InsaneJournal

Who: Ophelia, two Bad Men, and later, Darius
What: An Unwelcome Detour
When: Today
Where: Downtown Portland And Environs
Warnings: Violence and Implied Torture


Ophelia had used her Godbox to dial into downtown Portland. She wanted to shop, and she was becoming used to going out by herself. She wasn’t entirely sure she enjoyed being by herself, but it was only for a couple of hours, and then Darius would be joining her for lunch. As she browsed the shop windows, she daydreamed.



How did one talk to a man...how did one tell him that she was interested? She liked Darius tremendously, and more than once she’d wondered if he might like her back. He was kind and sweet and funny. Much different than any other man she’d ever known. He was good to her. He was patient and explained things to her. And he was handsome and she liked his scruffy beard and blue eyes.

“‘Scuse me, lady, you got the time?”

It was becoming second nature not to be startled by male voices speaking to her unannounced. “One moment,” she said pleasantly. She took out her Godbox to check the time, but before she knew what was happening to her, she’d been swept off of her feet and into a vehicle of some sort, the Godbox slipping from her fingers . What felt like arms of iron pinned her and held her fast, the weight of two men on top of her. Ophelia tried to struggle but her head was slammed hard against the floor of the van and she stopped.

Ophelia, despite her terror, could feel that the van was moving. She tried very hard to calm herself and to hear what was going on around her, but then something was jabbed into her arm. A warm sensation went up her arm and into her brain and she lost consciousness.

********

“...she awake yet?”

“Nah, we hit her up pretty good. We got time.“

Ophelia was waking slowly, and early enough to understand that they wanted to ask her questions. Wisely, she stayed still, unmoving, quiet. Listening.

“Bitch should know better than to go snooping around in the back of the bar....”

“She’s pretty, though. Shame we have to kill her.” His voice sounded feral. Dangerous

“Don’t get soft, Tom.” The second man’s voice was hard, bitter. “Women are good for only one thing, and that much is debatable. Depending on the woman.” Just as dangerous as the first.

“Maybe we can have some fun before we off the bitch?” Hopeful. Ophelia shuddered.

“Whatever.” Dismissive. “You do the deed, you kill her too.”

Oh, god. oh god oh god oh god... She tried not to whimper aloud, lest they hear and find her awake. She had to think! She risked opening one eye. Wherever the two men were, they weren’t facing her. She was in a large room, not very well lit, with one chair that she could see. She was on the floor, and her hands were bound behind her.

The chair. The chair was wooden. If they put her in it, maybe she could break it. Maybe...

There was a baseball bat in the corner. She hoped they didn’t use it on her.

For a few moments, she didn’t move. And all she could think was that she didn’t want to die without Darius knowing how she felt. She didn’t want to leave him, without him knowing how much he’d done for her, how much she cared for him.

She moved her hands, ears pricked for the sound of voices, for the sound of people coming for her. But they didn’t come. She felt around on the floor, felt around for what her ropes were made of, felt around to see if there was any help to be found. Her ropes were fiber of some sort, not plastic. The floor was smooth, concrete, she thought, and there was a something sharp on the floor, she just had to grab it...

She’d just palmed it when she heard footsteps. Quickly, she hid the glass in her hand as they came over to her. Two men, one sandy haired with a long scar bisecting his face, one dark, with a perpetual frown. “C’mon Rach, time to spill your guts, one way or another...”

They dragged her over to a chair and pulled her bound hands behind her and over the back of the chair, making tears come to her eyes and making her cry out.

“That’s right, talk, baby.” The second speaker was the one who wanted to do things to her. She looked at him in bewilderment.

“Why-why am I here?” she asked, and her only answer was a very hard slap to the face.

“Don’t be an idiot, Rachel. You know why we’re here.” They grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back. She felt the sharp edge of a knife pressed against her throat. “You’re going to tell us what you saw last night at the club. And you’re going to tell us who you told. Or we’ll do a lot more than just hit you.”

“But...but my name’s not Rachel...please, I swear, I won’t tell anyone, but you have the wrong person...” The next slap nearly caused her to drop the shard of glass she was holding, and she tasted blood in her mouth. The glass cut her fingers, but she didn’t let go.

“Don’t give us that, Rachel. We know what you saw in the back room. Now tell us who you told...”

Ophelia looked up at them. They didn’t believe her. They thought she was this Rachel person. And when they realized that she wasn’t who they thought she was, they’d kill her anyway. Or she would already be dead. She had to argue. She strained forward, maybe they wouldn’t notice that she was working on her bindings...

“It wasn’t me! I wasn’t there! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

They hit her again, and again, and her fingers slipped in the blood on the glass, but she held on, and continued cutting, one strand of the rope at a time.

Then the dark one leaned over to her and whispered in her ear all of the things they would do to her if she didn’t talk and tell them what they wanted to know. Ophelia’s face contorted as he spoke, venomous words in her ear, and for a moment, she lost all hope. She whimpered and began to cry.

She wanted to go home, just home. Home with Darius and the clean little house, where everything was warm and cozy and where he was always happy to see her. And he’d never know, now, how she felt, how much joy he gave her just from being there, how much sanity he’d helped restore to her...

She closed her eyes. No. Her fingers were cut and bleeding, but she’d be damned if she would die now. She might have wanted to die at one time, but now she didn’t want to. She was scared but the men weren’t looking at her hands. They were doing other things to her that she didn’t want to acknowledge at the moment, and she wanted to get away, far away from them, but they weren’t looking at her hands and even though her feet were bound, she could still move them.

And suddenly, she felt her hands come free. She froze, still crying, and looked frantically around the room, trying to figure out what to do now that her hands were free and the dark man was so close... Ophelia took a deep breath and as hard as she could, she brought her hand up and jammed the glass shard into the man’s neck. She felt a great and horrible sense of joy when the man screamed and fell away from her. The other man, caught by surprise, turned to grab her, but she raised up both feet and kicked him as hard as she could, making him fall hard across the floor. Quickly, Ophelia scrambled, with her feet still bound, away from the men. She didn’t have much time at all. She forced her bleeding fingers to work the knotted rope at her ankles. The dark man was writhing on the ground, and the other man, she’d kicked into a table and he’d hit his head. But he was not quite knocked out...

Ophelia got the rope off of her ankles and dashed out for the baseball bat in the corner. If they were planning on using that on her, they had another thing coming...

The sandy haired man came after her, and she held the bat the way she’d seen baseball players do.

“Little bitch...” He reached out for the bat, punch drunk and dizzy. Ophelia wasn’t going to give him the chance to touch her again. She swung and heard the bat go crack against his skull.

Hurriedly, she looked around, trying to find a way out of this place, seized the door and struggled with it for a moment in panic before realizing it was unlocked. When she got the door open, it was dark outside, and her coat and purse were gone. She shivered in the cold January air, then spied the panel van they’d shoved her into. She hurried over and found that they’d left the keys, and there were her coat and purse.

She didn’t know how to drive! But she couldn’t stay here, and she didn’t know where to call. There was nothing for it, she would have to figure it out, and quickly.

She couldn’t figure out how to adjust the seat, so she sat forward on the edge of the seat so she could reach the pedals, and started it up, clung onto the steering wheel, and drove, haltingly at first, but then with gathering speed.

She drove aimlessly, looking around for somewhere, anywhere, that looked as if it contained help, finally driving into a hospital...almost literally, since she forgot where the brakes were. Beginning to tremble now, she figured out how to stop the van and put it in park, then stumbled into the emergency room.

*********

Some time after this, Darius’s Godbox began to ring.