Nightwing: Heartless

Part 51: Captive

When Willa opened her eyes it was pitch dark. Her head was foggy, confused. She sat up with a jerk, remembering her apartment and being attacked by the strange man in armor. He looked like some kind of mercenary, but if he was an assassin, why was she alive? She flexes all her fingers and toes to confirm she was actually alive, then pushed herself to her feet. She still couldn't see anything in the dark but she could feel a wall behind her, probably stone. The next thing she noticed was how cold it was here, wherever here was. She was still in the clothes she was taken in, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, still with just socks, no shoes. She ran her hands up and down her bare arms to generate some heat.

Okay, don't panic, she thought to herself. She was alive; she was uninjured, that had to count for something. She was also alone in a cold dark room somewhere with no way to contact the police. She fought down the wave of panic and took a deep breath. What would Dick do? Gather as much information as she could. She touched the wall behind her again and traced it, trying to find anything. She found the corner, and finally an outline of a door. Sadly, there was no handle from this side.

She sat down again after she had run her hands over every inch of the four walls. The space wasn't very big, maybe a 10x10 stone or cement, no windows. Her eyes had adjusted as much as they could, but there was nothing to see. The room was empty except for her, a bucket that made her scrunch her nose at the implication, a small puddle in the corner and a hook latch thing that came out of the floor a few feet to her right. She took another shaky breath, fighting tears at her situation. She crawled over to the door again and tried to peer out the bottom, but no light peeked through. She knocked, hesitantly at first anyway.

"Hello?" Her voice was little more than a croak. How long had she been unconscious? She tried again, louder. "Hello?" No reply. She banged on the door harder, eventually using both hands. "Let me out!" What did she expect? Someone to actually listen to her? But it was the only thing she could do. She continued yelling and banging until her throat was horse and her hands hurt. Not even a light or a squeak from the other side. She crossed back to the far away and sunk down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs. She really was alone. Now she let herself cry. What if the man left her down here to starve to death? Despite the thoughts and the cold, she felt her eyes get heavy, exhausted from the stress and the hours banging on the door.

She woke up in the same position, shivering this time. Nothing had changed. She stood up and did some jumping jacks to warm her body. She paced back and forth, aware of how dry her mouth was. She needed water. She banged on the door with her fists again, getting desperate. She heaved a sob and pressed her head to the door. No, she had to stop crying, she thought to herself, preserve whatever water was left in her body. "Please let me out," she croaked at the door, but there was no response.

She woke up curled by the door, feeling more tired than when she fell asleep. What time was it? Had it been a day? Two? Three? Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of the lack of food. Her throat burned from the lack of water. They had to give her water soon or she would die. Okay, she thought, it had to be less than three days, because if it was more, she would be dead. Her head pounded with a headache and her body ached, probably from the shivering. Pushing herself to a crawl left her breathless and her throat burning. She laid on the ground in a ball by the wall and fantasized about the fridge in her apartment, where she could get water whenever she wanted. Is this really how she would die? Soon her headache wouldn't let her think anymore, and she drifted off again.

This time it was a noise that woke her up. A small rectangle opened in the door across from her. It let in so much light it burned her eyes. She cried out and looked away, hearing something drop. She crawled over and placed her hands where the opening just was, "hello?" It hurt to talk, "let me go!" But there was no response.