43Chapter 9: Rats & Rabbits
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Can rabbit make noises? I can't remember. I am going through every memory of rabbits I can think of. The rabbit we had as a class pet, what was her name? Tinkerbell? I think... She was white with blue eyes, a bit of an anomaly, they normally had red eyes. And the wild rabbits I sometimes saw at the park when I went running... I wouldn't know if they could make noises, they dashed away after only a glimpse. And that time I walked into the pet store, just for the sake of it... They had bunnies there too. Little white ones with brown patches and cute little eyes. I've always kind of liked rabbits, ever since I was little. I remember asking Santa for a rabbit one year. The reason I'm thinking about rabbits is because I can hear little feet rushing around down here. Scratching, and sniffing. And the only alternative to rabbits would be rats. And I do not like rats, at all. But while I've been bringing up every image of rabbits in my past that I can, something at the back of my mind is nagging to come forward. Something about rats, and rabbits, and small animals. What is it?
The throbbing in my head grows, and I shuffle my body over a little, trying to get comfortable. I nearly scoff out loud, comfortable? In here? I let out a half hearted laugh. Just because if I don't laugh, then it's just a thick silence, with the odd scattering of dirt as the little creatures run over the ground. I feel sick. Literally queasy at the thought of them touching me, and I move a little more, coughing loudly at the same time. When I make strange, or loud noises they seem to move further away, but when I stay still I can hear them move closer. I think they're waiting for me to die, to scavenge on my body. It would make sense. I think if I was a rat and I found a fresh carcass I'd eat the flesh too. I shiver and with a gurgle from my stomach bile rises to my throat. Not only am I hungry, I'm afraid and the anxiety is making me want to vomit what little I do have in my stomach back up again.
What is that thought nagging at the back of my mind? What are small animals good at? Suddenly, it comes to me. They're good at getting into small places, squeezing into tiny gaps, digging with their sharp little claws. They're also good at surviving, being a prey species, they know how to hide. How had the rats gotten in here in the first place? Squinting, I turn my head as far as I can towards the door Uncle Tommy had left through, how long ago? I don't know. I try and make out even a pinpoint of light, but I see nothing, nothing but black. I turn my head as far as I can the opposite way, craning my head to look beyond my feet... Or where I think they are, I'm starting to feel like my body isn't really mine anymore, it's kind of numb. I still can't see any light, no matter how hard I strain my eyes, or how many 'directions' I look into. I feel like somehow I'm missing a spot... In the darkness it's hard to know how big this room is. You have to move Temperance. I tell myself. I know I have to move. I have to move because I'm cold, because I'll lose circulation if I stay too still, because if I don't move I'll go crazier than I feel already.
With all the strength I can muster, I throw my body to the side, but I can't quite get onto my stomach. I try again, and again. But my muscles just don't seem to be responding very well. You've waited too long Temperance. You're losing function in your arms and legs. Anger flows through me. Why should I die like this? Why should I let Uncle Tommy hurt me? Why? Why do I deserve this? I'm a smart woman, I do good things in this world, I help people. I shuffle backwards, or forwards whatever you want to call it, digging my heels into the ground my bound ankles screaming in protest at being moved even slightly. I push until my head bumps into a wall, and then I stretch my hands as far back as I can until my hands are touching the wall. The walls aren't solid concrete like I had imagined in my mind, they seem to be wood, and it feels like my finger tips are touching the edge of a shelf of some sort above my head. I wiggle further, my neck bent awkwardly, my back bent, and my arms stretched as far above me as I can, and finally my finger tips find purchase on the shelf.
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"Temperance," I freeze, my fingertips have grabbed the shelf, I am ready to pull myself up. But I can hear him coming down some stairs, he is calling me. Panic. Do I use the shelf to get up, will it help me? Something told me not to. So I immediately wiggled my way down the wall, and shuffled as far from the shelf as I could, but the door opened before I could remember how far I'd come to get to the shelf. Would he remember where he had left me on the floor?
"Hello," there is a flashlight on me now; my eyes feel like they are burning out of their sockets, so I close my eyes. Oh God how I had wanted to see light, now I want anything but. "How are you?" He is standing over me, I can feel him, the light isn't directly on my eyes now, but I keep them tightly closed. "Well that's a stupid question, I suppose you're no feeling good at all." He chuckles, and the bile rises to my throat again. He's revolting, he's so disgusting. "No need to answer me sweetheart, I have someone for you to meet though. He doesn't like silence, he likes manners... And it's manners to greet someone. Isn't it?" I try and open my eyes, but even with the flashlight aimed away from my face, the light is too much.
"Hello," I say shakily. If I had grabbed that shelf, what could I have done? Could I have escaped? Why hadn't I thought to grab it earlier?
"Hello Temperance, do you remember me?" I don't recognise the voice. I don't know what to say. Does he want me to remember him? I'll remember him if he wants me to. I just don't want to be hurt, I don't want to die.
"I... Uh..." I begin, hoping he would give me a hint.
"Oh well, in time you will." He says confidently. "Now Tom, I'll move her to the bed, do you want to fetch her dinner for her?" Food. My stomach growls loudly. "Now don't fight me Tempe," I stay very still as hands slide under my upper back, and the top of my thighs. He lifts me, and I pull my face as far from his chest as I can. I can smell his aftershave, and mints. I think, if I ever get out of this, I will feel sick whenever I smell either of these things.
"Here is your bed Tempe, we are sorry we had to leave you on the ground for so long." He carried me quite a distance, and through an open door, I can open my eyes briefly before needing to close them again, and my aching eyes caught glimpses of empty walls, empty shelves, dirt floor, and a little box of a room, the room he's brought me into now. There is a bed in here, and he has placed me on the mattress. I don't want to be appreciative of such monsters. But all I can think is... This mattress is the softest thing I've ever felt beneath me. Probably this is not true, but after the cold hard floor, I've never felt something so good.
"Uncle Tommy will bring you your dinner. I'll untie your hands so you can eat. But I want you to know that I do have a gun. While I don't want to use it... I will if I have to. You have already injured him... And we can't have that happening again." Something I noticed about the man who lifted me was he had well defined muscles. This man was strong. He was the killer, not Uncle Tommy. But if he had a gun, why did he kill the girls with a crow bar? I open my eyes squinting against the ache, but his face is in the shadows. "Are you ready for some light?" I nod my head in his direction. "I can't hear you Temperance." He says.
"Yes please." I say. I can't believe how pathetic I sound. But I guess that is because I want to survive. I think. I hear a click, and look towards the soft glow of a lamp, it illuminates that side of the room, and then he moves to the other side of the room and clicks another lamp on. The whole room is illuminated, I'm still squinting, but the light is less harsh than the flashlight. "Thank you." I tell him. He turns to me, and I see him properly. He's a tall man, and I was right, with well defined muscles. He has a pretty normal looking face; his nose is crooked like it's been broken before.
"You're still so pretty Tempe," he says softly, his rough fingertips running down my face. "That cop you work with, or fed or whatever. He's real worried about you. I can see why..." I pause, my eyes fill with tears even though I try hard to remain calm, I can't. Booth. This man has met Booth. My fuzzy brain finally puts two and two together. This is Jeremy.
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TBC.