Subconscious - Awake

8

Pitch black welcomed Zac's consciousness. Just plain, blank, nothing. Smokes, his head hurt. Where was he? Wherever he was smelled of rotting sewage and something metallic he couldn't quite place. His body felt numb and cold, his memories shrinking back like a frightened animal.

Feeling prickled back into his fingers as he tried to move them. How did he get here? He didn't remember anything, everything in his head seemed far away, unfocused. He tried to bring his hand to the back of his head, where a painful knot was forming, but couldn't. He was restrained to what felt like a marble table, hands tied at his sides. His legs were also immobile, with what felt like a scratchy rope binding him around the ankles. He calmed himself and forced his body to sit still so he could properly assess the situation. Panic had its claws wrapped around his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Trying to remember what had happened to him felt like he was banging his head on the table. Be calm, Zac told himself, find out where you are. He tilted his head up trying to see anything through the shrouded darkness. Heck, was he dead? No. If he was dead, then why did his head throb with every pulse of his heart? Growling, he let his head back down again. The force from his head making contact with whatever was beneath him sent a loud vibration through the room. The sound echoed back to him quickly. A small room. Revising his previous assumptions, Zac now knew that he was tied to a metal table with manila rope in a small room. The light blow to his head also seemed to jolt his memory back.

He remembered.

The new girl.

The library.

The storm.

Too focussed on his swelling pride and disappointment, congratulating himself on deciphering that much information without being able to see yet disheartened by the lack of information his rediscovered memories had provided, he didn't hear the beginning of the distant conversation from, what seemed like, just outside the dark room.

"Well," whined a cold, feminine voice, "how was I supposed to know?"

The racket seemed to be coming from his left, echoing through the wall Zac assumed was present.

"I don't ask a lot from you, Stella. Why can't you just do what you're told?" This voice was a low grumble, masculine, and frustrated.

"You don't tell me anything!" The girl's voice was also rising in anger, making both strangers sound short-tempered.

"I didn't expect you to bring me that boy!"

"You didn't tell me what to look for."

"So what?" He was yelling now, his voice reverberating with danger. "Did you just 'follow your gut'?"

"Yes." She was quieter now, barely audible.

"Stupid, idiotic, reckless, girl." His voice was bubbling in rage. Definitely dangerous. There was an irrefutable clang of metal on metal.

"No," he heard the girl whimper, "please no."

"I should've killed you the first time," the girl's pleas seemed to be helpless.

Zac didn't care who she was, but she was in trouble. The thought that this girl was most likely the one that had kidnapped him in the first place ran around in his mind.

He chose to ignore it.

As silent as possible, he tried to wriggle out of his bonds once more. His head was clearer now. He now had a goal with the sound of the poor girl begging on the other side of the wall acting as his motivation. Zac always worked better when he had a goal. Something to reach for.