Whispers in the Dark (Being Rewritten)

Chapter 3

3

I woke up hours later. Everything in sight was blurry and every muscle in my body burned with an agonizing fire. I heard a small, pain-filled moan and for a second thought that there might have been someone else there with me. There wasn't and, realizing that moan was mine, was brought back to my current situation.

Grumbling softly I attempted to sit up.

"Fuck..." I rasped, my voice hoarse from the pain. Reaching out I groped for something to grab onto and soon I felt my hand come into contact with one of the metal baskets filled with soccer balls, basketballs and volley balls. "They'll pay. Do you hear me you God damn bastards?" I screamed out angrily into the dark room. The burning agony increased and I choked back a tortured sob of pain. My body hurt so badly. I wanted to cry but wouldn't let myself. Slowly- painfully- I pulled myself up from the wooden floor.

I looked down at my feet. They had taken my shoes. With a definite feeling of dread, I took note of the rest of my body. They had stolen my shoes and back pack as well as my phone and Mp3. Blood had dried on my clothes and it was likely they would end up stained. But, that didn't matter much. They were already ruined. My clothes- T-shirt, fashionably ripped jeans and hooded sweatshirt- were torn, streaked with bits of blood and hung on my body in shreds. Down my hands, chin and feet blood had been smeared from a couple of cuts and scrapes here and there. Nothing too bad, but I still felt kind of queasy.

Bracing myself against the wall I forced myself up and off the floor, made my way to the door and pushed. It didn't budge. The douche bags had locked it from the outside.

Letting go of the wall in bitter depression I let myself fall back to the floor. I was wet, cold, covered in mud and blood. They'd beaten me- They'd beaten me to a pulp, taken my stuff, left me locked in the shed, stranded at a school that was likely already abandoned for the night. I couldn't tell mom, she was at work and wouldn't be home until late. Not to mention I had no idea where the boys had hidden my phone so I had no source of contact. Dad was in Brooklyn. I had no friends here, no one would help me. No one could help me.

"Am I really going to have to spend the night here and wait for someone to find me?" I wondered aloud as I allowed myself to be enveloped in self-pity and depression.

I sat there on the floor for long moments of dead silence, thinking. Breathing. Losing hope.

There was the sound of wood scraping wood and with a low whine, the door opened. Red and orange twilight flooded my wooden cell as Mr. Lance looked down at me. "Good evening, Miss Thompson. I happened to be walking by when I noticed a few things here were a bit... off. Do you perhaps need assistance?" he asked slowly. Taking in my bruised and bloodied appearance he shucked off his jacket and tossed it over to me.

"Thank you, Mr. Lance." I slipped on the coat over my ruined and shredded clothing and buttoned it closed, a little dazed. He walked over and extended his hand to help me to my feet. The coat that had hung perfectly snug on him earlier in class, felt loose on my body. A small thing I wouldn't have noticed before if my clothes weren't all shredded up like a seriously pissed off cat had been set loose on me but a small thing I now appreciated. I pulled it tightly around myself. "What are you doing here?"

"Coach Collins and I are friends," he replied. "He had to leave early; his wife went into labor." A small humorless, smile touched his lips. "He asked me to lock up."

"Oh. Uh, well, congratulations to him," was all I could think to say.

"Indeed."

Quietly he led me across the parking lot. If felt like an eternity of awkward silence had passed before we reached his car, a black sedan. "We should take you to the hospital," he said as he ignited the engine. "Make sure you don't have a concussion or anything else."