Chapter Three: Dreams
Alex's POV
Puffs of white smoke filtered past pale lips. Dull green eyes watch moonlight flicker on the tiled floor. Thin fingers slide over a name plate, tracing the letters.
The lips mouth the name, over and over again, like they're trying to engrave it in their mind.
Alex stands before the metal door, her skin pale and sickly in the white light. She ponders what might be behind the great metal door, what she might find. Her fingers drift from the name to the door's edge, tracing the line in the wall.
Dull light faded and disappears as dawn grows in the distance. Her eyes flicker from the door to the window.
Wisps of clouds drift across the grey sky; pink tinting the horizon as the sun rises.
Her gaze goes back to the door, her hand slowly wrapping around the cold metal handle. Her knuckles turn white from her grip, her wiry muscles straining as she pulls.
The cold bites into her palm; her skin stretches, teasing fresh cuts as thin streams of blood slide down the white expanse of her arm.
The metal creaks and groans but doesn't budge. Icy crackles and snaps as she pulls. Her fingers slip and her hold falters.
Her eyes widen slightly as she slips and stumbles, the cold floor stinging her bare feet as she falls. Her head cracks against the wall. She winces as she lays against the wall and in the floor, her breaths coming in puffs as she closes her eyes.
The fridged air sweeps across her white skin, stinging everywhere it touches, tinting her flesh a pale pink.
Pushing her palms against the floor, her lifts her self up until she's leaning against the stone bricks. Reaching up to her head, she gingerly touches the back of her head, flinching away when pain radiates from bump.
Bringing her long fingers back down, she sees the familiar dark red of blood.
Groaning she straightens herself and glances back at the door. A handprint lays on the handle, slowly fogging over in the morning chill.
Sighing she traces the name once more before turning and starting down the hall,back towards the hidden door in the deep dark parts of the asylum where no light reaches.
* * *
Constantine's POV
The thudding of footsteps pulls her out of her nightmares, and as she opens her eyes to the sun's rays. She squints against the brightness and curls back into the wall, squeezing into the smallest ball possible.
The sound of a bolt sliding echos around the room. She freezes. Her eyes widen and her breathes stop as she stares in fear at the great white door.
Metal creaks and groans, and a grunt can be heard as the door scrapes against the ground as it's hauled open.
Shadows spill from the dim hallway into the room, stretching across the floor, reaching for her as she shakes in the corner.
The tall man takes a step forward, his heels clicking against the tiled floor. Her eyes stayed trained on his shining black shoes as he takes slow, deliberate steps into the room.
She can feel his piercing gaze and her eyes trail up his white slacks, and white button up shirt, rolled up to his elbows, all the way to his snow-white beard and frown, his sharp, pointed nose and cold, pale blue eyes. His face is devoid of emotion as he stares back at her.
Gulping she quickly looks away, training her eyes back on his shoes.
The click click click of his shoes starts again and she closes her eyes, squeezing them shut Ina desperate attempt to disappear.
Her breath shakes and a single tear falls down her cheek, leaving a thin trail in the grim coating her skin. She clenches her hands, her nails digging into her palms as she waits in anticipation of what was to come.
The man's footsteps stop right before her trembling form and she hears the snapping of fingers before heavier, slower steps sound through the quiet room.
Deep breathing and quiet grunts are the only sound as the steps get closer and closer. They pause before her before she fells hot, thick breath fan over her face and neck as a hand grabs the back of her shirt and hauls her to her feet.
She squeakes and tries to curl into herself as much as possible. The tall man reaches forward and lifts her face with a single cold finger. He tilts her head into the light, turning it from side to side as if he were examining a piece of meat he was about to eat.
She lets out a whimper and the man drops her head. She quickly turns it to the floor again.
"Look at me," a cold, icy voice said and her eyes snap open in fear. But she keeps her head down, the shaking getting worse.
"Trey," the man says in that voice, addressing the massive man behind her. He grunts in response and grabs the back of her head and tugs it back.
She gasps from the pain of him holding her head back and more tears leak down her face. The tall man lets out a dry chuckle before raising his hand and in a flash, he strikes her face, snapping it to the side from the force. She whimpers again from both the slap and the painful tug on her head.
Her head falls and the man looks at Trey–the massive, tank of a man holding her up–and he tightens his hold on her, pulling her head back up.
Tears slide down her face and the tall man frowns in disappointment and raises his hand again. Without hesitation her slaps her again, right over the throbbing red handprint on her pale cheek.
When the tears don't stop, the man roughly grabs her chin, forcing it up so he could see her face. She winces in pain and knows that it was going bruise.
"You disgusting creature, look at me when I'm talking to you," he growls.
Her lips tremble as she let out a shaky "p-please".
He smirks and lets her chin drop.
"Trey," he says again and the man again grunts in response–it seems as if that was all he was capable of–before releasing his hold on her completely so she falls to the ground with a thud.
Her bony knees crack against the tile and she lets out a cry of pain before a foot thuds into her side and she kneels over, clutching her throbbing ribs.
"Shut up," the man says, disgust at her pain lacing his voice. "Trey. Leave us."
A low, rumbling voice sounds, "Yes, Mr. Winters," before the heavy footsteps leave the room, shaking the floor slightly as they went.
The screeching of the metal door shutting snaps her out of her pain, her head snaps up, eyes wide as she stared at the door that now sealed her and her tormenter in the room.
Gasping she scoots back against the wall as if she were trying to hide in the shadows.
The man chuckles and she closes her eyes again, bracing herself for the onslaught of pain that always ensued when he came.
A slim fingered hand grabs her arm and hauls her up. His grip tightening so much she feels her bones groan and knows she would have another bruise and countless broken bones before he was done with her.
She doesn't even realize that she had cried out again until the man slams her back into the concrete wall, causing her head to crack against the stone. She feels the familiar warmth of blood slide through her matted hair and down her back—
"Shut up!" Mr. Winters shouts, anger evident in his voice. "You filthy, disgusting creature," he sneers, "You deserve this and all that is to come." His minty breath hearing her face and filling her nose painfully.
She knows he was right, he was always right. They were always right.
Not ever her parents wanted her, no, instead they sent their five year old to a mental hospital to get her off their hands.
Worthless–
Disgusting–
Filthy–
Waste–
You're nothing more than a mistake–
Loser–
Voices fill her head. Voices of her parents, of past classmates, of Mr. Winters, of her demons.
She lets out a chocked sob, memories flashing through her mind, faces swirling, words slicing through her.
He smirks and lets go of his death grip on her arm. She slides to the ground, a line of red trailing behind her on the wall.
He chuckles again, malice and vicious intent evident in his laughter. He pulls back his foot and slams it into her already bruised ribs, over and over, sometimes landing a blow to the stomach or chest, making her cough and choke on her tears and breaths.
After a few moments of beating her already frail body to a pulp, Mr. Winters stops and wipes his now bloodied shoes on the back of her shirt, leaving blood smeared across her clothes and skin.
Chuckling, he looks down at her again before making his way to the door, knocking on it a few times. As he waits he turns back to her as if he just remembered something important.
"Oh!" He exclaims, fake enthusiasm in his voice, "Your parents called. They said we could have you for our... experiments, you could call them."
She looks up at him, her vision foggy with tears and blood.
"Don't expect to ever get out of here," she could hear the smile in his voice. "You're mine now."
With that the door finished screeching open and he turned away, making his way out into the shadowy hall. "Until next time, Constantine."
* * *