“Do you know why you’re here?” Color was gone from the world. Nothing remained but gray walls and gray tile. The concrete surged in on him with each inhale and swam away with each exhale, pulsing like the inside of a panicked heart. Light rained down from the roof and smeared in his eyes. He blinked the water away, sucking it back down with a shaky breath that stunk of smoke and rust. ...Here? Where was here, anyway? He stopped, knuckles freezing inches from the door. Wait. He didn't need to knock, he realized. It hung open just a crack...a crack just wide enough to render the lock useless. For a while, he simply stood there, staring down the door to room 116. Why would it already be open like that? The dark, silent slit offered no answer. …show more content…
He sucked in the air to call out, but it died in his throat. Something was wrong. His head throbbed to the hum of the harsh, florescent white above him. Each time he moved it, the whole world wavered, blurring into splatters of black and white. The rest of his senses drifted behind his eyes, while his mind chased after his nose and ears, trying to escape the pounding in his skull. The images wouldn't go away. He smelled it as soon as he entered the room. The black drowned out his eyes and smothered the rest of his senses, but the sweet, metallic tang cut through the shadows like the edge of a knife. He knew what it was without thought or doubt. It was something all too familiar, something that traced the scars in his memories with cold fingers. Blood. Oh. His eyes stopped on the surface of the table beneath him. The dim light turned the steel into a mirror, and his own face stared back up at him. Blood. Blood smeared his cheeks, painted streaks in his hair, stained his suit. His fingers found the light switch, and after a final beat of hesitation, flipped it. The world turned red. That's right... "You arrested me for murder." He was in the interrogation room of the local sherrif's office. He'd wound up covered in blood when the cops had pushed him down. Cuffed him. Dragged him to the car. Forced him all the way to that gray box. The boy raised his head, looking at the officer sitting across from him for the first time. Something shifted in the older man's face when they locked eyes. "You were detained under suspicion of murder, yes." The cop confirmed, hands folded on the table. "We need to start off with a few questions." They really thought he did it, huh? How funny. How completely and utterly stupid. He almost laughed. Crimson pooled on the kitchen tile.
Sixteen. The body had been stabbed sixteen times. Sixteen red rips. Sixteen bloodied slits. The logical part of his mind counted each gash even while the rest of him stopped. Dead. The familiar figure on the kitchen floor was dead. He hadn't even heard the officers coming when they'd tackled him from behind. He hadn't resisted, following along with them like he was following the whims of a dream. His mind lingered there in that room, heavy with shock and the smell of blood, even as his legs had walked him to the police car. Now, he found himself chained to a chair. He looked up at the single lamp above the table. Its electrical hum burned his bleary senses. Too loud. He'd trained his ears to listen for the buzz of electricity, but sometimes, the noise was grating, like a fly he couldn't kill. He let his eyes chase quieter hums around the room. A heater, a PDA in the officer's pocket, one-way speakers, a security lock on the door. Yeah. He could escape whenever he needed to. Slight relief sent the tension out of his muscles, but his stomach only sunk deeper in his gut, twisted in knots. His limbs dangled like rope weighted with lead. He didn't have it in him to make a break for it, not yet. The numbness was starting to wear
off. "We could make this easy." The officer offered. "Just tell us the truth, and this'll all be over quickly. Up to you." The boy didn't say anything, silently staring down the stranger. The officer was a plump man, probably in his late thirties. He was well-dressed for the job, complete with a notepad and pen poking from his pocket and a badge displayed proudly on his lapel, but his hair was greasy, unkempt. Black bags hung beneath world-weary eyes. The type of man who didn't have anyone to impress at home, but still took his job seriously. Someone who had no choice but to. A divorced father of multiple, probably. Heh. This guy was hardly a threat.
After the characters had been “released” from their entrapment, they were dreading the thought of being trapped again. The character’s feeling of entrapment undoubtedly added to the feeling of urgency, panic, and dread in the tone and mood of the novel.
Vance, “Here the victim was tortured for fifty minutes by red-hot irons being thrust against his quivering
“Did you do it!?” I heard my mom scream hysterically at me as I was dragged away. I kept my head down not able to meet my mother's eye. My head was shoved down as I was pushed into a cop car. The lights flashed but it was the siren of the ambulance on opposite side of the road that got to me. I saw defeated paramedics zip up the body bag enclosing the corpse until it could be examined at a morgue.
David was in the seclusionary time-out room for physical aggression as well as verbal aggression towards a female staff. He had taken his tee shirt off and had torn it into long narrow strips, which he used to tie around his neck and to tie his hands and fingers together and still attached to his neck. His arms were flexed upwards towards his neck in order to make the strips reach both.
But my blissful state completely vanishes as a terrible splintering sound fills the room, prompting me to bolt upright in my bed. And I am dumbstruck by what I find. A piece of the wooden door is now lying battered on the floor and a gaping hole is now visible from the outside of my door. “What the hell are you doing!” I shout at Lillie, who is peering at me through the hole.
Fog clung to the streets suffocating everything in a blanket of grey mist. The streets were dark and damp and the houses were crammed tightly into rows. It was eerily silent. A large black car drove through the fog, disappearing into the distance. The once green grass was crunchy, grey and dead. There were no trees, animals or laughter.
All the room was swimming in moonlight. Everything was different. There were deep shadows and swaths of silver, all mixed, all moving. She arose quietly and tiptoed from the room. She went out into the garden.
It took tremendous effort to simply walk a few meters distance, as the mud sucked his feet in almost instantly and let go resentfully with a loud smack. The dark grey sky reflected off the puddles, which trickled into the lower areas. The main feature of this depressing setting was the silent, gigantic house towering over the once beautiful flowers and green lawn. Its windows looked more like depressed eyes and the usually orange walls looked dark and murky. The brick driveway had murky water seeping through the cracks, leading to where the two Mercedes took shelter unsettled by the weather.
Constricted by ropes, blood streaming down his face, and no recollection of the past we see the protagonist lost and deserted. Blood streaming down his face, weary and confused
The door shook as Aerith attempted to pull it open by the handle, but it remained locked. She let out a sigh and continued down the dim moon-lit hallway. All the doors she had encountered so far were locked tight, and it was getting frustrating. Surely the dining hall and kitchen wouldn't be too far from the foyer.
As he stared at the ceiling, color returned to his face, numbness replaced with a warm sense of existing, the touch of the cool air against his skin. He looked at his hands. They were calloused and raw, nails gnawed to the quick, fingerprints lost among countless scars and burns. He grimaced. They didn't let him care for his hands, which was silly; he was a musician and he needed them to
The gun was pressed hard against my forehead. I was tied up and couldn’t move. In the corner there was a woman dressed in all black whistling while emptying my belongings looking for something valuable. Too bad she won’t find anything here. It seemed like hours until after the gun was removed, but sadly, the ropes that kept me bound weren’t. Both the man and the woman searched everywhere in my small, cozy one-story home but what they were searching for wasn’t found.
The air that was left in his lungs had fled from his body as he took his last breath. His chest rose and fell for the last time. He was gone. His eyes glazed over and his heart had stopped beating. I closed his eyes. The wounds from the attack were far too big for his fragile body, he couldn’t hold on any longer. He fought so well but even then he wouldn’t have been able to overcome something that was as horrific as this.
John: “I got those papers you wanted.” Shere stretches out her hand and John exasperatingly hands her the files.
With pride shining in his eyes, my grandfather came out on the back porch again, resuming his seat to watch the preceedings with a smile. “Welcome to the Pack, grandson, you will make our People proud.”