Find Me

Prologue

The room was dark, so dark that even after spending time to allow your eyes to adjust would not let you see. There was a window, yes, but it was boarded with plywood on the outside and had thick wool stapled around the frame on the inside. The room was tiny, more of a closet really, with the floor being predominantly occupied by a twin bed on the floor and blankets strewn precariously around. In the corner sat a pile of rags, and only the slight movement of breathing indicates that this is a young girl instead of something you would keep to wipe up dog vomit or something equally disgusting. The girl is about thirteen years old, though her small stature makes her seem closer to ten. She is filthy, covered head to toe in filth, making it seem as though she hasn't bathed in two years. Perhaps it seemed that because it was true; in the past two years the girl had only had one (and a half) baths.

Suddenly, the door at the far end of the pitifully tiny room burst open. It couldn't burst very far because the mattress only allowed the door to open halfway, but the effect was still terrifying. The girl shot up, eyes wide and searching, taking in all six foot seven of the large figure in the doorway. She scurried backwards, trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, but it's hard to hide in a room so tiny when you're the only one in it.

The man surged forward, reaching out a large, meaty hard. The girl shied away, wishing the floor would suck her up but knowing it wouldn't. The hand came down and grabbed the girl under her chin, forcing her face up towards his. His other hand reached out and slowly, softly caressed her trembling cheek.

"There is no need to be afraid, little one," he purred. "The day is upon us, the day we have talked about for months." He gazed down at those eyes, filled with fear after all this time. "The day in which I let you go."

The girl kept her face even, but the man could feel the hope in her voice as she choked out, "R-really?" Her voice was gravely and came out barely more than a whisper, a combination of disuse and dehydration.

The man let his fingers trail down her face and started caressing her neck, her shoulders.

"I'm going home?" the girl dared to ask, even though she had learned long ago that questions of this nature were dangerous. "I'm going to see my mom and dad again?"

"Oh yes," the man murmured, petting her neck, her collarbone, her clavicle. "You'll be going to a much better place." His fingers tightened sharply around her throat, and slowly he began to squeeze.

At first, the girl didn't know what was going on. There had to be a mistake, what was happening. The, she realized.

He's killing me.

The thought came to her almost lazily, as if her brain was already fogging from lack of air. She tried to fight back, but there was no use; the man was too big and he had barely fed her in the past two years he had kept her captive, specifically for this reason.

She reached out and tried to push his away, but her arms weren't even long enough to reach his face. She waved her arms at him for a moment before letting them drop; they were already much too heavy. All she could do was lie there, struggling to suck in air, staring into the man's face until it slowly faded into blackness.