Victim 1: Danielle

Danielle’s eyes struggle to open. What happened to her last night? She feels eye-crusts scratch her tear ducts when she finally pries her eyes open. Danielle looks to the light source, expecting to find her polka-dot curtains, but instead is blinded by an LED bulb. She blinks away the spots in her vision and attempts to take in the room around her.

No dresser, no mirror, no bed, no carpet, no hard wood, no paint, no wallpaper, no nothing. Just concrete- wall to wall, floor to ceiling – and a man leaning against the far corner.

Danielle bolts upright. Who is that! Where in the world is she?!

The older man chuckles. His features wrinkle as his smile presses into them. And despite his greying hair his muscular shoulders bounce at the sound.

He takes something from his pocket and flicks it Danielle’s way. It lands flatly in front of her, having only needed to go less than ten feet.

“No one ever does check the liquid inside the straw.”

Danielle takes a quick glimpse and feels the blood drain from her face. It’s a dipstick: tester end white and the other end crinkled.

The man pushes himself off the wall and stands straight, his hair almost reaching the ceiling, but makes no move to step forward. He reaches into the same pocket he got the tester from and pulls out a small purple wallet. Danielle’s wallet. He unzips the top and pulls out the ID from in front.

“Let’s see who we have today… Danielle Ortega.”

The man frowns. He looks to Danielle then back to the photo on the ID.

“Is this a fake ID?”

Danielle blinks at him. What does he expect her to say? If she’s under 21 does that mean he’d just let her go?

The man flashes his teeth.

“Well!”

Danielle shakes her head so fast she can feel her brain hit her skull.

The man’s frown returns.

“Great, a Hispanic.”

He shoves her ID back into the wallet then shoves the wallet into his pocket. He raises his hand and pushes up some sort of hatch Danielle can’t see and hauls himself up into whatever space lies above.

“You better hope that someone cares about you enough to summon a big search party. I hate being bored, and I’ve waited long enough for more entertainment.”

The hatch thuds closed behind him and the soft click of a lock follows. Danielle stands, peering around the now completely empty room, and takes a step towards the now sealed hatch.

~

Victim 2: Xavier

Xavier runs across the small room to where the man had disappeared into the ceiling. He looks up to find the hatch made of sturdy wood. His heartbeat begins to thrum in his ears.

Xavier reaches up on his tippytoes and begins to bang on the wood. He pounds and he pounds but the wood doesn’t budge. His fingers sting and his knuckles crack.

He jumps, slamming his head and shoulder into the wood. The wood shoves him back to the ground and the concrete rattles his bones.

Xavier searches the room, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. He spots a different textured rectangle on the wall his back was facing when he got here. He bolts over to it, his legs wobbling beneath him. He rips at the panel, splinters and paint chips jabbing under his nails. With each yank and claw his heartbeat only gets louder.

His lungs burn and his fingers bleed, but this wood too is one with the concrete and refuses to budge. Xavier stumbles back and once again scours the room. This time he finds nothing. He’s trapped.

~

Danielle sucks in a deep breath as she tries to slow her breathing. She stares at the boarded-up window and uses finding patterns in the wood grain as her focus to stay in the present. Too much is happening inside her head, all she can do is sit here in complete silence. No, not complete silence- Danielle hears three chimes.

She listens closer, closing her eyes and trying to tune out her own breathing. A murmur starts, like that of a person talking in the distance.  

Danielle takes a step forward, her knees threaten to buckle under her, but take her weight. She makes sure her feet stay under her with each step as she loops around the room. She finds the corner the murmur is loudest and stands on her tippy toes, leaning into the corner for support.

The voice sounds feminine and flat-toned. There is a pause for some sort of jingle before a masculine flat-toned voice takes over. The words are a bit garbled but understandable.

“We briefly return to this morning’s breaking news, where police announced a search for a missing persons abducted last night. Reports indicate the young woman’s jacket, which was left behind at the scene of her kidnapping, had a calling card in its pocket. The script of the MM initials appear to be consistent with those of the Minoan Murderer, but police have yet to announce if they believe this card to be genuine or a forgery. If anyone has information about the whereabouts of Danielle Ortega we ask that you contact the Silverbrook Police Department.”   

Danielle stands back flat on her feet and lets out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Shit.”