The Salvatore Saga. Volume one

5.

I woke up tied to a hospital bed, my head muddled from the drugs. The bed was hard; I could smell the medications and disinfectants and felt terrible. I was dizzy, mildly nauseous, and also lost, and a bit scared of being tied up like some kind of rabid animal. I tried to remember what the fuck had happened, and all I could remember was how I had gone to the shop and then nothing.

Nick and Elias must have been looking for me, but America is a big country, and I had no idea how long it had been since I'd been caught. I had an IV, and my head was screwed up the whole time. My panic and uncertainty seemed to eat away at my strength, and I would fall asleep or lose consciousness, then every now and then wake up.

I had no idea where I was or how long it had been since I was last awake. l felt just as awful and nauseous, but I was getting pissed off and angry. Fury helped, and temper helped, and I decided to try to make something happen with it. I just focused on getting out of the fucking bed, and finally, out of my anger and frustration, I developed a rage, which made me perk up and get myself out of my resting restraints, and I ripped the fucking drip off.

I was so pissed I didn't even feel the pain when I ripped it off. I tried to escape. I got out of bed, opened the door, and staggered into the hallway, letting my rage take over and using anything as a weapon to try and get away. I would bite, kick, and scream. I even used a drip tray as a weapon. If someone got too close, I would try to strangle them with a drip hose.

Time after time, I tried to run away whenever I attacked anybody and did everything I could to get away. But there were always too many opponents, and I felt that damn sting, after which the resistance was futile. For some reason, my rage grew. My anger and determination grew, and every time I was pinned to the ground or to the bed and the drug kicked in, I would see this satanic man with a nasal whining tone.

What seemed like he was just happy to have me more and more enraged- it seemed like he wanted to develop a rage in me that I couldn't control. I must have killed many people every time I tried to escape, but I felt nothing about it. No guilt, no nothing.

Sometimes, I would hear the nurses or whatever torturers they were. They would talk about how I had mutilated several, and someone was probably even dead. I felt no pangs of conscience.

I tried to fight back, I tried to escape, and every time I tried to escape, new ways came up to keep me in check, whether it was handcuffs, or some head-messing medication, or a gag and blindfold, some headphones still in my ears so my senses weren't working as they should. But I didn't give in, I didn't surrender, and I fought my way free time after time.

I felt the cold floor beneath my feet. The dizziness from the drugs was almost always too much, but my rage seemed to help, and somehow, everything that was done to me made this rage bigger. It was as if someone wanted to give me this huge rage. I was so out of my mind from the drugs, the pain, the despair. I was in survival mode, and I couldn't think of any motive, any plan, why they were doing this to me.

Nicholas and Elias were in a bad mood, not only because their protégé had disappeared but also because they had no idea who had kidnapped her. They suspected it was the same Satanic doctor who had brainwashed Mimi in the first place.
Three of their men had been found killed in an alley. There were no cameras at the scene to see anything, and they had plenty of help to go around as they questioned, searched, and theorized. They'd been looking for three weeks and not a single lead.
They searched across America, state by state, following, and eventually, their trail led them to Montana, on the other side of America. They weren't quite sure if this lead was right or if it was time to give up and move on. Nick was so angry, and Elias felt they had failed to protect this very nice girl. It drove them on.