Flytrap | WATTYS 2022 SHORTLIST

25 | Thistle

A loud, snapping crack followed by a series of angry hisses jolted Barbara awake. For a second, as her eyelids blinked open, she forgot about everything. But when a dull, achy pain pulsated deep within her body, reminding her she was somehow still alive, the nightmare she was trapped in came back to her.

Ah, shit. After all this, she was still alive? How was that even possible?

"So you're finally awake." A soft voice called out from somewhere in the dark. "If it wasn't for your heartbeat, I would've thought they had killed you."

Barbara narrowed her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the inky darkness. But even in the low firelight, she could still make out the pair of green eyes gleaming up at her only a few feet away.

"Pamela?" Barbara winced back in her seat, huddling beneath the blanket covering her. Oh, great. Of course, she'd be stuck in the dark with this murderous bitch.

Pamela must've noticed her flinch because she chuckled and said, "You don't need to worry. I couldn't harm you even if I wanted to."

Furrowing her brows, Barbara peered down at the floor and watched as Pamela crept forward into the light. She craned her head to the side, revealing a collar slipped around her slender neck. And as shocking as that was to see, the collar wasn't what made Barbara startle. It was the long metal chain trailing behind her. Following its length all the way up to the hole in the wall, Barbara couldn't help but wonder just how sturdy this chain actually was.

"Where—Where are we?" Barbara's chest heaved as she glanced around at her surroundings. But the flickering light from the dying flames was not nearly bright enough to make out what hid behind the shadows hanging on the walls.

"Where it all started." Pamela tilted her head up at the mantle. "Wayne Manor."

Barbara followed Pamela's burning gaze onto the portrait framed above the fireplace. Even with the dim lighting, she could still recognize the three figures painted onto it. A mom, a dad, and their ten-year-old son. The child's face was painted in that same grim, downcast expression she had always seen him with. It seemed even as a child Bruce didn't know how to smile.

If the date painted on the corner was anything to go by, then this must've been shortly before the parents' deaths. One of the last times they were seen all together.

Unable to stomach the sight of the portrait any longer, Barbara shifted her attention back to the woman sitting on the elaborate Turkish rug. How had she not realized Pamela was so badly beaten sooner?

Her updo had come loose and now fell in messy, tangled red waves around her. Though there were no visible cuts or scratches on her skin like before, the smeared, dried blood crusted over her face and neck told Barbara it must've been a fight to the death. Her once beautiful white dress was in tatters, stained with deep red blotches in nearly every corner like something out of a horror flick. But what shocked Barbara the most, almost to the point of letting out a gasp, were the bundles of nerves and broken ligaments hanging off the side of Pamela's empty arm socket.

"You see why I can't hurt you now? I can't even get this chain off me." It rattled as Pamela gave it a hard tug, but didn't budge. "I'm too weak."

"You would need blood," Barbara gulped as the realization of why she was here, alone with this woman, dawned on her.

Something between a chuckle and a breathless wheeze bubbled out of Pamela's mouth. "You're catching on."

Barbara's heart skipped a beat. "Is that why I'm here? To be your next meal?"

"The truth is, I don't know." The chain jangled again as Pamela sat back into a crisscrossed position. "What I do know is neither of us is getting out of here alive. So it's either I kill you or you kill me. But if you want to kill me, you better act fast. The weaker and hungrier my body becomes, the more desperate it grows too."