Night Shift

VII

It was the cold that woke her, painful, biting cold, her naked feet exposed to the air. She curled up, reaching down to her toes. Her fingers were not much warmer, but she gripped her toes, working the digits back and forth to ease the cramp. She tugged the blanket down to cover her feet, but that exposed her shoulders and chest.

She sat up, hugged herself and rubbed her arms for warmth. The bruises hurt.

The room was completely dark. Quiet, too. She could hear her breath, too fast, too shallow. But no one else. She was alone.

Eventually her shivering subsided. She lay back, rolled onto her side and tentatively reached to the edge of the mattress. Her fingers found the steel frame of the bed, followed the icy metal to the chain dangling from it. They left without chaining her. Why?

Her heart pounded and her breath came faster. Her questing fingers found the floor: rough, wet and cold. She wriggled closer to the edge of the bed so she could place her hands flat on the floor. The movement put pressure on her hip and a moan of pain escaped her. For a moment she froze, remembering why that hurt so bad.

Using her hands for leverage, she dragged herself off the bed. The blanket slipped to the ground, leaving her naked. She pulled her right leg down and her knee hit the floor. Then the left and she was kneeling in the dark. She felt around blindly for the blanket and pulled it over her knees. It didn't feel warmer, but it was comforting.

She didn't know how long she had been here. She long ago lost count of the times they came and hurt her. But this was the first time they left her unchained. She had to do something. She had to try.

She couldn't move. Her mind was racing, pieces of knowledge and advice she had heard flipping through her mind like playing cards thrown into a fan. Slowly, shaking, she got to her feet, the blanket clutched in one hand. She raised her other hand to the level of her eyes, palm toward her. Someone told her once that this was the safest way to move in darkness. You didn't stretch you hands out in front of you, like children playing blind man's bluff, because if you touched something dangerous you would hurt your hands. Arm up, so your forearm would be the first thing to touch. Palm in because if you touched a live wire, you would automatically close your fist. Not that there would be a live wire here, but it was the best advice she could remember.

Your hand at the level of your eyes, voices in her mind sang hysterically: a musical reference she must have heard somewhere but couldn't remember.

She took a step forward. Her body swayed. She was so weak! She tried another step, then another. The ground under her feet was rough and it hurt her bare feet, but she kept going, each step careful and deliberate. She heard her breath, panting, as if she were running. The blanket brushed her leg and she cried out in sudden terror before she realised what it was.

After maybe fifty steps she felt her arm touch something solid. The blanket fell from her hand as she raised both arms to feel the wall ahead of her. Like the floor it was rough and uneven. Rock or stone, not bricks. She reached upward as high as she could, but though the wall seemed to curve inward she couldn't feel the ceiling.

Okay. Okay, she was at the wall. Now to find a door.

She explored the wall with her hands and then began to move. The cold numbed her feet and fingers. She took one step at a time, questing ahead by touch before each step. She felt warmth on her face, felt her breath stutter. She was crying. She pressed both hands into her mouth, stifling the sound. What if they were near? What if they heard?

Finally, her numb fingers touched wood. She swept the frame twice before she understood; her sense of touch was almost gone. She cried out with relief when she realised. It was such a small thing, finding the door. She didn't know if it would open or if it would, what was on the other side, but in the moment, it felt like a triumph. She took one more step, placed her back against the door and her knees buckled. She slid to the ground, splinters ripping her buttocks and back. She barely noticed the pain.

From the floor, she reached behind, searching frantically for a handle. The wood was rough. It might not even be a door. She was cutting her hands to pieces for nothing! Then she found an edge. She followed it upward, her breathing more rapid with every moment. She touched something smooth and cold and she gasped, her heart leaping into her mouth. Hope. She had forgotten what hope felt like.

She used the handle to pull herself upward. It didn't turn or move but she gripped it with both hands, planted her feet and pulled with all the strength she had left. Nothing happened.

No! She couldn't get this close and fail.

She pulled again and again, finding strength she thought was gone. The door was solid, unmoving. No. No no no no no no. She screamed in frustration and let go.

"Open! Damn you, open! Let me out!" She screamed and pounded on the door with her fists.

The door moved.

A high, hysterical laugh escaped her. The door opened outward, not in. She shoved at the wood and it buckled under her hands. She shoved harder.Something snapped loudly and the door flew open. She fell to the ground and pain shot through her. But she couldn't stop. She couldn't lie there waiting for the pain to fade. She pushed herself to her knees and then to her feet.

*

"Stop there," Jim said gently. "I want you to think about what you felt in that moment. Not emotionally, physically."

"Cold."

"More than that," Jim prompted. "What did you smell? How did the air taste?"

"What are you doing?" Blair asked from behind the glass. His voice was quiet enough that Jessica couldn't have heard him.

Jessica shook her head. "I don't..."

"You were alone for a long time. Traumatic isolation can heighten the senses. You do remember. What did you smell?"

She frowned. "Uh...paraffin. And dirt."

"Dirt?"

"Like the ground after a lot of rain."

"Okay. That's good. Can you remember a taste?"

"Metal. Blood." Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Alright, that's enough,"Jim said. "You did really well, Jessica. I know how hard that was."

"Just promise it's the last time."

Jim reached across the table and was surprised when she allowed him to take her hand. "I promise. I won't ever ask you to go through that again. And anyone else who might will have to go through me."

She nodded, still crying. "C-can I have some water?"

"Of course." Jim checked his watch. "Interview terminated at 11:17." He turned off the camera.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Author's Note:

Thank you for reading!

This was quite a short story, but I hope you guys have really enjoyed the branch off...

Gabriele :)