Rewriting Time

Chapter 8

A/N: Part 3 of Round 4

Word Count: 1.5k

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Cold. Freezing cold. It was what he first noticed upon waking. Not the throbbing pain in his head. Not the fact that he could not move his hands and legs. Not that he was blindfolded. He noticed the cold because Sebastian never liked it, especially when it's dry and biting. He couldn't see, but he knew he was alone in this room.

Shit! Kidnapped and tied down like an animal twice within forty-eight hours is too much of a coincidence. There's a pattern that needs to be broken here. I can't take much more of this effing crap.

"Hello?" he called out. He could hear the soft dripdrop of a faucet and the creaking of the floor boards somewhere above him. Deprived of sight, his other senses went into overdrive. The musty smell, faint aroma of rotten fruit and vegetables, plus the lack of ventilation, indicated he was in an old cellar or basement. Which also explains the cold. Central heating wasn't common in the 1920's homes because electricity was still too expensive to generate.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" he cried, moving his arms to test his restraints. They were smooth, almost silky against his skin. He tried moving his legs but they were tightly bound to the chair, restricting further movement. At least they didn't use rusty, metal straps, he mused.

He rubbed his fingers against the wood of the chair's arms. It didn't feel new. There were scratches and deep dents on both arms and when he strained against his cloth bindings, the wood wobbled a little. That gave him an idea. With just a little maneuvering, he might be able to break free. He remembered something from a movie and decided to give it a try. Bracing his feet against the floor, he leaned forward and pushed hard as in a jumping motion, lifting the chair with him. He landed with a jarring thud, but nothing happened.

This is harder than I thought.

Sebastian repeated the same routine five more times. He was panting after the last, his thighs burning with the effort. He was just about ready to give up when as he leaned back to catch his breath he heard something that was music to his ears - - the sound of softly groaning wood. Sebastian gave out a muffled laugh, positive that a few more jumps and the chair would give out under his weight.

Let's try this again. On three... One... Two...

BAM!

Sebastian was so startled he almost toppled to the floor. Footsteps! He stayed as still as he could manage and focused on the footsteps. There were two sets of feet coming down the stairs and towards him. They both stopped in front of him. Sebastian could see light through his blindfold, shining on his face. One of the two grunted in obvious dismay.

"Fire those fools. I told them to bring him here, but not to tie him to a chair like a common criminal." The speaker was angry, a man with a slight German accent. Goosebumps pricked Sebastian's arms.

Effing hell! I know that voice!

The man's companion was untying Sebastian when the blindfold was brusquely pulled down his face. A flashlight was pointed directly at him, preventing him from seeing the man before him.

"Forgive the uncivilized treatment, Sebastian. It's really hard to get good help nowadays," the man chuckled.

Sebastian was frustrated by his inability to connect a face, or name, to the voice. The man called him Sebastian, a clear indication that they were close enough to be on a first-name-basis. Why, though?

"All done," the man untying his restraints said, tapping him on the shoulder.
Recognition caused Sebastian to snap to his right and say, "Alfred?"