Chapter 3 Kidnapping
1027 Words
Florence lay motionless on the cold, hard bed, her lifeless form barely stirring.
"Is she... dead?"
Several men in faded camouflage uniforms stood around the bed, their eyes fixed on the woman lying there. Her arms, visible beneath the sleeves of her blue-striped hospital gown, were streaked with blood. Her fingernails, caked with dried blood and bits of flesh, looked gruesome.
One of the men stepped forward and rolled up her sleeve, revealing her arms. The sight made them all freeze.
Her once fair skin was now swollen and covered in deep, jagged gashes. Some wounds had scabbed over, while others, still fresh, reopened as the fabric was pulled away, beads of blood welling up.
Their eyes shifted back to her pale, lifeless face.
"Julian, go get some alcohol and bandages. We need to clean her up," one of the men said, his voice tinged with pity.
"Ugh, what a pain," Julian muttered under his breath before stomping out of the room.
He returned shortly with a plastic bag full of supplies. Glancing at Florence, who was still unconscious, he grumbled, "This i***t's costing me a fortune. I haven't made a penny off this, and now I'm dropping two hundred bucks on her meds."
The others chuckled as Julian unpacked the bag—antiseptic, gauze, bandages, fever patches, painkillers, and so on. They did their best to patch her up.
One of the men suddenly turned to Julian. "What's the situation now?"
"Nothing. It's been two days, and the hospital doesn't even seem to realize she's missing. The Brooks family hasn't made a peep either. The only ‘news' is that Nathan personally picked up Eleanor from the hospital after her miscarriage and took her to Royal Feast for dinner. The media's all over it."
The room fell silent.
It took an entire bottle of antiseptic to clean her arms before they could bandage them properly.
"Thank you."
A weak voice broke the silence. The men looked up, startled, to see Florence awake, her eyes calm as she watched them.
"We kidnapped you, and you're actually thanking us?!" Julian snapped, glaring at her.
Florence glanced at her bandaged arms, then looked back at them. "Thank you," she repeated softly.
The men exchanged uneasy glances. One of them picked up a rope, as if to tie her up, but hesitated when he saw her arms.
"Fine, I won't tie you up. Just behave yourself, and we'll let you go when the time comes."
Florence's calm eyes flickered for a moment, as if she wanted to say something, but she remained silent.
The men filed out of the small, dirty room, Julian being the last to leave. At the door, he paused and turned back. "There's fever medicine in the bag. Take it. Don't waste it."
"Okay," Florence whispered, forcing a faint smile before turning her gaze to the small window on the wall.
Her mind wasn't on why she'd been kidnapped. Instead, she wondered who they'd call for ransom—the Brooks family, Nathan, or the Millers?
The weather, calm for two days, suddenly turned violent that night. Thunder roared, and rain poured down in sheets, drenching the abandoned factory where they were hiding.
Inside, those men huddled around a fire, chatting, warming themselves, and eating instant noodles. The storm outside made the world feel eerily quiet, as if they were the only people left.
Julian, slurping his noodles, suddenly paused and sniffed the air.
"What's wrong, Julian?" one of the men asked.
Julian put down his chopsticks, wiped his nose, and sniffed again, frowning. "Do you smell that? Blood."
The others knew Julian had a nose like a bloodhound. If he said he smelled blood, it was there. They glanced around, realizing the only person with injuries was Florence, locked in the small room and silent all day.
They hurried to the room, Julian leading the way. When they opened the door, they were met with a shocking sight.
Florence, who had been lying lifeless on the bed earlier, was now crouched on the floor, tears streaming down her face. In one hand, she clutched a shard of broken glass, using it to s***h at her other arm. The bandages had come loose, and fresh cuts crisscrossed the old wounds, blood pouring out.
"It wasn't me. I didn't push her."
"Lillian, why?"
"I regret it, Lillian."
Florence muttered to herself as she continued to cut into her arm.
"Are you insane?" Julian shouted, rushing forward and grabbing the glass before she could do more damage. The others quickly joined him, wrestling the shard from her hand and tossing it aside.
A loud clap of thunder shook the building, and Florence flinched, her eyes wide with fear. She looked up at them, tears streaming down her face.
"It hurts..."
"No kidding! Look at your arm!" Julian snapped, examining the bloody mess. He hesitated, then turned to the man called Thomas Ross. "We need to take her to a hospital. If we don't, she's going to die."
Thomas studied Florence, knowing that taking her to a hospital would expose them. But before he could decide, Florence's demeanor changed. She recoiled, shaking her head violently, tears pouring down her face.
"No hospital... please, no hospital..."
Images of Nathan and Eleanor flashed in her mind, their cold words echoing in her ears. She dropped to her knees, bowing her head to the ground, begging desperately.
"Please, I'm begging you... don't take me to the hospital..."
The men stared at her, stunned. Blood trickled from her forehead where she'd hit the ground. Finally, Julian stepped forward, crouching down to stop her from hurting herself further.
"Alright, alright! We won't take you to the hospital!"
He stood up, frustrated, and headed for the door. "I'll go get more medicine. Damn it, I must've owed you!"
That night, Florence drifted in and out of consciousness. The men noticed that every time thunder rumbled outside, she would become agitated, her mind slipping into delirium as she tried to numb her pain by hurting herself. It wasn't until the storm subsided in the early hours of the morning that she finally fell into a fitful sleep...
- Writer
