WARNING:
FROM THIS POINT FORWARD, THERE WILL BE VARIOUS EXCERPTS THAT INVOLVE VIOLENCE, SEXUAL CONTENT, AND OTHER CONTROVERSIAL TOPICS DISCUSSED WITHIN THIS NOVEL. IF YOU ARE SOMEONE WHO IS EASILY UPSET/DISTURBED BY DEPICTIONS OF THESE TYPES OF SUBJECTS, I ENCOURAGE YOU TO CONSIDER NOT READING THIS NOVEL.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOU TIME AND CONSIDERATION.
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My eyes felt as if they were glued together, my body feeling as if it got hit by a truck. After realizing the sensation that was resting on my eyelids was most likely the "sleep crust" that had collected around my eyelids, I slowly opened my eyes, the whiteness of the room almost blinding me. It was if I had awoken from surgery, and my vision was overwhelmed by the bright hospital room lights. I was expecting to see simple, ordinary hospital supplies surrounding me; I was hoping to see wooden tongue depressors, stethoscopes, things of that nature, but there was nothing that you would see in a standard hospital. In fact, there was nothing in the room at all; there was only the white, hospital-like bed that I laid upon. I looked around me, slowly getting out of the resting position, and scanned the room. Nothing. Well, nothing but a door.
While it appeared to be a normal, typical door, the story behind that door suddenly began to terrify me. The last thing I could remember, was... was...
I could not quite remember what had happened for me to be within this room. I had hoped to figure out what was going on by observing the room, but to no avail.
While I was frightened that I did not know where I was, or the reason why I was there, I was bewildered more than anything. If it were to be some sort of hospital room, I would have been greeted by my parents, my siblings, and Whiskey.
Whiskey.
The memories began to flood back; the kiss, the race through the woods, the person. There was a person that had used some sort of sleep medicine/tranquilizer to knock Whiskey out. And the last thing I remember is feeling some type of pinch on my neck, and then darkness. I realized then that there was something extremely wrong; this was not some sort of bad dream, this was real life. I panicked, for I quickly understood not only that I may have been kidnapped, but that I had no idea where Tex was, and he could be even worse off. I could feel myself beginning to shake slightly, my breathing becoming more and more strained.
I began to understand that whatever was awaiting me was lurking past the eerily perfect door. I could not peer into the room that awaited me, so for whatever odd reason, I looked at the door itself. I suppose the analytical side of me wanted to investigate, to understand the environment I was placed in. While it appeared to look as if it were flawless at first glance, it felt as though the door was not meant to be there; the door hinges seemed extremely new, and the door had no windows. There was a standard doorknob, one with a lock hole. All of this perplexed me, for there was a standard hospital bed within the room, yet some of the characteristics of the room simply did not compare to that of what you would expect to see in one. My only guesses were that this room had been recently created, or recently renovated.
Pushing out the part of me that wanted to understand why I was in this situation, and where I even was, I focused on establishing WHAT was going on. And so, I lightly opened the door, bracing myself for the worst possible outcome.
When I begrudgingly opened the door, I was expecting something to jump out or lunge at me or something, but that was simply not the case. Instead, I was greeted with a soft, yet assertive voice.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Oliver Goodman. Case number... Yes, case number zero-zero-9, please take a seat." She ordered, flipping through a clipboard of what were some sort of documents. I couldn't make out what they were from such a distance.
My eyes scanned the room, and the woman who spoke was the first thing to catch my eye, of course. The woman seemed to be of middle age, not old enough to be devoured by wrinkles, but not young enough to be asked for their ID when asking for an afternoon cocktail. Her hazel eyes pierced through me, my heart skipping a beat when her vision collided with mine. It was as if her eyes were daggers, penetrating my skin, yet her smile dared to welcome me. Her platinum blonde hair was straightened, and her attire resembled that of some sort of scientist. Everything about her presence was commanding and professional; something about her stature and poise told me that this was not the first time she had been in this room.
The room that we were in was just as white and blinding as the last room. The desk and chairs were black, making such a bright room feel a little less bright, almost somewhat unnerving to me. Realizing that I most likely had no choice but to obey the woman's commands, I cautiously take a seat.
The room was swarming with silence; she simply looked at me, as if she were waiting for me to begin the conversation. And so I did; I broke the silence with the only question that was on my mind:
"What did you do to Whiskey?" I screamed. I wasn't quite sure of the emotion I was feeling, all I knew was that she knew where Whiskey was, and I didn't.
"Hm, I see. Cutting right to the chase." She calmly stated, jotting some notes down into her clipboard. After quickly scribbling away, she turns over her clipboard, making it impossible for me to observe any clues about what was going on. My eyes were still glued to the clipboard, and much to my dismay, she noticed. "I am sure you are eager to know what kind of situation you are currently in."
"I saw what you did. Or what you ALL did. You kidnapped him, and you all are going to let him go right now or else are going to regret it." I sternly instructed, clenching my fists underneath the table.
