Chapter 13
Olivia opened her eyes as wide as she could, but there was no change in the inky blackness that surrounded her. Struggling, she managed to get herself upright and scooted over until her shoulder touched a wall. She leaned against it gratefully, laying her head back. With a hiss, she pulled it forward again and groped with her bound hands. Her fingers touched the tender spot where a sticky, goose egg sized lump rose up in her matted hair. It would be her luck to have a concussion.
She lifted her hands to her face and felt along her wrists with her chin, trying to decipher what was binding them together. It was slick, wide and smelled of adhesive. Duct tape, if she were to guess since there was no rubber smell that would indicate electrical tape. She found the edge, clamped her teeth on it and pulled. Within minutes she had the sticky wrappings off and was rubbing her wrists to get the circulation going again in her fingers. Once she finished, she made short work of the bindings on her ankles.
Taking a deep breath, she let it out and concentrated. Be smart. Don't panic. That was how she was going to get out of this in one piece. She turned her head to the side and pressed her ear to the wall to listen. At first, there was nothing, but slowly, Olivia became aware of a low hum of machinery. Inching along the wall, she stopped every few feet and listened again. When her outstretched hand touched another wall, she turned and repeated the actions to the third wall and the fourth until she was sure she was close to the beginning. Nothing. Sitting once again, she took stock of the situation.
The room was a long rectangle, sixteen or so feet and maybe eight or so feet wide. The walls seemed to be constructed of metal with a floor that felt like rough wood. It was sealed so tightly not a single glimmer of light could be seen. The space was completely empty. Olivia sat back and pulled her tank top away from her sweat slicked body and fanned it. She didn't know what happened to her work shirt but didn't miss the extra layer. It was hot in here and getting hotter as the moments went by. That told her it was most likely morning and by now, Auntie must be frantic.
Olivia had just hung up her call to Auntie when a pair of arms had curled around her body. For a split second, she thought it was Bruiser. A whispered, "Hello, my beauty," in a thick guttural accent had dispelled that idea quickly. Instincts kicked in, and she went on the attack. Throwing her head back, she caught the man across the mouth with a satisfying crunch. It was followed by a fist to his more delicate area which bought her a few precious seconds. She had her hands on the door to the coffee shop when something landed on the back of her head. The next thing she knew, she awoke to this small space, trussed up like a turkey.
"Which one is she in?"
The voice was muffled and came from the other side of the wall where she was sitting. There was a slight rap next to her hip. "This one," said the same heavily accented voice from the attack.
She immediately nicknamed them Creep and Jerk.
"Are you sure you got the right one?" Creep asked.
Jerk snorted. "Yeah, it's the right one. We've been keeping an eye on her. Don't worry; he'll be happy." There was a pause. "He better pay extra to get my teeth fixed. Bitch knocked some out when I grabbed her."
Olivia had to slap her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Good. She had done some damage. Give her a little time, and she'd do even more. She didn't know who "he" was but if he thought she would hunker down and take this, then he was crazy. She'd done the victim thing already in her life and wasn't about to present a repeat performance. Her therapist would be so proud of her.
She pressed her ear against the wall harder to catch the conversation as they left. Frustration ate at her as the silence of the area again descended on her. Turning onto her hands and knees, she crawled along the wall until her head touched another wall. Flattening her hand over the surface, Olivia groped along, searching for any indication of a door. There was none.
The temperature continued to climb inside the metal box as the walls heated from the outdoor sun. Olivia moved away from the sides and laid in what she determined to be the center. It was marginally cooler on the floor but not by much. Sweat coated her from head to toe gluing her shirt to her skin. She smacked her lips together as thirst took over her attention. What she wouldn't do for a few swallows of water.
Olivia drifted in and out of consciousness as the stifling heat slowly baked her body. The layer of sweat dried as dehydration took over, coating her with a thin layer of salty crud. Her stomach lurched and tried to empty, but there was nothing except bile burning her throat. She laid back and moaned. Her head throbbed, and cramps seized her muscles. A niggling voice in the back of her brain whispered heat stroke to her. She had learned the symptoms in boot years ago in preparation for possible deployment.
"Help," she croaked weakly. Balling her fist, she lifted it and let it drop on the thin wooden floor. There was barely a sound at all. "Help, please."
"Nobody here to help you. You're going to die, Miss O-liv-i-a."
She knew that voice. "Sly," she whispered into the superheated air. "You aren't here. It's just an illusion brought on by heat stroke."
"Then why are you talking to me?" the sound of his laughter sliced through the air. "Poor little Miss O-liv-i-a. You had all these big plans, but you can't get away from who you are. Daughter of a crack whore; a little piece of tail dying alone in the dark."
"Go 'way," she muttered.
"It's your fault. Your mother is dead, and it's all your fault. You should have let me take care of you. A girl as pretty as you would be able to make a lot of money on her back. Tried so hard to be better than Nadine. You finished school, went in the Army and registered for college. Plans on top of plans and it's all for nothing. In the end, you will join your mother after all. The only difference is there won't be a ceremony with pretty words told over a coffin. Nobody will ever see you again, O-liv-i-a. You're nothing. Nobody."
She would cry at the condescending tone, but there wasn't any moisture left in her body. Sly was right, of course. All of her big plans meant nothing now. She wouldn't see Jayden come into his own as an artist. Auntie would never get that long awaited cruise she wanted. Bruiser. Oh, that one hurt the most. From the first moment she laid eyes on him, she knew on some basic cellular level that he was her destiny. They had taken it slow, enjoying the tender chase of the new attraction. However, she knew the truth. Bruiser was it for her, and now she wouldn't even get a chance to tell him how she felt.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
The last thing she heard was Sly's arrogant laughter as consciousness slid away and oblivion welcomed her into its embrace.