to her bed and picked up the book again. Several minutes later, her eyes struggled to focus on the text even with the tortoise shell glasses firmly mounted to her nose. The woman desperately fought to keep her eyes open, but soon, she was unconscious.

When she woke, Bridget was disoriented. Her head, reeling from some unknown cause, felt heavy and swayed uncontrollably. The room smelled foul; a pungent odor crept through her nostrils. Her eyes tried to focus, but her vision was blurry with doubles of everything around her. The room was completely dark except for a light that periodically flashed. She looked around, and as the light burned forth in its split seconds of luminescence, it became clear that she was no longer in her cell. This was a new place, a large room with piles of debris and old wooden pallets stacked in corners. Stained plastic sheets hung randomly from the ceiling. The floor was filthy and sticky beneath her bare feet. She tried to stand and take a few steps, but she tripped. The lights went out and did not come on again.

She tried to pick herself up, but her head was foggy. She felt the floor around her, sticking her hand in something wet and cold. The remnant goo between her fingers was thick, so she put her hand to her nose and sniffed. It smelled like blood. She tried to scream, but no sound came from deep inside. She slid herself away from the mass on the floor as the strobe light flashed on again. She saw that the blood on her fingers came from a corpse on the floor. The body was mutilated beyond recognition except for the tag on the uniform. It read, Matthews. Tears immediately began to fall from Bridget's face. How did he get here? How did this happen?

She moved toward the corpse of a dead Matthews and lurched her dizzy head onto his chest. She listened, hoping to hear a heartbeat. There was only silence. She did hear a noise—something rustled in another part of the room. Then she heard her name. Bridget. The whisper was faint but crystal clear in her ringing hears. Bridget, she heard again.

"What do you want?" she tried to ask. She soon realized her words were only gibberish. She tried her best to stand, but again, she failed. Bridget decided to rummage Matthews' body to see if he had a phone or a pager anything to save her, and she found his pistol. Unsure if it was loaded, she tried to determine how the mechanism worked. The best thing to do was fire a shot. She pulled the trigger. Nothing. Fuck, she thought. The lights went out, or the strobe light stopped working again. She continued her search of the body and in one of its pockets, she found a tiny flashlight. She hit the button, and light—steady light—poured forth. She thrust the beam about the room, her hands shaking nervously, which caused the beam to tremble as it darted to and fro. There were more pallets, more plastic sheets. There was an old toilet with its pipes exposed near the walls. As she forced the light around the space, she caught a glimpse of something lurking in the corner. It was a beastly thing that darted away when she cast light upon it.

"What do you want?" she asked. The light bounced across the room, but there was no creature. "Who are you?" Something moved behind her, grabbing her by her pony tail and pulling her backwards. She lost her balance, dropping the pistol and flashlight as the creature dragged her across the floor. She kicked and flailed, screaming for help. The monster released its grip on, her and all was quiet again. Whatever part of the room she was in now was littered with pieces of trash and hard, prickly entities. Bridget picked up one of the objects and felt it. It had a rough, round edge and five protruding points. The one on the far right was larger than the remaining four. She felt along the top of the object to find a sharp and unevenly cut piece of rough material. When she realized she was holding a foot in her hand, she tossed it away and screamed.

The strobe light kicked on again, blinking faster with more staccato bursts. She looked around as her vision, still off-kilter, tried to focus in the shifting flashes. A figure came closer, and with each flash, the being seemed to grow. Each illuminated image lingered in the impending jolt of darkness that followed. It was upon her, the elongated fingers grabbing at her feet and clawing up her torso. She allowed her fight mechanism to take hold, and she punched the creature in the face. His head cocked with the impact before it turned back to her and growled, bearing the teeth exposed behind a missing lip. It grabbed her by the neck and began to squeeze life from her throat. She gagged, her eyes bulging. Somehow she managed enough strength to kick at her assailant. She kicked and kicked until she landed a blow that caused the monster to let her go. She rolled away and rapidly got to her unsteady feet as quickly as she could.

The light was steady enough that she found her way back to Matthews' body where she dropped the gun. She picked it up again and quickly looked it over. Bridget managed to remember that guns had safety switches, and when she found it, she clicked it off. The creature was coming at her again, its one eye gleaming with hunger. She pointed the gun and fired shot after shot until the magazine was empty. The creature took every bullet before it fell to its knees and hit the floor. Bridget dropped beside the body of her only friend in months. She did not realize through her tears that a dim light now filled the room. It was a low but unwavering light. She examined the body of the man she loved and wept for him. She threw herself upon his chest and sobbed.

"I loved you. I don't even know why. I barely knew you," she cried. Tears fell on the victim's chest, soaking into his already bloodied uniform shirt. After several minutes, Bridget turned her attention back to the creature she had put down. She looked at the spot where the body fell, but there was nothing but a few splatter spots indicating that bullets impacted with flesh. She was still disoriented, but she understood. Whatever that thing was, it was not dead. When her brain finally comprehended this information, she turned around to find herself face to face with the being. It grinned, the missing nose collecting puss from a leaking boil on its forehead. It smiled at her and laughed before its arm rose to Bridget's neck. Something pinched through her skin, and a warm, tingling sensation invaded her blood stream. The monster held its victim as she closed her eyes and went limp.