An odd scraping has waking in the middle of the night, when even the faint light from the high-up window has disappeared.
The sounds are irregular, not at all patterned, which I've co to learn ans that there's either a person or animal behind it.
I hope it isn't a rat.
Sitting up, I strain my ears, past the thudding of my heart against my ribs. More odd sounds echo around . A soft scuffle cos from outside the wall where Marisol usually appears with my ager als. My breath catches in my throat.
That mysterious note cos to mind.
Could it be? After all this ti, has soone finally co for ?
Hope surges through my veins, making dizzy. I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. Slow, deep breaths that expand my ribs and reduce my pulse rate to a level that doesn't have woozy with the rush of blood.
My muscles are weak, despite the squat and other stretches I work on daily, trying to keep myself as in shape as I can.
How long have I been in this hellhole? Days? Weeks? It's impossible to tell without windows or any sense of ti passing. I'm not even sure my als arrive daily; sotis, I think it's two or three tis a day. Other tis, it's as though a day or two passes between them.
The cycle of night and day here seems different, too. Which is an odd thing to think, but ti just doesn't seem right.
The scraping sound cos again, closer this ti. I take a tentative step forward, then another. My legs shake beneath , threatening to give out at any mont, and it's only three steps before the manacles yank against my wrists and ankles, keeping where I am.
I know these stones intimately, the boundaries of what little movent I have.
"Hello?" I whisper, my voice hoarse from disuse. "Is soone there?"
Silence greets . I hold my breath, straining to hear any response. Nothing. Maybe I imagined it all, my mind playing cruel tricks after so much isolation. Disappointnt threatens to crush , but I refuse to give in to despair. Not yet.
A muffled thud makes jump. It's definitely coming from beyond the wall. My heart races even faster, hope and fear warring within . What if it's not a rescue? What if it's sothing worse?
Images of my captor flash through my mind, but I shove them away. I haven't seen him since he first brought here, and I don't want to sohow summon his presence with my thoughts.
No, I can't think about that now. I have to focus on the present.
The scraping sound cos again, more insistent this ti. It's as if soone's trying to pry sothing open. Could they be working on the chanism that opens my cell?
"Hello?" I call out, a little louder.
Still, nothing.
The thought of getting louder makes cringe. What if I alert Marisol?
No, better to be quiet.
To wait and see.
"Please," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking to God or whoever might be on the other side. "Please let this be real."
My legs tremble beneath , threatening to give out. I slide down, my eyes fixed on the wall in front of as I sink to my knees. The cold seeps through my thin clothing, but I barely notice. I'm always cold, anyway. It's nothing new.
All my attention is focused on that sound, willing it to be my salvation.
The noises continue, sotis loud, sotis so faint I wonder if I'm imagining them. I dig my nails into my palms, the pain keeping anchored in reality.
Suddenly, there's a loud click. I scramble to my feet, heart in my throat. The wall moves, sliding open just as it does when Marisol brings my als. But it's not Marisol on the other side.
A figure stands in the doorway, backlit by dim light from the hallway beyond. I can't make out their features.
"Lisa Randall?" a voice whispers. Male, I think.
And as the figure steps closer, his height shrinks dramatically. A trick of the light, perhaps? But by the ti he's standing in front of , dwarfed in a dark robe, he's perhaps as tall as my hip.
"Who are you?"
"Never you mind. Is your na Lisa Randall?" His words are snappy, even rushed.
"Yes."
"I have an order for extraction. You coming, or what?"
Holding up my hands, I rattle the chains holding to the ground. "I can't. I'm stuck."
"Ah." Shoving the hood of his robe back, I'm shocked to see a weathered face and short, spikey white hair. He's old. Ancient.
And so, so small.
"Iron. Rusted. Easy enough to fix." Reaching forward with one hand, I notice nails so long and curved that they are best described as claws. With one tap of his index claw-nail, the manacles open, falling to the ground with a loud clatter.
He does the sa to the ones around my ankles.
The absence of their weight has a little off balance, used to fighting against them.
"Let's go, Lisa Randall. Your extraction order expires in an hour."
The strange little man shuffles away, his dark robe swishing against the stone floor. For a mont, I'm frozen, staring at the open doorway. Freedom beckons, but fear roots to the spot. My gaze sweeps over the dank cell one last ti—the rough stone walls, the iron rings where my chains were anchored, the scraps of fabric that served as my bed.
"Co on, girl," the old man's gruff voice snaps back to reality. "We haven't got all night."
My heart pounds against my ribs as I take my first tentative step. Then another. And another. Each step feels like I'm wading through molasses, my muscles weak from disuse and malnutrition, no matter how much I tried to keep in shape. But I'm moving. I'm leaving this godforsaken cell behind.
As I cross the threshold, a shiver runs through . The hallway beyond is dimly lit by sputtering torches, casting eerie shadows on the walls. It's not much brighter than my cell, but it feels vast and overwhelming after so long in confinent. And weird. Who uses torches in this day and age?
But when I look closer, they're battery-powered. No smoke, no fire. Just the effects of a torch, in a clever LED lighting concept.
Bizarre. Who goes that far to make a creepy hall?
Vampires, I guess.
"Keep up," my rescuer—if that's what he is—mutters. He's already several paces ahead, his small form barely visible in the gloom.
I hurry after him, wincing as my bare feet slap against the cold stone. Questions swirl in my mind, but I bite them back. Now isn't the ti for interrogation. Now is the ti to run, to get as far away from this place as possible.
But even as I follow the little man through twisting corridors, doubt gnaws at . Who is he? Who sent him? And most importantly—are they any better than the monster who imprisoned here?
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