It was a dark hallway. Some sort of underground room with
the piping in the ceiling unconcealed from view and there were work lights
illuminating a yellow orange corner or wall here and there. The man. He stood in
front of the three of us, knife in his hand. The guy in our group, Stan, is in
a ready position, alert for the slightest movement from the man. Stacy, she was
in shock and unsure what to do and was waiting of instruction from Stan. I was
standing, alert, in my own corner. I was in the dark, but given the dim
lighting that lit up most of the space down here, I’d say I wasn’t hidden in
the dark. There were pipes to the right of me, a giant one at my head level. I
assess the situation, looking for something anything that I could use to
defend myself. Some lose pipe? A rod on the floor? Something the man doesn’t
notice? Something about the man I could use against him? Anything. But I saw
nothing. I wasn’t getting out of this one. The man was in a suit calmly
standing and waiting for us. A smile creeps up his baggy old guy face. It
reminded me of a mafia king. Or one of those rich dogs who do nothing but order
people around while he sits and lounges, packing on the pounds, getting old and
more arrogant by the day. He points the knife at us, and I think Stan gives up.
He, like me, could not find anything to use against him. The knife itself was
threatening us not to do anything brash up close next to him. Not unless you
were trained for it, you were a ninja, or you were the main character in a
movie and the worst you’ll get is a scrap here and there and you magically and
impossibly defeat the villain. But I did not see any of this happening. Not in
this lifetime. The man over there probably saw himself as that main character,
cornering the villains.
Cornering… This gave me an idea. We weren’t really
trapped. There was a door behind us. It was big. Heavy. And it had one of those
mechanical door knobs, the ones that aren’t really knobs but bars and could be
connected to a computer that could lock. But we had to try. I went for it.
It didn’t budge and I turned to run but saw nowhere. The
man, startled from my outburst, headed towards me to stop me and process this
thought later. He didn’t hesitate. By the time I’ turned and faced the hall, he
was halfway here. What if I did some football tackle/dive and he missed?
In the back of my mind, yea, I heard the hopeless snicker of some nameless
character. But I needed to try. It was too late to just give up. And shouting
out a warning for the other two to make a break for it wouldn’t work. I learned
from watching too many movies that this usually ended badly and the villain,
the man down here, he’d stab them to slow them first, then come to finish me
off. No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t scream. I had to think. I started running
towards him, not sure what would happen if I did reach him. Not sure what I
planned to do when he got to me and his knife decided to plunge into my flesh.
But I couldn’t think about pain right now. A lot worse could happen if I didn’t
do something.
I ran. I reached him. He grabbed my arm. I couldn’t duck or
move out or tackle him. Plus I’d be too afraid of tackling him when he had a
knife anyway. I saw his knife rear back, prepared to stab my gut. The best I
could do now was get creative. Gripping his shoulders, I spun him around. I
hoped he’d get disoriented, but he was still coordinated enough to know where
I’d be. Just he missed my gut and sliced my arm. I was done. I’d never felt
pain like this and never imagined what a knife through my flesh would feel
like. Now I knew. It stung. Worse than anything. The blood pouring out only
helped a little. But just knowing I was losing that much blood, I panicked. I
forgot the guy and I focused solely on trying to ease this pain. My arm was
tingly now. By instinct, I slapped my hand over the wound and tried to stop the
bleeding, but once my fingers felt the gash, I let go. My fingers stung the
wound and feeling this gash on my own arm was just too much. I tried to just
ignore it, tell myself this wasn’t happening.
Didn’t help. At all.
I didn’t notice my friends, but when I finally remembered
they’d been down here, I looked for them. I saw them at the end of the hallway,
glancing back at me just before rounding the corner. Good. See I knew I
didn’t have to shout for them to run. Atleast I wasn’t hurt in vain. I was
a goner. I knew that. I was prepared for the man to just stab my heart slit my
throat and be done, but no.
No?
No. He dragged me with an arm around my neck. I used both my
hands to try and free myself, but my stabbed arm just didn’t help much. Using
my muscled there ached. No, it was more than just an ache. It was horrible.
From my struggling I guess I’d bit my lip because I could taste blood.
No, this wasn’t happening. I’d gotten myself into a position
that allowed me to not choke on the man’s pressure around my throat and I’d
just gotten oriented enough to notice he was headed in the direction my friends
had gone. The man was bringing me with him to hunt down my friends. no, I had
to do something. I’d already made a break for it, gotten hurt and risked
everything. Doing one more thing to at least slow the man or better yet, stop
him for a minute couldn’t possibly hurt. Ok, maybe it’ll hurt, but I was going
to die that night, why not spend my last few minutes or hours doing something
useful? I tossed and turned and against all the protests from my injured arm, I
continued. I was only doing this long enough for me to come up with something
better. I knew this man was 4 times my size and my struggles wouldn’t be too
much of a hassle for him to continue murder. Then I saw us pass a pip standing
on the ground. I didn’t care that it was next to the wall, I knew this was
better than all the other stupid pipes that were way up out of my reach. I
kicked out my leg and curled my foot, latching on. The man was strong, I’ll
give him that. One pull and I’d dislodge from the pipe. But not before he had
paused and turned around to see what slowed him down. I looked up at him the
best I could. He glanced from my foot to me, and I threw him a smug grin. He
thinks he’s the only one winning tonight, well think again. He gruffly turned
back and continued. But not towards to door, oh no. He headed toward a utility
closet. He opened it and without hesitating, threw me inside. Hurt like hell.
