Between Limestone Ruins

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bees.

Bees in her shirt.

They weren't angry bees. Just bees buzzing away in her shirt. As the fog lifted Hannah realized that bees in her shirt was improbable, and if it was actually happening she should be more concerned. She lifted heavy eyelids to find herself in a blood-spattered basement. Straight out of the cheesiest horror movie anyone has ever seen. Maybe it wasn't human? Hannah wasn't naïve enough to believe that. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth to hopefully lessen the bile threatening to rise up her throat. Unfortunately, the scent of rotting bodily fluids translated into a taste fairly easily and Hannah felt her choking around the uncomfortable, tightly tied fabric in her mouth.

The rest of her body had been completely re-tied, so she was tightly attached to the chair she sat in, and even small movements cause the bind to cut into her skin. She was certain her wrists had already begun to bleed behind her. A thick syrupy liquid seemed to be dripping down into her hands and rolling off her thin, pale fingers.

In front of her stood the horror movie surgery table, with a tray of tools from numerous professions, each looking more painful than the last. Amidst all the regular scary surgeon-type tools, sat woodworking tools, the largest chef's knife Hannah had ever had the displeasure of imagining slicing into her neck.

There was a drain under her chair, because why not, thought Hannah. The walls had insulation duct-taped to them, a haphazard sound-proofing by someone who understood the bare minimum of engineering and construction.

This guy was really going for the stigmatized Hollywood feel of a serial killer. It was all starting to seem like a joke. This guy couldn't be serious. This room looked like it had been designed by set designers on the show Dexter or a bunch of teenagers asked to put together a haunted house will stuff they found at home and $200 worth of pig's blood.

There must be a door behind her, but her gag was tied in such a way that she couldn't turn her head. She could hear the steady buzz of a fridge or freezer behind her.

Freezer, thought Hannah. He must store the bodies in the same place he butchered them. Makes it easy at least. Did he get all his psychopath knowledge from pop culture?

The freezer sound was not the source of the buzzing in her shirt, so she pushed her focus onward by looking down as much as she could in her bonds.

Holy shit she had put her phone in her bra during her walk.

Mr. Hollywood must have checked her pockets but didn't understand women enough to realize just how many places they could hide things. Guess chopping people up doesn't help you understand them. Who knew?

Hannah was impressed with the fit of her bra, having held onto her phone throughout an entire kidnapping. She should write a review for the product online.

Focus Hannah. Shock had set in hours ago but in this situation, it was to Hannah's advantage. The adrenaline supply was bountiful; she was alert, she was itching for a fight. Terror still ripped through her body in violent waves, but she could use terror. She could use the terror of being murdered and the anger at the person threatening her life.

"Fuel for my hate fire," Hannah whispered. Another blessing of entering shock? Even though she knew her situation was terrifying, she couldn't help but think the whole situation was hilarious. Really, how hadn't she seen this coming? This situation felt pretty on-brand for her honestly. Walker was right, if she got out of this alive she'd tattoo damsel in distress somewhere on her body.

She had never been religious, but she found herself bargaining with the big guy for her life with tattoos.

Focus Hannah. That wasn't her internal monologue. That was Walker's voice. A sharp, painful once over of the room she could see determined she was now officially hallucinating Walker's voice. He was right though.