Stockholm Syndrome? - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Archer's POV
My head was throbbing. I had barely opened my eyes, but I could feel my head pulsating to an uncomfortable rhythm. It wasn't just uncomfortable, it was painful. It felt as though my head was being hammered in every direction.
I opened my eyes slowly. Everything was blurry. I couldn't register anything, but I knew something was wrong. My head was groggy, my lips dry. My neck was stiff and painful.
Bit by bit, my vision cleared. I was greeted by what seemed like a storage room. There were boxes stacked high up against the wall. The place smelled woody with an orange-brown lighting and I immediately knew it wasn't my bedroom. I looked to my left slowly, spotting a door at the far end.
I slumped a little forward, my head felt heavy. I tried raising my right hand to support it when I realized my hand was restrained. That jolted my brain.
I looked around quickly, catching sight of my left hand. It too was shackled to the chair I was sitting on. I yanked both my hands. They didn't come loose. That only resulted in the handcuffs nearly biting into my skin. Trying to yank my hands free was doing more damage to me. My wrists were painful. Trying to slide my hand out of the handcuffs didn't help either.
I couldn't recall how I had gotten there, but the handcuffs on my hands told me I was in danger.
I licked my dry lips, which felt rough against my tongue. My throat was dry and burning up. Regardless of how uncomfortable I knew it would be to shout, I did just that.
"Help!" I screamed. "Somebody help me!"
With the dryness of my throat, I felt like a cat was scratching at it as I screamed my lungs out. I couldn't stop. I had to keep screaming. Maybe someone would hear. Maybe someone would come and rescue me.
Fear was creeping in. I didn't know who was standing at the other side of the door but I knew whoever put me there didn't have good intentions. Raped...murdered...the words crept into my head slowly, but intensely. Tortured... I chastised myself. I had the habit of focusing on inappropriate things.
I screamed as loud as I could. There had to be someone good out there. Even though the door wasn't opening, I couldn't give up hope. Maybe someone was looking for me.
"Help me! Help!"
Screaming was taking a toll on me. I was breathing faster and harder. I refused to give up. I'd seen a lot of movies where a trapped person gave up screaming for help just as a potential rescuer was coming. It was a work of fiction but one aspect that wasn't exaggerated.
"Somebody!"
My throated protested, forcing me to swallow my inadequate saliva. It moisturized my throat for only a few seconds. I needed water.
I chose to focus on my restraints. I tried to compress my hand to a small enough size to slide through the handcuff, but it was impossible and painful. I could weather the pain if I knew it was possible. But without lubrication it felt like an impossible task.
I tried standing up, only to realize the chair was bolted to the floor. I remembered something. I couldn't recall how and when I got to that place, but I knew I had a cell phone, and potentially had it with me. I looked down at my pockets, not seeing the familiar bulge my phone always produced.
I refused to give up home and tried to bend my hands so I could pat my pockets. I had to be certain my phone wasn't there. I knew it wasn't. I had to cling onto some form of hope or I would start panicking again.
I didn't see the door open.
"Looking for this?" I heard a male voice.
I looked up to see a shadow walking towards me. The lighting in the room was so bad it couldn't cover the whole place. The figure took slow but deliberate steps.
I saw what the man who walked into my view was holding before I saw him. My cell phone was nestled between his thumb and the rest of his hand. My eyes traveled to his face.
And then it hit me. My memories came back to me. I could remember the party, Len breaking up with me and walking away from Caleb's house. I could remember the stranger that offered me a lift which I declined.
The same man was standing in front of me.
"You!" it was the only thing I could say.
"I'm glad you are awake. Though I didn't think it would take you this long. I didn't take your size into account", he said coolly.
"Take my size...? What the fuck?"
"I'm sure you've realized by now you were drugged. It's not how I do it, trust me, but I had no choice", he said putting my phone is his pants pocket.
"You...fucking retard! Fucking cow!" I shouted.
He shook his head. "I don't think you want to be insulting me right now".
He was right. He had the upper hand. He could produce a gun and kill me right there and then. I knew he was right, but that wouldn't stop me from mouthing off. I wasn't about to die silent.
