BETHANY

6

Inside The Playroom

Terrin's eyes fluttered as he heard the barking voice of Flint hovering over him. "You're good for nothing! Just like your Father!" He was snarling at him.

Somehow the boy managed to ignore the harsh voice and instead focus on the warm, quivering form that was pressed against his side and the long, thick hair that was tickling his chin.

He was laying on the floor, on the cold, blood-covered floor of the playroom. Beth, it could only be her, was pressed against his side and had one hand on his chest. Her little nose was digging into his neck and her breathing was soft against his skin. She was not unconscious, she was crying softly.

Crying for him.

He tried to stretch a hand to touch her, but every muscle in his body hurt and even the simplest task, like breathing, was torture. He tried to open his mouth to say her name, to let her know that he was okay, even though he wasn't. "Be...th..." Was all he managed to breath out, but her hand tightened against his clothes and she pressed her naked and abused body against his own with a bit more force.

Then someone tried to open the door, but it didn't seem to budge from the hinges.

"Time to go, little bitch," hissed Flint and suddenly Beth's body was yanked from his own. He half opened his eyes in time to see Flint's big hand closing on her forearm and pulling her to her feet and away from him. "Time to make yourself useful."

Then the door flew open and everything went black.

Outside The Playroom

The girl squealed and ran off when Max kicked down the door. He didn't care. Mark, Felix or some other policeman was going to arrest her before she even tried to reach the stairs. He would see her in prison.

He stepped into the room and the stench of blood and other bodily fluids flooded his nostrils. He narrowed his eyes to look around himself and flushed with anger. Blood was everywhere, dried blood from months or weeks before and fresh blood that coated the floor and made his steps sticky.

And next to a puddle of the crimson liquid, there lay a figure. A brunette, unconscious young man. "Terrin," he breathed, hoping that he was still alive. He stepped towards him and placed two fingers on his neck. There was a pulse, a soft, almost imperceptible pulse. But there was one.

"Well, well, well," hissed a voice from the other side of the room.

Max jumped to his feet and raised his gun at once.

And stopped.

He stopped breathing.

His heart stopped beating.

And all of his muscles stopped working

Flint was standing there in front of him. A sneer on his ugly face. A gun in his hand. A young, naked girl pressed against his chest.

Beth.

His Beth.

His daughter.

His Beth. Beth. Beth.

She was there. She was really there. After ten years. She was there. They had found her. He couldn't believe it. The emotions pooling in Max's stomach...they were too overwhelming. Max felt his fingers and toes go numb, his heartbeat increased until all he could hear was the furious thumping of his heart pumping blood in his temples, his hair stood on end along his body.

Beth was there and she was...not fine. Max's jaw clenched. Flint,s hand was closed around her tiny throat, one of her cheeks was bruised and one of her ankles was completely black. There was some liquid falling from between her legs with a loud tic toc. Blood.