A Few Days To Dawn

Mr Cringe

"Lights. Aaargh!!"

My eyes were pierced by the rays of sun shining into the dimly lit room. Beyond the massive glass, the world looked impossibly far away.

I knew that view.

My stomach dropped before my mind could finish the thought.

This was Pantheon 99.

Our suite.

Victor's suite.

He had kept me here. In the same room.

I couldn't look at the room. So I looked out instead.

Skyscrapers and trees looked like tiny ants from where I was, and the cars. The cars? There were sirens blaring from far beyond, which I could not see. The sound was faint, unlike the hotel security alarm from earlier. The alarm from earlier?

I furrowed my brows and gasped, realizing I had not just woken up from a peaceful dream.

Staring at myself, I gasped in horror. I felt great pain in my muscles as I managed to bend my neck. My once elegant clothes were stained and tinted with blood. The smell oozed into my nostrils. My hands were tied at my front with some silk-looking cloth. My feet were also tied firmly to the chair I sat on. I was tied so skillfully that I felt no possibility of getting loose.

Speaking of which, I realized the exact reason why my voice had not resounded earlier when I sighed. My eyes widened in shock as I lifted my hands to my mouth and noticed I was gagged. In haste, I frantically began attempting to loosen the gag, only to realize it had been strapped to the chair as well. My attempt at escape was not only futile but also seemed to draw the attention of another party in the room.

A dry cough escaped from his mouth as he covered his face with his hands.

"You are awake," he said.

His expression seemed a bit startled. I jumped in fright as he shifted his attention to me. He had been there all along, standing, but I had failed to notice. As he approached, I felt a primal fear rush through my spine.

I'm done for. There's no escape from this.

My sudden frantic movement caused the legs of the chair to give way, and I fell to the floor. I never hit the tiles, however, as a warm, strong grip caught both me and the chair, which at this point felt like an extra part of my body.

"Mmph," I exclaimed in pain as the sudden jerk took me by surprise.

"You're fine. It's okay."

Huh? I thought to myself. I was yet to comprehend what had just happened before I felt a gentle tug on the rope binding my arms from behind the chair.

"I was waiting for you to wake up before I moved you to the bed," his voice came again, so comforting that one would doubt this was the same person who had just extinguished the lives of five people barely hours ago. Victor. And those girls.

"All right, that's done," he grunted as he squatted by my side to loosen the restraint from the chair to my legs. My hands were free now, but still bound together. Only then did I realize just how skilled my binds were.

"All done," he said, getting up and tossing the ropes away toward a pile of clothes at the far end of the room — toward the door. My only means of escape.

He hesitated for a while.

"So... funny situation," he smiled at me softly. "Do I get you cleaned up before laying you on the bed, or..."

What in actual f**k was this?

I exclaimed internally. My mind was in a frantic mess, which seemed to show in my expression, regardless of the gag in my mouth.

"No, no, I don't mean it that way." He scratched his head in embarrassment as I stared at him questioningly. "What I meant was... oh, you know what, forget it." His face reddened in the awkwardness of the moment.

I shook my head violently the moment his hands touched my waist, about to pull up my gown. My body responded almost immediately.

"But you need to take a bath first, else the bed will get messy." He stepped back. "Trust me, I'm not going to harass you or anything," he chuckled.

I didn't adhere to his words. I continued shaking my head, a single tear streaking down my face as I realized just how fruitless this was.

"Hey, calm down," he started, squatting down to stare into my eyes. I looked away immediately, trying to act nonchalant, just staring at the heap of clothes at the door.

"Hey," he started again, using his fingers to wipe off the tears that had already begun on my face. His hands were soft.

I flinched.

"I don't plan on hurting you, Grace, but you need to be properly washed before laying on the bed," he continued. "The waiters aren't coming. Everyone's in total panic due to my presence here."

I sneezed.

"And before you say it in your head," he chuckled, "I wouldn't want you running off from the suite. There's a lot of c*****e going on downstairs and I wouldn't want you to get caught in that."

He stood up. "So why don't I get you cleaned up so you can have a proper rest?"

I couldn't see him properly, but I could sense he was smiling, as if killing five people was a normal everyday situation. I didn't believe his statements about c*****e downstairs. I felt convinced the police were carefully inspecting every room in the vicinity, looking for him.

"It would take a while for the police to get inside, though. They've all packed around but haven't made a move yet."

That statement made me rethink. Would I make it out of this place alive? His tone, despite the weight of the information he shared, didn't sound anxious at all, which quietly erased my hopes of being rescued soon.

With a sigh, I nodded, still keeping my gaze toward the door in hopes that someone would barge in and put him in handcuffs.

"Finally," he chuckled before lifting me carefully into his arms and heading for the bathroom. I felt weightless. Weightless in his arms, but he didn't seem to notice, and I kept myself from staring at his face as he carried me.

Placing me down gently into the bathtub, he stepped away to remove his shirt.

I lifted my still-bound wrists toward him pointedly.

He glanced at them, then back at me.

"Right." He leaned over and loosened them quietly before stepping back.

His once bright green shirt was now tinted with blood, and his muscles — oh, his muscles.

My face reddened as I turned away immediately to avoid him thinking I was staring. I faced the view in front of me with a strained groan from my body pain.

"I'm coming, I'll get a robe for you," he said as he left the bathroom.

Just like in the living room, the windows spanned wide in a breathtaking view. The sunny backdrop of the tiny city spiraled around below — and the police. A wave of disappointment washed over me. Just like he had said, they were far from coming. Blaring lights, multiple police vans and cars sprawled all across the vicinity. From how far my eyes could see, I couldn't make out their full numbers because of the distance. The little I could see, however, was confirmed by the helicopters circling the area.

Huh? Wasn't this strange?

My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps from the door, accompanied by a jovial tune.

He was the one.

"I understand if this isn't your style, but I could get you some extra clothes later." He smiled.

Heavens, no, I sighed internally.

He was holding a large male jersey, asking me to wear it.

With a frown, I sighed.

"Mmph," I nodded.

He turned to leave.

"Oh, and Grace?"

I stiffened at the sound of my name.

"We need to talk. Once you've rested."

He didn't wait for a response.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And I was alone.

For the first time since waking up, I let myself breathe.

But the relief didn't last long.

Because somewhere between the sirens outside and the silence in the room, one question refused to leave me alone.

He knew my name.

My real name.

Not Naomi.

Grace.

And I still didn't know his.