His Darling Assistant

Part 12: Trapped

You sat, leaning up against the pole, for what seemed like an eternity. Seconds bled into minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, and soon enough, you could have been sitting there for weeks for all you knew. You tried to focus on your breathing, telling yourself somebody would find you eventually, but you were having a hard time convincing yourself of any sort of hope, so you gave up, and waited. Your wrists were aching from your unsuccessful attempts to break free, and you could feel your muscles beginning to cramp up. You were so, very tired.

At some point you began to count to yourself, having nothing else to do. You focused your mind on each number, saying them for no one to hear, determined to erase all other hopeless thoughts from your mind. You made it to 289 before your mouth dried up, and the thirst began to get to you. While nursing your sandpaper-feeling-tongue the best you could, you realized that dehydration would be the first thing to kill you. Three days, you remembered, the human body can survive three days without water. That meant the weeks you had felt gone by since he had left you here were actually more like a number of hours. That gave you hope.

It was evening when you had been taken from your home, most likely around 6:30 or so. You probably spent a couple of hours knocked out from the chloroform, which means you woke up sometime around 8:00. If you had just now gotten thirsty, you estimated the time must be around midnight. Unless, of course, you were knocked out for a different amount of time, one which you had no way of knowing, or it took you longer or shorter than four hours to get thirsty. You never thought about how the concept of time would seem to disappear once you had been blindfolded and tied up in some desolate place.

A rumbling in your stomach reminded you that you had skipped lunch and dinner that day. This is gonna be a painful way to die.

Suddenly, panic coursed through you. I'm alone, you realized, completely alone, in god-knows-where, and I've been left for the rats.

Will they start eating at me before I die of dehydration?

They'll gnaw on my fingers and toes, I'm sure I'll feel that

Your thoughts were so loud, ringing and echoing against the outward silence that surrounded you.

I'm wearing shoes, they'd have to chew through those first

I'm not wearing shoes on my hands

Don't be ridiculous, why would you wear shoes on your hands?

I dunno, in case I get tied up in some abandoned basement and the rats decide to CHEW MY FUCKING FINGERS OFF?

You let out a wail of despair, your mind contradicting and conflicting with itself.

It's ok, I'm gonna get out

Yeah, when I'm rotting and they finally find my body

Don't think like that

Why not?

Stay hopeful

I'm fucking tired

Stay awake, goddamn it

I'm so fucking tired

You struggled to fight the growing weight of your eyelids, desperate to stay awake. It was so important that you stay awake. It was imperative to your survival. Stay awake.

But why?

As you strained to find an answer, your mind drifted, and your stubborn eyes shut, leading you into the abyss of sleep.

+++

You dreamt were in a bed. It was, by no means, the most comfortable bed you had slept in, but it was much preferred to the wooden post you knew you'd wake up to. You shifted, without opening your eyes, and took note of how thin the sheets were. You could just make out a steady beeping noise from what seemed like an adjacent room.

The next thing you noticed was the smell. It was sterile, in the same vein of hand sanitizer and rubbing alcohol, although not quite either of those, despite its distant familiarity. You laid there and took a deep breath, and then another, inhaling the welcome change in scent from the musty room you were trapped in.

I didn't know I could smell in dreams.

When you finally decided to open your eyes, you found yourself in a hospital, wrists aching, but bandaged instead of bound. An IV needle was taped to your wrist, supplying your blood with fluids to counteract your dehydration. A sudden urge to rip it out like you had seen movie characters do overcame you, but you resisted, cringing at the thought of the needle tearing out from your skin.

"Good afternoon, Doctor."

You looked up to see a woman leaning against the doorframe, watching you. Behind her, you could see the busy hallway bustling with doctors and nurses and patients. It had been a while since you'd been in the Emergency Room, but you didn't remember it being this busy. Then you realized you were dreaming, and all the people in the hallway were figments of your imagination, anyway.

"How are you feeling?"

You looked back to the woman, noticing the badge that hung from her belt.

"Why am I here?" you asked.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not complaining, I'd much rather be here than awake, but you'd think I'd dream up the comfort of my own bed, or something. Not a hospital."

The woman was silent for a moment before speaking.

"You think you're dreaming."

"Of course I'm dreaming. When I wake up, I'll be tied to a wooden post somewhere."

"I know this must be hard for you. Anybody would be traumatized after the hours you spent in that room, but this is real. You're awake, and you're safe."

"That's exactly what some cop I dreamed up would say."

"You're awake and safe, Doctor," she repeated, "I promise you."

"No. I'm not."

"There's no need to be afraid."

"No need," you started, "of course there's a need. He got me."

"Who got you?"

You closed your eyes.

"Scarecrow," you whispered.