Rise of the Night/Run of Night

Lyla drifted in and out, the world fuzzy and loud before becoming bright and quiet. Always shifting and moving. She tried to form some kind of coherent thought but every time she tried, it would escape like water from between her fingers.

There were voices she didn't know. Her head throbbed. There was heat and cold, a sharp prick in her arm. Then blissful darkness that she could float in. Lazily moving through it without thought or feeling.

It felt like days later when she finally regained any real consciousnesses.

She was hunched over her lap, the ropes that held her to the chair loose enough to let her slump forward slightly. She slowly leaned back, the ache in her shoulder still there but not as severe. Her mouth was dry and her lips cracked.

Looking around didn't produce much. The room was dimly lit so she couldn't properly judge the size. The air smelled stale so she guessed there were no windows. She could hear the hush of an air conditioner somewhere in the darkness.

She looked up and yelped as a stab of pain shot through her head. She probably had a concussion from her fall. No doubt there would be an egg sized swelling on the back of her head.

Instead, she pushed her feet against the floor to see if the chair would move. No luck. She strained to the side and saw that the chair was bolted to the floor. And her legs were tied down to the chair legs as well.

"Hullo?" she called out, her voice hoarse. Luna above, she was thirsty. "Anyone there?"

A moment passed and then she could hear muffled voices. They seemed to be coming from behind her. She couldn't twist far enough to tell what was behind her.

The voices stopped and there was another few minutes of silence before there was the sound of a door opening behind her. Footsteps, at least two people. She flexed her hands, testing the ropes. No give there either.

A man strode out in front of her, all confidence and swagger. He wore a white business shirt and black pinstripe slacks. his hair was brown and short, carefully combed to perfection. His face would have been handsome if it weren't for the twisted grin he wore. Lyla found herself staring, somewhere between disgust and fear.

"Hi there," he said, loosening his tie. He put his hands on her chair's arm rests and leaned close to her. He smelled like expensive cologne. "It's Lyla, isn't it?"

He didn't wait for an answer before dragging another chair out of the darkness. He straddled it, his arms resting on the back of the chair. He was close enough that their knees were touching. She glared.

"Now, I like a certain sense of honesty to these things," he said calmly. "I'm here to get information from you and don't bother telling me you don't know what I'm looking for or that whole 'I'll never tell you anything' tripe. You will talk, we both know it. The fun part for me will be finding out exactly what brings you to that point."

He stood again and began to circle her, slowly. It made her skin crawl.

"And in the spirit of honesty, you'll do me a favour and scream for me when the opportunity permits. It helps me keep track of the game. No sense having you pass out while I'm still taking my turn."

Lyla continued to glare but inside she was starting to panic. She was not Shadow or Congo or even Shiva. She was not brave and strong and this man was right, she would talk. She only hoped she could hold out as long as possible.

"Now, we'll take turns," he said. "I'll go first." He paused in front of her, relaxed and smiling. "Where is Sergeant Shadowstep? Now, your turn."

Lyla stayed silent and continued to shoot death at him.

"I figured," he said, melting into the darkness and returning with a long thin knife. Lyla's eyes locked on it, widening slightly.

He ducked behind her and she stiffened when he traced its edge along her neck.

"My turn," he said into her ear. He came back into sight again, the knife trailing down her left arm. "Not the face though, I think. No, you're too pretty for that. I may want you to stay that way."

Suddenly the knife dug into the skin near her elbow and she gasped, trying to escape it. She did scream as he dragged it slowly down her forearm. The blood welled up, hot and wet on her arm. When he finally lifted the blade, she found herself still letting out a scream and panting. It was like fire, like she wanted to rip off her arm just to make the pain stop.

"Aah, thank you," he said, behind her again. "I see you understand how this works." Lyla whimpered as she panted. He was running the knife across her other arm when he caught her chin in his free hand. "Focus, darling," he cooed. "It won't have permanent damage, though the scar will be lovely."

"Fuck you," she snarled, fighting the painful throbbing in her arm.

"Oh, trust me, Lyla. If I do, it won't be with your permission," he said, his lips brushing her neck as he spoke. She shuddered in fear. "Now. Where is Sergeant Shadowstep?"

"Go to hell," she snapped.

He moved away again. Lyla froze, listening. He was moving in the darkness then there was silence.

She looked around. Nothing. She began to shake involuntarily. Where the fuck was he?

When he did reappear, his hands were empty. He sauntered to her and untied her injured arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, more panicked than she meant.

"Ah ah ah, not your turn, sweetness," he said and broke her wrist.

She screamed again. Angry, pained shouts continued, her body taking over as the pain left her more panicked.

"Please," she gasped. "Stop, just stop!"

"Ready to sing me a song, little bird?" He looked disappointed. "Do try to hold on a little longer, we're still at foreplay."

She was crying and couldn't stop. The pain was intense and her breathing was quickened. He leaned over her and gently wiped the tears away with a handkerchief. She wanted to bite his face off.

"How am I to show you a good time if you rush?"

"I... I thought you wanted..." she gaped, confused.

"Oh, of course, I want you to talk to me, sweetness," he said, gently caressing her cheek. "But I'll have my fun first. Haven't had a woman for me in so long and not one near as pretty as you."

Lyla continued to shake, the tears flowing again. He crouched in front of her, his hands on her thighs. He squeezed and looked like he was about to speak again when he glanced behind her. She hadn't even noticed the door opening.

"Oh bugger all," he grumbled and rolled his eyes. "I'd ask you to wait here, but you don't have much of a choice..." He grinned and lifted her face again, this time to force a kiss on her lips. She fought it until he pulled away laughing. "I'll be back soon," he called back. "Don't let the anticipation do you in too soon."

His laughter echoed back to her as he walked out of the room, the door slamming shut and leaving her sobbing in the dark.

I'll never get out of here, she thought. Shadow... Wherever you are, please... Get me out of here...