Not dead yet... a second chance

When Emily hurriedly left from home that afternoon, she had a feeling that something was not quite right. She didn’t often receive such premonitions; precisely the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to think that “something was wrong”, instead she just thought that her inner feeling meant that “something was not quite right!”

Her 3:00 ‘o clock appointment on Sunday afternoon was long gone; and not met. She could scarcely remember what day or time it was now. She was barely 22, tall, about five feet eight, slender, had the body of a angel and the eyes of an adolescent. She wore a knee-length fitting black skirt and a beige open neck shirt that vaunted her full bosom. But right now, none of the boasting beauty showed in her eyes. She was unconscious and all that was left of her beautiful face was a gag in her mouth. Her legs haphazardly placed and her hands bound against her back and held together with piano wires. Her cheeks were blotched red, possibly as a result of hours of crying.

She half opened her eyes praying hard and hoping it were all a dream and that when she woke up, she’d be in her warm cozy bed with her dog Patsy excitedly licking at her face. Sadly, it wasn’t.

Oh God, please let this not be true, she prayed.

The harsh reality struck on her when she realized that these weren’t the walls of her room after all. When she finally woke up, her head still reeling from what she thought was the aftermath of some kind of strong drug that would have been induced upon her, it seemed to her that she could vaguely smell the sea, very close to where she was kept. She instantly became fully awake, tried to clear her head and thought of the last dreaded time he entered this same room.

“How much do you love me”, he had asked her. And when she hadn’t answered, he had grotesquely tortured her until she screamed out for help. And then, he had drugged her and tied her up.

She could still see two of everything. Her mind wasn’t clear yet. She tried to wriggle out of her bound hands but her body refused to co-operate; she fell back asleep knowing there is absolutely nothing she could do to free herself from the confinement.

She didn’t know how many hours, or days perhaps, she had been lying there until she didn’t feel the pain anymore. She was in the same room when she opened her eyes once again. Only this time, she wasn't gagged and her hands were unfastened. The man had been here, in this very same room, untied her hands.

The scent of the sea returned, along with the musty smell of the walls. She couldn’t hear it, but she was sure it was close. She couldn’t possibly be wrong on that one. How many many days had she spent on the sparkling sands of the beach 13 (or was it 14) years ago.

All those memories came flooding back to her; her parents and she driving to the beach two hours away from their home, Emily nonchalantly kicking sand behind her while running across the sandy beach, watching her delicate feet sink into the damp sand while the waves left the shore, inhaling the sent of the sea, letting the sea water lap against her hair while she playfully dipped her head into the waves, making the weirdest shaped sand castles with her castle equipment and cleverly asking her daddy if she did a good job (knowing well that she was daddy’s girl and he’d never do or say anything to hurt her).

All this and more came crashing down her memory lane, while lying in the bare bed. Her body was beaten, sore, and numb from the trashing she endured before. She regretted leaving her cozy apartment, leaving her faithful dog Patsy behind, leaving for her 3:00 ‘o clock appointment a little later than required, rushing to catch a cab, jumping out of the cab in a hurry, jaywalking, getting kidnapped!!!

She tried to scream out for help but all that her physical condition allowed her to do was let out a dull croak that merely came out as a whisper from her throat; she finally drifted off to sleep praying again that someone would find her, someone would save her, that in the remotest of possibilities she would (might?) be able to go all the way over and alter her course of actions. If only she had a second chance, to change her plans… Then, she would probably be able to play along the sands of her favorite beach once again, once again, until the next time!

PS: A work of fiction for Sunday Scribblings.