Audacity

Valentina knew if she moved, she was dead. In the first few days of captivity, she had struggled, screamed, wrestled against her restraints. She had begged, pleaded, even resorted to insults. It didn’t take long for him to beat the fight out of her.

There was no rhyme or reason to his visits; he came as he pleased, often with stale bread and staler water. There must have been some semblance of regularity, as Valentina never found herself hungry. In a way, that was worse. If she were starved, she might not feel the pain so completely. Weakness might have clouded her mind and numbed her senses. Frailty was a strange thing to wish for.

By the light of the solitary lantern at the foot of the stairs, Valentina had scrutinised every square inch of the dingy cellar that was her prison, desperately hoping to find a means of escape. It was a fruitless endeavour when every restricted movement caused such agony. She was limited to using her eyes to search for a tool, a weapon, anything. A feather boa lay in the corner of the room, dusty and faded, but apart from that the room was as bare as her bruised body; her captor had taken her clothes, and along with them her dignity.

Valentina flinched as a strangled cry ripped through the silence. It hadn't taken long for her to realise she was not the only one here, and the despair of her fellow captives had become an all-too-familiar sound. But a fresh frisson of fear shot through her each time: he would visit soon.

She curled up in a ball as his footsteps thumped closer, her hands trembling, heart pounding. Valentina knew better than to pretend to be asleep so her eyes stayed open, but she kept as still as possible. She had learned the hard way that any form of movement, any words spoken would result in pain.

At first sight, the captor was not an intimidating presence: scrawny, barely five foot ten, aged beyond his years by the recession of his hairline. Valentina had not been scared that first day; she was arrogant in her confidence that she would be able to overpower him and escape. Then she looked into his eyes.

For a moment, she thought they were almost black. Cold, dark depths that threatened to suck out Valentina's soul. But, to her horror, the green ring of the iris betrayed the truth; the captor's pupils were so large, they eclipsed what would probably have been a very lovely pair of eyes. Only drugs could have caused such dilation. And drugs meant a lack of sensical judgement, which meant rash, dangerous decisions. After that, Valentina was terrified.

The captor stood over her, head tilted. He seemed confused by her stillness. Valentina drew a sharp breath as he kicked her hard, but still did not move or speak. A second breath was drawn from her as the captor grabbed her by the hair and pulled her upright. Tiny strands ripped from her scalp and her eyes filled with tears, but still Valentina said and did nothing.

"What are you doing?"

The raspy, low voice of the captor shocked Valentina; it was much deeper and authoritative than she had expected. She blinked a few times then stood her ground, staring blankly at the floor.

"Why don't you fight back?" the captor said. He spoke softly, but menacingly enough that a shiver ran down Valentina's spine. Without warning, he reached out and slapped her hard, her head snapping to one side. Valentina gasped.

"Fight!" he roared.

Valentina couldn't help but let out a small whimper as the captor pulled a carving knife from his belt. He held the blade out and flicked it against her leg. Valentina's breath hitched as she saw the thin red line that appeared. Not deep enough that she would bleed out, but enough that scarring was likely. If she survived whatever was coming.

"Fight, Veronica!" the captor yelled, plunging the knife into her forearm then yanking it back out.

Blood poured from the wound, though Valentina hardly felt it. The captor had called her Veronica. He'd got her name wrong. This man had held her, naked, in a cellar for who knew how many days, hurt her in so many ways she had lost count, and he had the audacity to not even know who she was?

Adrenaline coursed through Valentina's body as the captor lunged again. This time, she rolled out of the way, pulling the leather restraints holding her wrists taut. The knife cut into the fabric linking them, and Valentina pulled, ripping her hands apart. Taking advantage of her captor's shock and instability, she jumped to her feet and pushed him hard, sending him toppling to the ground. The knife flew from his hands and landed with a clatter just out of his reach. Without hesitating, Valentina dashed forward, grabbed the knife and turned around just in time to see her captor barrelling towards her.

The knife's initial entry into the man's stomach was an accident; Valentina had been holding it out when he had tripped and fallen straight onto it. She froze, not quite believing what had just happened. But when he tried to grab her, reaching out with stubby, dirty fingers to claw at her face, she twisted the knife and pushed it deeper into his torso.

A gargled choking sound left the captor's throat as he dropped to the floor, shaking violently. Valentina kneeled over him.

"How many others?" she asked quietly, glaring into the iris-less eyes of the man who had tried to destroy her. He just stared, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Valentina pulled the knife out and tossed it to one side.

"HOW MANY OTHERS?" she shrieked, pressing down on his wound. The captor let out a gutteral scream, his body convulsing at the intense pain.

Valentina leaned in close to the captor. His pupils were shrinking, the colour draining from his face. His breathing was hitched; he couldn’t have answered her question if he'd tried. Valentina didn't ask again - she would find out soon enough. Instead, she leaned down until her lips almost grazed his ear and whispered final words.

"Enjoy the deepest layers of Hell."

He was already gone when she sat up. His eyes were wide and blood still trickled from his mouth, but his chest no longer moved and the convulsions had stopped. It was over.

Valentina stood and stretched, wincing at the cuts, cracks and bruises over her body. She considered taking the captor's shirt so she had some cover, but the thought of his clothing touching her made her skin crawl. Picking up the lantern, Valentina crept up the stairs and into the hall, ready to find the other captives.

As her eyes fell upon a pair of boots that would have been much too large for the captor, a floorboard creaked upstairs.