Thud. Getting closer each time. A flashlight flicks on. I look upward and instantly adrenaline shoots through my veins.
Through the grated stairs a few flights above me, two silhouettes tap their batons against their hands. My heart beats so rapidly that I can’t hear their voices.
I inch backward until I’m up against the wall. I look for a door, a person, or anything that can help me. Nothing. Sickness washes over me, but there’s no time to be weak. For the moment, I swallow my fear and take off to the basement. I’m leaping down the stairs when they start calling out.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Their raucous laughter bounces off the walls and exhilarates my fear. Don’t panic, don’t panic… too late. I’m panicking.
“Sutton’s on his way!” My voice cracks. I’m not sure they heard me, but I had to try something.
“Oh, no!” More obnoxious laughter echoes down the staircase. “Isn’t the elevator working?” They ask with sarcasm.
As they inch closer, I look over my shoulder, and recognize one of them as the guard from the garage. Dread wraps its fingers around my heart. They’re getting closer and I feel like I’m running through quicksand. I want to go faster, but my legs won’t respond. I grab the railing with my right hand, swinging my legs over the bar, and down the next flight of stairs trying to gain some distance.
“Whore on the loose! Yes! I love this game,” the other guard says. They hop over the railing with ease.
“Help! Someone help me!” I scream even though I know nobody can hear me.
“Who the hell would help you?”
I look up and one flight is all that separates us. As I get closer to the bottom, I notice there’s only one door. You have to be open! Slamming into the door, I turn the handle and bolt through. The stairwell was well lit compared to this. Where to go? Where to hide? At the other end, I spot a window where the sun seeps in. If I can get there, someone might hear me. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, right? I sprint toward it.
Tables, beds, and chairs litter my path to safety. Boxes piled upon boxes jam-pack the walls and floors in every crevice. I glance around, trying to find a backup plan. The window is too far and too high for the amount of time I have left. Rushing, I smack into a folding chair and slam to the ground making a loud clanging noise.
“That was graceful,” he says from behind me.
I didn’t know they were that close. Out of options, I crawl under an empty cardboard box and await the inevitable. I’m trapped and they know it.
“Now it’s a game of hide-and-seek. You’re making this way too enjoyable.”
Banging and crashing noises tell me they’re digging for me. I’m shaking so hard I’m sure they can tell what box I’m hiding under. A guard kicks boxes and throws chairs out of his way. Please don’t kick me. In the midst of the noise, I lose track of the other guard but don’t dare look. It becomes silent. They are going to kill me. It’s over.
They rip the box off me and I lunge to get away. A blow lands on the back of my head with a sickening crack and searing pain overpowers my senses. Hands grip my arms and I’m flung into a pile of chairs that clatter to the floor underneath me. They drag me to the other side of the room as the blood drenching my hair leaves a trail behind. My head is yanked up and I’m forced to look into the steel, cold eyes of the guard from the garage.
“Thought you could get away, didn’t you?” He orders the other guard, “Hold her down.”
I kick with force, managing to free an arm, and rake my fingernails down his face, tearing his skin. Furious, he lands a blow across my cheek and sends me back to reality. I don’t stand a chance.
“I said hold her down!”
He pins me, wraps a piece of cloth around my head and through my mouth to muffle my screams. Then he climbs on top of me.
At first, I glue my thighs shut as he tries to pry them apart, but then he punches me so hard I see flashes of light. He sends his fist into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. My body goes limp, and he spreads my legs as I gasp for breath. His hands explore me like clay being modeled, tracing every curve and inch of my skin.
I cringe with every touch. His hands are rough like sandpaper and I feel disgusting, repulsive, and dirty in every way possible. Everything that belonged to me has been taken away, and now my purity will be plundered as well.
I’m humiliated.
I’m violated.
I’m treated like the scum of the earth, and they’re proud.
He slaps me across the face. “Look at me.” He drools over his words.
No, please God.
His eyes are alight with ecstasy. He whips out a knife and slices my shirt to shreds. I squirm and buck, but his solid form remains immovable. He turns to the other guard.
“You can have your turn when I’m finished…”
The other guard grins, sweat dripping down his face and staining the starch collar of his shirt. His hands squeeze my arms tighter, but nothing compares to the splitting pain in my head.