DARK

FIRE

-DAY 3-

I stared at Connor, who was asleep next to me. After a long day of feeling sick, and spending most of it in the bathroom, we had finally gotten some rest. The rest of the day, he was not himself. Connor was nervous and emotional. Whatever was on his mind yesterday had affected him. As much as I wanted to ask, I didn't want to turn a possibly good day into a bad one. Yesterday, I also brought up the idea of asking Red to provide us with groceries. Connor liked the idea but wasn't positive it was going to happen. Red was never on our side. He was all about torture and letting us suffer. If anything, Red would say that he's given us enough; our tiny apartment.

I sat up slowly, trying not to wake Connor up. It took him long enough to fall asleep last night, and I wasn't about to ruin that. I went out of the bedroom and looked around the tiny place. Everything was the same. The digital clock sitting on the counter told me it was eight-thirty in the morning. In half an hour, Red would deliver breakfast. It would be nice if this breakfast didn't send Connor and me to the bathroom floor for hours. I was sure it was the bacon, but Connor argued that it was the rotten strawberries. Either way, the food was terrible. Red can't be serving me that food when I'm pregnant. It was unhealthy. I walked around the apartment, trying to examine everything. I wasn't looking for a way out, but I was looking for ideas on how to get out.

For the many days I've been here, I've tried many different escape routes. They all failed. The vents are too high up and too small. Even if I could fit, Connor wouldn't be able to. I also tried to fake swallowing the sleeping pill Red provided. When he was moving me, I decided to jump out of his arms and run, but within seconds Red had knocked me out cold. I woke up the day after that with a pounding headache. It took me three attempts to realize that it was not going to work. I had also tried to kill myself many times, but medical care was forced on me every time. There was absolutely no escape from this place. Connor and I had discussed it, and there were even more ways he thought of that failed. It was hopeless.

I traced my fingertips on the smooth, polished countertop. It reminded me of my counter back home. My kitchen was large, and every inch structured to perfection, just like my mom wished. I looked at the cabinets; they were old and chipped. The only thing in the kitchen that looked new was the countertops, which was a strange finding. As I examined the cabinets closer, I saw that one had a corner stained a dark purple colour. I ran my fingers along with it, wondering why it was discoloured. It was a different colour, and it appeared worn down as if it had taken a vigorous scrubbing. The wood seemed to be shredding in areas. There was no reason for the cabinet to have a stain unless someone had been here before.

I looked down at the ground and began to study the floor patterns. It was apparent that the tiles in this particular spot were a different shade and design than the others. Why was that? A stained cabinet and mismatch tiles. Did Red make some sort of mistake here, or was he covering something up? I looked back at the purple stain, and it appeared to be more of a maroon. That's when it hit me; the cabinet was bloodstained. I let out a small yelp and stumbled backwards. I ran my hip off the counter and fell to the ground in pain. Someone died here. My heart rate shot up, and all I could hear was my breathing. Everything else echoed. I barely heard when Connor came running out until he grabbed my arm.

"Mya?" He said louder.

I looked at his hand on my wrist and then back at him. "Someone died here,"

"What? How do you know that?" Connor asked.

"The cabinet is stained, and some of the tiles are different," I said.

Connor looked up at the cabinet, and then at the tiles. "We don't know if that's what happened,"