"Oh I want to, you bloody freak. What do you want with me?"
My throat was still hurting, and shouting at the man holding me hostage wasn't helping matters. But he deserved it.
"Right now? I just came to check if you are awake", he said.
I rolled my eyes and scowled. "Yeah, that's what I was asking you third rate criminal".
He grinned. There was amusement in his eyes. "Third rate? Charming", he said.
"Yeah well you don't look like some hotshot. The best you look is a henchman", I jibed.
"So you think I'm working for someone?" he asked. He seemed really interested in the answer.
"Definitely", I said confidently.
"Interesting", he said, rather reflectively. "Anyway, I came to ask you if you need anything besides being let go".
I scowled at him. That amused tinge returned, only it wasn't just in his eyes this time. It was like he was trying hard not to laugh.
"I was going to ask to be let go, but if that's the case then nothing. I enjoy being here. It's not like I have anywhere to be", I sneered.
"Okay then. I'll be back later", he said turning towards the door.
"Oh for fuck's sake, just let me go!" I yelled. My throat once again reminded me that I needed water.
He didn't turn.
"Okay okay. I need water!" I resigned.
"I'll be back", he said at the door before pressing something. The door slid before him.
A code activated door? Great!
Turns out being snarky doesn't work.
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. I tried to block the thoughts creeping into my consciousness but I couldn't quite do it. Torture, murder, rape...those words imprinted themselves on every cell in my body. It would explain why I was suddenly sweaty and why the air I was breathing felt poisonous. My heart raced. My situation was becoming ever more present to me. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't role-play. I was in danger, real danger.
This wasn't a bully in 2nd grade. This wasn't a horror movie on mom's LED flat TV or the cinema. This wasn't the nervousness of asking Len out 2 years ago. This wasn't the worry I always felt about my grades and disappointing mom.
It was real. I wasn't getting out of there alive. The guy didn't bother hiding his face. He knew I wasn't going to live to tell the tale.
I yanked my hands harshly and the metal bit into my skin. My wrists were already reddening. Terror was finally gripping me, making my body tremble.
I didn't hear the door slide. It was only the man's movement that alerted me to his return. His footsteps became louder as he approached. He had a glass of water in his hand. He knelt before me and put a straw in the glass, bringing it to my lips.
I sipped the water slowly, noticing that his head was close to mine. If I butted him in the head, I could hurt him and maybe be able to get the keys from him. I laughed at myself. There was no way I could head-butt him hard enough without breaking my own skull.
"What's funny?" he asked.
I hadn't noticed that my face displayed my amusement.
"How ugly you look", I blurt. I knew being snarky didn't help but I couldn't help it.
He took the almost-empty glass away from my lips. "You okay?" he asked, indicating the water.
Why wasn't he the least offended about my snide remark? Unless movies lied, henchmen got offended when insulted. I didn't want to be pummeled to death, but that was usually the reaction.
"I'm fine, like water is all I need right now", I said.
Subconscious decisions were taken. No matter how scared I was at that moment, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"We don't always get what we want", he said with simplicity that was irritating.
I sighed. "Since you don't want to let me go, can you tell me what you want with me? My family isn't rich", I said.
"I know you aren't rich Archer. And I don't want your money", he said.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, realizing this wasn't a random act.
"The same way I know Stella, Clark and Lennox". It was unsettling hearing my friends' name being called out by my kidnapper.
"Who do you work for?" I enquired.
I needed a name, something to help with understanding the whole situation. It was becoming chillier by the minute. Clearly there was something bigger.
"I used to work for people. But now I work for myself", he said.
"Drug smuggling? Prostitution? What?" I asked.
He didn't say anything, just looked at me.
"How many...people work for you?" I questioned. I had been about to call his henchmen "fucktards" but changed my wording. I was asking the man for information, being snarky wasn't going to help.
"I work alone", he said. There was some disgusting confidence in his voice.
"What do you want with me?" I asked firmly.
He grabbed a chair and settled into it. Putting the glass he was holding down he said, "You, not much. You are a pawn".
