Silence penetrated the small room just as deeply as the gunshot. Yves only heard her ragged breath and the ever present buzzing from the ancient light fixture. She was sure she sat in silence for only a minute, but her frightened and blind senses told her it was hours, days, maybe weeks that she sat there, listening for the Faceless Man to return, to come at her with the gun and decide that raping her was not something he had an interest in any longer.
The clammy sweat still held on against her skin, chilling her naked body except for the burning part of her ribs which refused to shut up. Her ears picked up nothing, just those two same sounds and the heavy din of the void in which she was trapped – silence.
Her hand started wiggling again, without her conscious mind telling it to, as if it wanted her attention, hey, brain, we’ve got to go.
Maybe he’s gone, she pondered as she pulled harder against the rope, threatening to rip her hand right off of her arm. Yves did not want to put too much faith in that thought, she had no idea what context to put what she heard, two voices, one scream, one gun shot. Who was the other voice? Was that person gone? Were they dead? There were too many questions for her to focus on, especially with the stretch of her burning muscles clamping down around her concentration. The pain in her wrist now rose steadily, but she kept pulling.
Is that other voice coming for me?
Her first and fourth metacarpal snapped, two dull pops in her hand as the rope squeezed against them. The pain should have been blinding, but as Yves was already near-blind and had so many other breaks and injuries, it was simply a muted blanket that stacked on top of the already sky-high tower of her waking death. She had to bite down on her lip to keep from yelling out, both because of the new pain and from exaltation – of being able to now fit her hand through the rope.
Blood leaked down her chin, but Yves dared now to smile, her broken hand guided by touch to the other rough knot at her right wrist. She was going to get free, her hand could still function enough to grapple the hemp shackle, even if it was shaking like a leaf.
But then the footsteps began.
Yves couldn’t stop a small whimper from dropping free of her throat, both disappointment and fear pushed it out. The steps meant that someone was alive, one of the two voices. Was it the Faceless Man? Come to rape her again? Or take out his frustration from the intruder by beating her again? Or was it the other one? The man or woman who just happened upon this disaster.
The steps came closer, an even clock that ticked away the distance between Yves and the unknown. The footfalls were flat and soft, like a properly soled shoe, but not a boot. Closer. Closer. Yves frantically scrambled against the woven rope that still kept her right hand, scratching and pulling without regard for her rising pain, pushing it aside like the bodies in a crowd, leaving it to come up from behind later. She wasn’t going to make it, even if she freed her hand, both of her feet were still tied up and she had no means of escape after that. At best, she could use the rope to grapple with whoever came in, but her overpowering someone was as likely as her falling asleep – not going to happen.
The whimper became full tears again, burning waterfalls of salt and despair that plunged down her face, she didn’t bother being silent any longer, letting her choked-on cries and moans reach the approaching boots.
They didn’t slow or quicken or change in any way. The footsteps came on.
“Please! Just don’t hurt me! Not again!” Her dry throat cracked like a preteen boy. “Please!”
The steps stopped at the door. Yves could hear the rise and fall of their breathing, deep and gasping suction through their nose, pulling at the air with an audible sniff.
“Please…” There was no stopping her crying now, she let the tears come as the stranger approached.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Yves moaned with relief, bringing her broken hand to hide her face and the mangled way it must look. She started to say so many things, only getting out half a word at a time before it was eaten up by sobs and gasps for air. “T-Th-Th-“
“Shhh” The new voice said, a smooth and even man’s voice, not that of the Faceless Man, but of a stranger. Just that one sound was like a lullaby to Yves, it rocked her into comfort and safety. This stranger will set her free, she thought of miracles and destiny and fate, thanking the God she had always been told was up there. “I don’t mean to be rude miss, but you look a sight,” He gently took her left hand and brushed his calloused fingers over the edges of her palms.
Yves quivering gasps became muddled with laughter, He tries to be charming in a place like this?
“Just relax, you’ll be okay, miss.” His grip moved to her wrist and tightened there.
“Wha-“ All the fear came rising back up, the man in the crowd she pushed aside returned for a stab in her back. The pain resurfaced and pushed red velvet into her already darkened vision. “NO!”
The velvet voice put her wrist back in the rope, tightening it further.
“NO!!!”
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