Innocence, Stolen {Mature/Werewolf}

Chapter One

Present day

THE SILENCE  is loud. I can hear it, a pressing weight against my eardrums, like a force. Like gravity. Only, instead of anchoring me to the ground, the silence is slowly dragging me away from what little sanity I have left.  I hate the silence, but then, I hate the screams that echo when it is not silent. I don't know what is worse, both maybe.

Seven hours have passed, at least. I know this, since I counted but the endless stretch before me was too depressing. I gave up on counting. It's been at least seven hours since I heard his voice. That's the worst sound, his voice. He hasn't come to see me since, and while I am selfishly glad, I can help but wonder why Sam hasn't been brought back to his cell.

I don't want to think about why Sam hasn't been back yet, so I busy myself with counting again. The walls have exactly one hundred and sixty-two bricks each. The ceiling has eight hairline cracks running across the white plaster, branching off into thirteen smaller ones. I can't remember how long I've been here - weeks, months, years. I had tried in the beginning to mark the walls like they're meant to do in prison, but the more I did, the more I realised that I would die here, in this bare-brick cell with iron bars and no natural light.

I close my eyes, shifting on the thin, hard cot that had the gall to call itself my bed. The metal made a groaning sound and a hushed voice follows.

"Sam?" It's Jessica. I can't see her from where I am, but images of a tall, willowy girl with inky black hair and high cheekbones come to mind. She has to pass my cell when it's her turn. They all do. It's like it's my punishment, watching them all leave, one by one, wondering if they'll come back.

"Just me," I whisper back. "He hasn't come back yet."

Jessica doesn't respond and I could hear what she doesn't want to say, maybe he won't come back. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe he died.

It's a horrible thing to think. Once upon a time, I would have never wished death on anyone. But I didn't know, not truly, what was worse than death.

I wake up every day wishing I had died.

There are five of us in total. Five little lab rats kept in cages in a basement of some deserted compound somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Different ages, different races, backgrounds - not one thing is the same about us. Save, that we're very unlucky bastards.

I try not to think of Sam, poor sweet Sam. But when the sound of only one pair of footsteps sounded, I had to wonder.

The clink of keys rang out and the door being unlocked filled the tense hush. My heart began to race as I wondered which one of us was next.

I kept my eyes shut as I counted the steps. It would only be twelve if it were my cage, eighteen for Jess, twenty for Mark and twenty three for Barbara. Sam was on the end.

One, two, three...

I rolled on my side, away from the metal bars, trying to not wince at the groaning sound it made. Maybe if he thought I was asleep he wouldn't pick me. It's worked before.

Seven, eight, nine...

I focused on my breathing, trying to will my chest to rise and fall evenly. Maybe he was only checking on us, maybe his seven hours with Sam were enough.

Ten, eleven, twelve.

My heart stopped the same time his footsteps did. I knew the relief and guilt the others felt when they realised it too. It was my turn.

"Kelly," he said my voice in a song-song manner, cheerful as if he was happy to see me. My body twitched from the sound, like it was conditioned to know his voice, to know what would come with it. I squeezed my eyes tighter and hoped he would leave.

"Kelly," he said my name sharper this time, with a bite of steel that made my eyes open. There was no point, if I didn't get up he would just come in and drag me and I would be punished. And no one wanted to be punished.

I slowly sat up, making a show to rub my eyes as if I had truly been asleep. I peered out, faking a small frown.

He still had his lab coat on. Through the bars I could see the distinct red smear of blood. He raised a small plastic cup and shook it, what was inside rattled. "I bought you a snack."

Slowly, I eased off the bed, my legs numb and chest hallow as I walked over to him. I could smell the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of chemicals. It made my empty stomach lurch.

I watched as he bent and placed the cup on the floor, his foot slowly sliding it through the bars. I took some satisfaction from seeing that - he had learned the hard way that I wanted to hurt him. To bite, scratch, pull, twist. Whatever I could manage. But he was clever, too clever, and only needed to learn his lesson once.

It had taken me longer to learn. I fought at first, refused to eat, but he would hook me up to tubes. If I tried to escape, I would be punished. If I disobeyed in anyway - well, I would have to watch as someone else got my punishment. The small prideful victories were not worth seeing someone else tortured.

I bent to pick up the cup and peered inside. The pills inside told me a lot about what he planned to do. If there was a red pill, I would be going to the lab.

White, baby blue...

Tears sprang to my eyes when I saw that there was no red pill.

Knowing that there was no point fighting it, I tipped the cup back and filled my mouth with bitter, filmy pills. I didn't get water so I had to swallow them dry. i winced as one scraped against my throat and when it went down after a few moments, I opened my mouth to show that they were gone.

"Lift your tongue," he instructed and I obeyed. I wanted to get to over and done with, but he waited a few more minutes for the drugs to take effect.

I don't know what it is he gives us - I just know what they do. My body weakens, limbs become heavy and my head becomes a little fuzzy. I can't fight, but I'm conscious and I know what's going on. I'm still very much me, but also his puppet, all rolled into one. 

I watch as he unlocks my cage door takes my arm. His touch is oddly gentle - or maybe I can't feel his fingers digging in. He tucks me close to his side as we walk, only letting go of me long enough to lock the basement door behind him.

He knows I can't run, knows that I won't. I'm a good girl, a good little prisoner. I watch as he takes hold of me again, guiding me past the laboratory. I try to sneak a look, hoping to see Sam. But my concern for him is short-lived. Whatever horrors Sam has had to endure, they're over now. Either until next time or forever. I did not know. But mine were about to begin.