His relaxed manner was infuriating. He didn't look like someone who kidnapped people for a living. Sure he looked rough and tough, but his calmness and manner of speaking could almost be described as that of a suave man.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"You aren't significant. You are a part of a plan", he replied.
"So...you are just going to lock me here forever?"
He shook his head, grinning slightly. "I'm going to keep you here until I get what I want, and then I'm going to kill you". The levity with which he delivered his words was unbelievable.
His words sent chills down my spine. I swallowed hard.
"Tell me what you want then!" I yelled.
He shook his head. "You can't give me what I want".
He stood up and walked to the door.
"Maybe I can!" I shouted.
"And you are by staying right where you are", he shouted back.
"Don't fucking walk away from me. Tell me what you want you sadistic waste of oxygen!"
He turned towards me, moving his body lazily my direction. I wondered if this what the time the punch came.
"Revenge", he uttered. His voice was thick and assured. It wasn't something he'd thought of at that moment. It was clear it was what he wanted, what he'd thought of more than once.
"I don't understand", I said. I hated how my voice came out. It was almost like I was pleading.
"You don't have to", he said. He was walking away again.
"Who are you taking revenge on and what's that got to do with me?" I shouted behind him.
"If you figure out the person I'll tell you a story. We can even watch TV. Right now I have to go. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow", he said.
Watch TV? Tell me a story? What the fuck? Did he think I was some 10 year old?
He was at the door when I said, "Uh...guy who kidnapped me –sorry, I don't know your name – do you mind freeing my hands? It's not like I can leave this room through your... code and probably fingerprint and eye-scan authorized door".
He chuckled. "No". With that, he left.
I watched the door slide back in place and lock. I huffed and yanked my hand for good measure. The cuff didn't budge, not that I expected it to. I couldn't say I was no longer scared, but I was frustrated more than I was scared. I didn't know how long it would be before the man got what he wanted. I didn't even know what he wanted. I was bloody clueless. Surely I deserved to know why I was dying?
What if he was a psycho? What if there was no reason? What if he just wanted to satisfy his urge to kill?
I yanked my hand. This time the pain seared from my wrist to the tip of my fingers. I released a moan of pain before I could stop myself. I gave a frustrated sigh.
The man was intent on remaining a mystery. He talked like he was writing a script for Angels and demons. I wished he could just cut the mystery act and his non-existent reactions to my insults.
He'd talked about revenge. I couldn't think of why anyone would want to get revenge. I wasn't Mr. Congeniality but I was friendly and respectful. Sure I spewed a lot of snarky comments, but amusement was all there was to it. I didn't bully people. I didn't con them. I certainly did not physically harm them. Besides a fight in 2nd grade I barely hit anyone that wasn't Clark.
He'd said I was a pawn, so maybe I wasn't the one he was taking revenge on. He was using me to get revenge on someone else. The only people who'd care I was kidnapped were mom, Stella, Clark, some of my extended family members and schoolmates. Only mom, Stella, Clark and regretfully Len were close to me. They were good people!
My eyes wandered around the room. It was warm, illuminated by a single bulb hung from the ceiling. It wasn't strong enough. Parts of the room were dark. There were boxes and other old junk in the room. I spotted something that didn't look like junk. Framed paintings leaned against the wall. There were about 7. I couldn't see them properly.
My mind switched from the room to things outside it. I didn't know how long I had been in there. I didn't even know what time it was. Stella was probably worried, mom too. Maybe the police were looking for me. Maybe there was a search party.
Mom would be devastated. She already couldn't handle me going off to college. I didn't want to think of what she was going through if she knew. I knew it was going to be torture for her.
Thoughts about Len tried to creep in, but I wouldn't let them.
I closed my eyes, deciding to try and get some sleep. My head wasn't throbbing anymore, but I felt tired. With my eyes closed all I saw was mom, Stella, Clark, my grandparents and the college that I wasn't going to set foot on. There would be no more adventures for Stella, Clark and I; no college soccer career; no Christmas breaks with loving grandparents who bought me things I'd overgrown; no graduations with a happy mom; no love, boyfriends, marriage and kids. This was it. The last thing I was going to see was the walls of that room.
In the darkness created by my tightly closed eyes, I finally released tears.