I’d landed on my elbows and that hurt like a hell I’d never known before. But
now in the silence I took my time to relax a bit. I put my arm down to prop me
up as I rested on my side. It wasn’t the wound, but the surface stinging it
that caused my arm to jump up and let me fall the rest of the way to the floor.
I just laid there. Crying To myself. This was crazy. Seriously. Police reports
of murders never seemed this bad. But then again, they always mention murders
and crime scenes and write up reports as if it’s so common place, I, and the
rest of society, have become immune to the fact that the victims had to live
through the murder. They had to feel everything that I’m feeling now. And for
some, they felt more. I got up. At least I have a break, whereas some of those
victims never had any break from trying to survive. I needed to take advantage
of this time.
I knew he was keeping me in here to save some time for
himself to hunt down the others. But I couldn’t let that get to me. I had to
use that as motivation to do something. Now. Back in school, they’d
always say you had to do this or that and that this thing or other was
important. Urgent. Well, none of it seems urgent compared to this.
My eyes had adjusted to the dark. Now, I realize it’s not
pitch black here. It must be pretty bright out there for the light seeping in
to light this room well enough for me to see. And this was an electrical
closet, not just a utility closet. Really? Why, god? Seriously? Help me out
a little won’t you? But I knew he was probably up with his smug old self
just watching me like a movie. I mean, why would he help me if I’d never
believed in him in any religious form? I’d always believed something was out
there, but I’d never name him any sort of a god.
I brushed that thought aside and focused. I have an
electrical closet. Now what? I could tamper with it until the power goes out,
but who would that help? And would turning off the power mean the doors will
unlock? Or will it just keep the doors permanently locked until it is commanded
to open? It was at these times I wished I knew more about the mechanics in
life. The how behind everything I saw, touched and used. The why
behind every action and event in society. But that was done.
Ok, what else? Bars. I noticed a bar lying on the floor,
maybe someone wanted to fix this thing up or…. Damage it like I had just
thought of doing. It couldn’t hurt. It really couldn’t. Except when the
electricity raced through that iron bar and sends 1000 bolts racing through your
system with no way out, screamed something at the back of my head. I
couldn’t break out – the guy would hear, and come for me.
Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Save myself while I still
can or continue trying to save my friends? At this point I really didn’t care,
but I just wanted to be doing something. The door. Did he lock it? Did it have
a lock? I didn’t remember hearing a lock click when he left.
I checked the door. It opened. Strange though. The man was
there. He’d come back empty handed. But he didn’t waste his time. He knelt
down, grabbed me, and whispered in my ear something I couldn’t quiet understand
through his grumbling. I only heard rage. Maddness. Obviously madness. I heard
him finally spit out the word throat! Fearing the worst I didn't move. I
felt the knife cold on my neck. It didn’t waver. I wavered. I was the one
trembling. It made no difference. I felt the cut before I could even get
scared. I guess I’d already expected it but never believed it. Once the deed
was done, the man left. keeping the door ajar. I rushed backwards, scuttling
until I could feel the wall at my back. All the while, I kept my head in the
same position, taking one of my hands to hold my throat. It got slippery.
Sticky. Gross. But I couldn’t let that stop me. I didn't let the cut in my arm
stop me, why let this?
It hurt. I didn’t know what to do. I’d gotten into a very
VERY precarious position and I knew I wouldn’t live if I moved just a bit. I
also knew I wouldn’t be alive much longer if I let my arm and neck bleed out.
Tonight was such a rush. My blood was pumping. Fast. My heart – it wouldn’t
stop. I laid there unable to move. Unable to scream. Yell. Anything.
I don’t remember ever getting help. Or blacking out. Or dying
or anything. I just remember feeling tingly all over. Numbness spreading. But
now I just ached, but I could move. Slowly, I twitched my fingers from there
place. They felt stiff. Almost like – like when I used to get a cut on my hand
or finger and I’d hold it down and after a while – I find out I’d held it too
long and too hard and the blood was clotting with my finger and my fingers
refused to bend. It felt like it was too simple. Like I’d overreacted. As I
waited for my body to wake up, I ran over what happened. I shouldn’t be alive.
I couldn’t be alive. Yet here I was. Hesitantly my hand reached back up to my
neck. My fingers had found what I’d expected to be there – a long scabbed gash.
My good arm reached over to the wounded arm. I was afraid to look. But what I
felt gave me a pretty good picture. A thick mat of blood scabbed over my arm. A
long ridge protruding amongst this mat. It was unreal. Seeing the early morning
sunlight peeking in the two windows down here replace the dozens of dim
yellow-orange lights almost washed away any memory I had of last night. This
couldn’t be. How could it? Right? I really wanted to curl up in bed, sheltered
by the idea that I didn’t need to care about anything beyond the
