Steel Meets Iron

Chapter 8

Cigarettes. Raven smelled cigarettes and alcohol. She was sitting on a carpet in front a television, it glowed and she couldn't see what was on it yet she remained fixed on her spot. On that funny smelling, slightly scratchy carpet. The bright glow did nothing to illuminate wherever she was, just the carpet. The screen was static, electric snow. She raised her hand to turn it off or change the channel, she wasn't sure, when a hand grabbed hers. Rough scratchy hands that made her afraid. It wasn't a crushing grip, it curled around her tiny hand making her fingers bend under one another, it didn't hurt, but it made her afraid.

A tall shadow with bleary eyes was looming over her, the cold hand lifted her to her feet, setting her on them like when you wanted to walk a doll. The shadow was the source of the alcohol and nicotine smell. He ranked of it. The sour odor that made her eyes burn. It wasn't a strange smell, she knew it. It was the volume of the stench that made her cower. Like the smog of a burning house. The shadow roughly grabbed her head and tilted it back, a clammy hand dragging along her face. She wanted to cry out, scream to stop but she couldn't speak.

The fear was turning her into a puppet, a lifeless, voiceless puppet. It's darkness was gnawing at her stealing the light that was comforting her. Until there was no light at all. Suffocating darkness. Only the stare into those bottomless eyes that glowed with such hate, such horrible hate at her. The hand took hers and tugged her along to a staircase. It didn't wait for her to step and yanked her painfully up each step, knocking her feet clumsily on each step.

Raven looked back and saw a figure by the glowing television, a figure with glasses who watched blankly as she was taken upstairs by the shadow. It did nothing about the other shadow taking her upstairs. It closed the door the moment her feet touched the top of the stairs. It didn't do anything to help her.

The hallway the shadow took her down was never-ending, there was nothing but darkness, thick, unbreakable darkness that choked like smoke. She had to trot with to keep up with the staggering shadow and that just made it even harder to breathe calmly. The air was so thick and so cold.

There was a burst of light, bright and blinding that faded quickly to a dull yellow. A dull moldy yellow. The door closed behind her and sudden it was warm, nice and warm but the shadow was still cold, its hand was shaking. She touched its hand and it looked down at her, those emotionless eyes that suddenly terrified her. It was disgusted with her, her and her filthy touch, the repulsive touch that made those glowing eyes blaze with bottomless anger. Yet there were tears.

The shadow knelt down picking her up setting her down into the lukewarm water that was up to her neck. She was still in her clothes, a little dress, she had no idea what color but she knew it was a dress. She could feel the warmth of the water on her kneees. The shadow jutted up her chin towards him with a claw that stunk of nicotine. She was crying, she felt herself crying but everything was quiet. Like an old movie. He rubbed her head then gripped her hair roughly pulling her up, looking at her eyes with those soul snatching eyes, inches up from the bathtub bottom before he forced her under the water.

Warmth had soothed the cold but the panic of water filling her lungs, unable to see, to scream, to fight, to run, to escape, to be saved made her cold with horror. Hands held her down as she kicked. She couldn't breath. Her heart was pounding. Her chest was tight and burning. Her body was coughing but it just juggled water out and back into her lung. Bubbles were rising in a frenzy. Her hands scratched and clawed blindly, her wrists banging on the tub walls. She tried to roll out, tossing herself left and right. For moment she did and sprung gasping for air. The shadow shoved her back down holding her face down against the bottom with both hands. Her head hit the bottom with a bang. She would drown or he would smash her head like a lemon.

She heard banging faint banging other than her soundless flails. Banging. Mad frantic banging. Then a boom. The hands let go and she could hear screaming, crying and screaming. Fierce wails and thunderous roars. A hand plucked her from the water, a warm hand, so warm, but she slipped hanging from the rim, fingers were reaching for her and a woman was screaming for her. She was beautiful like the sun, warm as summer and pretty like autumn leaves.