I'll Take You Away From Him

Chapter 14

Clearly, I am losing consciousness from shock. For the first few seconds, coming to my senses, I cannot comprehend where I am and what I’m doing here.

Understanding comes with a flash of pain, first in my shoulder, then my whole body aches as if I were run over by a steamroller.

At least one good thing — if it hurts, it means I’m alive. Gathering myself, I try to get up. I press my palms into something soft; it seems I have been moved onto a mattress… But, raising my head up, I realize I fell onto it.

Also, while falling, I must have caught onto some kind of rod, which explains the pain in my shoulder. It’s frightening to look and see how severe the injury is and it’s dark here, so I can't see anything clearly anyway.

Realizing that somehow I have survived and somehow haven’t broken anything, I remembered the most important thing: someone pushed me here. Who and why — I can only guess, because fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t see anyone in sight, and I am all by myself in some hole in the floor.

Rising up, I exhale with disappointment because I probably cannot climb out of here. I simply can’t reach. I look around, but there’s nothing to stand on to grab the edge, nothing to support myself with.

Call for help? I am scared. What if the person who pushed me into the pit — where I could have died — is still here? And they are just waiting for me to come to my senses now, so… I don’t even want to think about what they might do to me.

Sitting on the mattress, I hug myself with my arms.

Damn. I can’t even do that because the slightest movement makes my shoulder burn horribly. I feel that the skin is cut, not fatally, but it needs to be treated to avoid infection or something worse!

What a disaster…

Then I remembered about my friend. Fear for her grips me with renewed strength. If I received a message from her number and, considering everything, they were waiting here, what happened to her?

God, I hope she’s alive and unharmed. But who needs this and why? What kind of scumbag must it be to do something like this? And what’s the goal?

Maybe Yasmin had an argument with someone, and they decided to get revenge this way? But that’s nonsense. Why was I almost killed then? Who did I cross paths with? Both of us, probably.

In any case, it’s someone who knows us both. And definitely knew that I would rush to help her, and wouldn't leave my friend in trouble. Some mutual acquaintances. Or some drug addicts who stole her phone and dialed the number she calls the most.

Then again — what’s the point? But why would insane psychos need a point? That’s what they are — psychos, because a mentally sane person wouldn’t do such a thing.

I’m scared to death that they’ll leave me here, and the guard, no matter how much I scream, won’t hear me from here.

Why do I have such bad luck? Right after Dad died, everything went haywire. I miss him so much, the conversations with him, the support, the understanding, the protection. It seemed he would live forever and I would always be daddy’s favorite daughter, spoiled, protected, happy, with the usual problems that all girls my age have, not all this…

Out of self-pity or even more from desperation, bitter tears stream down my cheeks. It is becoming increasingly difficult to control myself. I will die of hunger or infection down here if I don’t do something.

My body is starting to tremble because I’m only wearing a dress, and in this hole, it’s terribly damp and freezing. I’m shivering from the cold and fear.

“What do you want?” I utter with difficulty, but my voice comes out weak and plaintive, more like the squeak of a mouse no one will hear.

There is no reply. It’s so quiet around that I can hear my own frantic heartbeat. And my heavy breathing.

“Help!” I call out, not knowing what to hope for.

And again, silence in response…

I sit for some time with an empty head, choking on tears, gasping, and not knowing how to warm up. My teeth are chattering, whether from hysteria or still from the cold.

When I hear some rustling or footsteps above, I freeze in fear. What if it’s that psycho? My throat dries up. I don’t dare call for help anymore, the noise of my heart thundering drowns out everything in my ears.

“Aurelia!”

Hearing the familiar voice, at first I am afraid that I am imagining things, that in shock I am hallucinating, making the desire into the real. But the call is repeated.

“I’m down here!” I shout and try to get up. Now I’m afraid that if he doesn’t find me, he will leave. “I’m here! Right here!” I repeat, finding the strength within me to call loudly, instead of croaking barely audibly.

Leaning against the cold damp wall with my healthy arm, I rise from the smelly mattress.

“I’m down here! I’m here!” I shout again and peer into the opening.

In a few seconds, a shadow looms over the hole I was thrown into. Tears flow with renewed force, now from relief. I sob and choke on them, hiccuping, but I can’t stop.

“I’ll be back in a moment. I’ll find a way to pull you out,” he says before disappearing.

I have no strength to stand. I settle back onto the mattress, wipe the tears from my face, and try to calm down. I almost succeed, though the sobs don't stop, nor does my gasping breath, as if I’m drowning. Will returns quickly, throwing some rope to me.

“Can you grab it tightly? I’ll pull you up.”

“I’ll try,” I say, but as soon as I try to grip the rope with my injured hand. I gasp in pain and release it even before Will tries to pull me up. “I can’t. Sorry. My hand hurts.”

“Damn,” he mutters, before a stream of curses escapes his lips.

Will disappears again, this time saying nothing, but a few minutes later he returns with some sort of box in his hands. Tying it with the rope, he lowers it down.

“Stand on the box and hold on to the rope with your healthy hand.”

I do as he says. And within seconds, during which I am thrown into a cold sweat because the box sways, catching on the wall, and it’s not that easy to stand on it, I find myself at the surface.

I cling to Will with all my strength, unable to express my gratitude to him. He saved me. God, if it weren’t for him…

“Alright, calm down, little one,” he comforts me, gently hugging me. “Let me see what’s going on with your arm.”

He turns me to him sideways, examines the wound, frowning while I greedily scan his face.

“Nothing serious, but the wound needs to be treated,” he concludes. “Let’s go to the car.”

“Um-m,” I dragged out, confused, “there was no one here?”

Will abruptly stops. He scans the room with a quick glance, as if just realizing that there might be someone else here.

“Besideі the drunken guard in the booth — no one. They ran away, perhaps,” he said and kept moving on, holding me at the waist.

And only now do I realize that Will is angry. He’s probably restraining himself and is mad. At me, for tearing him away from his tasks? For adding trouble, as if I have nowhere else to turn for help, and he has nothing else to do but save me.

I notice my handbag by the exit and pick it up.

“Yasmin!” I shout. “She could be somewhere here,” and I wither away under the gaze that could cut through steel.

“If she’s here, they’ll find her. And you’re coming with me,” he states firmly in an undeniable tone.