"Patience, now, Mr. Goodman. I would strongly advise you that-"
"No! No more patience! I am going to kill all-"
My threat was cut off by my own screaming. I felt some sort of shock, one that pulsed through my left hand. The pulse was stronger than that of a dog collar, a shock that was powerful enough to encourage tears to erupt from my eyelids. Shortly after the pain began, the pain ceased. I looked at my hand, and noticed a small incision made on my palm. I ran my right index finger over my palm, and noticed something bulging out within my skin. I almost vomited, for the stress, confusion, and anxiety was overwhelming me.
"I apologize, Oliver, but you simply left me no choice in that scenario. But hopefully I can give you a choice, a choice that includes you reuniting with your beloved Whiskey."
My eyes lit up, almost as bright as the room around me. While I was certain that it may not be simple to get Tex back and out of this god-awful place, it did give me hope that they did have Whiskey after all. That I can, hopefully, keep him safe.
"What do you want?"
"Let me explain several things to you; for one, you may refer to me as Ms. Ruler. It is not out of narcissism, that is simply the name I was given. You are going to have to succeed in every single assignment you are given, or else your fate is sealed."
"And why would I agree to do anything to tell me to?"
"Come on, Mr. Goodman, I know you are more knowledgeable than that," She scoffed. "Your fate with Mr. Hughes is now, and forever will be, entwined. If you do not comply to our guidelines, while you may walk free, Mr. Hughes will die."
The words made my blood boil. I folded my arms out of disgust and uneasiness. Just the thought of losing Whiskey made my breath quicken and my heart stop. Nothing in this world will stop me from loving him, but I was obviously reluctant to be some sort of puppet to this woman. I felt tears streaming down my face, the insanity of it all almost consuming me entirely. The more I thought about what was at stake, the deeper my fingernails dug into my arms.
"So... If I do as you say, you will let him go?"
"You have my word, Mr. Goodman."
"I have one request, um, Ms. Ruler."
"Which is?"
"I... I need to know if he's, um, alive," I muttered, the feeling of dread and horror looming over me.
"Certainly. Take a look behind you."
I took a deep breath, and slowly turned my body around, now finding a television screen directly in front of me. What was on that screen was the most horrifying things I had ever seen in my whole life.
There Whiskey was.
He was... there. Strapped into the same kind of bed I found myself on when I first woke up. His hands were bound to the bed, so tight that I could see the redness forming where the belts were chafing his wrists. There were bruises and scratches all over his face, and since his shirt was removed, I could see the same marks all over his chest. He looked so... helpless. I screamed out in pure fear and terror.
"Tex! Oh, oh my god! Tex!" I howled his name over and over, but to no avail. My words echoed throughout the room, but he could not hear my pleas. He laid there, almost motionless; I could see his eyes darting all around the room in confusion. Nothing will ever be able to describe the horror of watching my best friend, who I know to be such a loving, strong person, strapped to a bed, with no one to help him, not knowing what would happen to him.
"Let's do it. Whatever we have to do, let's get on with it. Whatever you want, let's go." I let all my words come out in one breath; I almost couldn't control what came out of my mouth at that point. I sadly could no longer bear to look at the television, the image of Whiskey in pain traumatizing me. It was in that moment that I knew that I had to do anything to keep him safe, or alive, for that matter. I was officially at the mercy of this "Ms. Ruler".
"Excellent choice, Mr. Goodman. Now, to officiate you into this program, we need to initiate your contract."
"My... contract?"
Before I could even earn an explanation from Ms. Ruler, a door behind her opened. When the door opened fully, a man entered the room, holding what appeared to be some type of metal rod, roughly the length of my forearm. The man's case was covered by a face mask, one that was made of plastic. The plastic was not see-through on my end, so while he could see me, I could not see the face of yet another culprit in all this madness.
"Mr. Goodman, in order to be initiated into this process, we require you to complete your first assignment. Please, place your left hand on the table, with your palm facing down."
I shiftily gazed at her, attempting to come to some sort of conclusion as to what was about to happen, but I could not read her expression. What was it? Did she feel excitement? Joy? Resentment? I could not tell.
"Please, raise your right hand."
I did this, slowly and reluctantly.
"Mr. Goodman, are you ready to begin this journey for the one you love?"
"Yes, I am," I gulped out of fear, now turning my attention to masked man, who was now beside me. As I agreed, I heard a countdown from the man besides me, counting down from five to one. I barely had to move my head to realize that, as the man was counting down, the metal rod was inching closer and closer to my hand. The end of the rod was illuminated by a bright, orange-red tint of light, the heat of the rod grabbing a hold of my attention. As soon as it got a hold of my attention, the end of the rod got a hold of my left hand.
For some reason, when I was branded, it almost didn't even hurt. The amount of pain I was in, and the fact that I was most likely in shock, I could hardly feel a thing. While it may not have been as painful as anticipated, I winced and grunted as it happened. What was more unsettling was the smell of flesh that emanated from my hand. After a few long, excruciating seconds, the rod lifted away from my hand, and I looked at the mark that was beginning to blister on my hand.
9.
*****
Hello everyone! This is Mackenzi.
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