Who: Chase [Narrative] What: "Nope"ing the hell out. Where: His Room/Outside the mansion When: Morning
Chase couldn't remember how long it had been since the last time he'd attempted to move from the bed, now sitting squarely in the center of the mattress, cross-legged, his eyes focused on one singular point ahead of him. He was trying to get his mind working, calculating, but it was difficult to even attempt it while knowing he was under the soulless scrutiny of that one, dark glass eye.
The tiny trail of blood dancing across the caramel colored comforter was close to dry by now, the needle and clear tube now laying on the floor out of sight. He'd pulled it out wrong, at least from what he could tell from the ache and the discoloration of the skin around the entry point, but he hadn't looked in a while.
It had moved.
He'd attempted to stand once, managed to walk to the end of the bed before the unexpected vertigo had claimed him at the instant he'd realized the bed was hoisted on a platform, tucked into the wall several feet above the rest of the room. Whose room, he had no fucking idea. Who had prodded him, dressed him, dragged him where he was, all mysteries he sure as hell didn't want to fucking deal with. His feet had found the stairs, focused more on the box in the center of the room, when it moved. That eerie, black eye, centered directly on him.
And so he'd been sitting there, as if waiting for something, anything to happen. He was awake now, and obviously someone was watching. Weren't they going to send someone? His breath was audible, the sound of his own pulse thrumming away in his ears. Panic. He was used to it, but not to this extent. Smaller doses when he met someone knew, or when someone unexpectedly spoke to him on the bus, or walked into the shop. The latter was easier, at least he knew what they wanted, what they expected, but not this. His breathing was so shallow that he felt as if he weren't getting enough oxygen, that he was getting lightheaded, that his throat was closing up even though he knew it wasn't. He couldn't be here. He wasn't supposed to be here.
He heard a faint sound from somewhere, from the other side of one of the doors, below and to the side of the small nook he was in now. A voice, female. His mouth pressed into a line, listening, waiting for the sound to go away even as his fingers clenched tightly against the blanket under him.
Go away. Please, go away.
He waited a few minutes after the voice disappeared, his eyes remaining on the camera as he finally gathered the will to move once more, slowly, watching. Not where he was going, unfortunately. His foot landed on the discarded I.V., something crunching under his bare foot with enough intensity to cause pain, to make him hiss. It wasn't the needle, thank goodness, and nothing had broken the skin. Despite the fact that both the sound and his response had been minimal, he paused, listened, and waited to move once more when he felt the coast was clear.
The steps down to the rest of the room weren't quite as narrow or treacherous as he'd originally thought, and he navigated them fairly easily even thought he wasn't entirely watching where his feet were landing. The room wasn't....bad. In fact, without the presence of the camera it might have been downright cozy, what with the little nest area he'd woken up in. His eyes remained on the camera as he edged toward the box in the center of the room, hesitating at the note, realizing that it could have been the easiest and most obvious trap to lay.
Open Me. Potentially just as dangerous as Eat Me or Drink Me. Why not? He already felt like he was falling into a rabbit hole.
He nudged the box, then glanced inside, realizing he knew exactly what the contents were. Clothing. His clothing, and for a moment there was a minor bit of relief in the simple familiarity of it. The camera was watching him, aimed directly at his face as he looked up at it, as if waiting for him to do something. Get dressed? With someone watching? With it watching.
No. No, he had to do something about that. He had to be able to think, to plan, to fix this, but he couldn't do it with that here.
He carefully took a step to the side, walking in a circle around the box, judging the speed at which the camera followed him, faster and faster until he could determine just how well it could follow him as he shifted. When that was finished he backed up toward the stairs once more, pulling the bed spread up and reaching for the sheet under it, tugging the best he could until it was free. With that done, he stepped back down, and around in a quick circle, hopefully faster than the camera could catch him. He could hear the sound of it trying as his hand moved out for the standing lamp in the corner, abandoning the shade and heading around again to avoid the lens again, wrapping the sheet around the bottom of the stand in an effort to muffle the sound. The last thing he needed was whoever had been in the hall to come running.
Not once, but twice he rammed the bottom of the lamp stand into the camera, the second connection causing metal bits to crunch and drop to the floor. The wave of relief came out in an almost painful exhale, and the room instantly felt less claustrophobic. After a few seconds, he looked at the lamp stand, then the camera, and wondered why the hell he'd actually tried to sneak up on it in the first place. He was the only person in the room, and the absence of the lamp would have been noted by someone, wouldn't it? How hard would it be to put two and two together?
It had made him feel better, more assured, and that was probably enough.
He dressed quickly, and with more confidence than he'd felt since waking. In the protective layers of his own property he felt somehow whole, even if he knew that his situation hadn't actually gotten much better. Whoever had put the camera in would likely be coming back to deal with its destruction, and he definitely didn't want to be around when that happened. He needed to get out, needed to get home, and needed to make sure he didn't get caught. He tied his steel-toed work boots extra tightly and headed to the window, looking out onto the unfamiliar landscape. It was the window's position that was of the most interest to him, a bout of luck, really. He was on the second floor of what appeared to be a large building, but his own window opened out onto the roof of the floor underneath, giving him a platform to climb out onto. He did so, carefully and quietly stepping onto the shingles, leaving the window wide open behind him.
Gingerly making his way toward the edge, the drop to the grass below was a little more intimidating than he wanted to admit, but the stay was even less attractive. He slid to one knee, his hands gripping the edge of the building so he could peer over, looking for a clear view of the windows under it. It was hard to see inside, but he could at least tell where he might drop off out of sight. Now all he had to do was do it.
"Okay....okay okay okay......" He inhaled and exhaled twice, turning around until his back was to the bushes, his front aimed toward the window he'd only just emerged from. His eyes stared into the dimness beyond, as if waiting for someone to appear between the curtains to reach for him, but none came. He carefully lowered himself as far as he could, the area of his arm where the IV had been aching even more now. He dropped to the ground with a little less grace and silence than he would have wanted, and the weird bracelet on his wrist snagged on a tile, ripping and sending a jolt of pain through his hand. He landed hard on his feet, both of his legs sending currents of discomfort from his toes to his knees, but he was down. Down and free.
He didn't bother to wait and see if anyone had heard him, taking a quick look at the house....mansion itself before twisting around. He all but disappeared into the foliage, leaving only that damned bracelet behind in the grass, desperate to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible.