Chapter Text
Megan’s head was hammering as she regained consciousness. The fractured memories of snow, blood and a sharp pain in her neck crashed over her like waves. She tried to inspect the side of her neck but her hand wouldn’t move. In fact, none of her limbs could move. Megan started to panic, her chest rising and falling frantically. She blinked several times, trying to get her eyes used to the darkness of the room she was in. As far as she could see in her peripheral vision, it was dimly lit by only a few candles and tacky, red night lights. In a desperate attempt to see more of her surroundings, she tried to crane her neck to the side, a small whimper falling from her lips when she came to the harrowing realization that she seemed to be entirely paralyzed. Suddenly she heard the creaking of a chair, followed by footsteps coming towards her. Megan began hyperventilating even more when she realized, in absolute horror, that she was entirely defenseless. She heard a strange, high pitched voice before she saw who it belonged to.
“Little angel… You’re awake!”
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes when a man came into her field of vision; his face seemed strangely bloated in all the wrong places, the skin was unnaturally stretched in some areas but wrinkled in others, his nose was wide but pointed upwards and his lips looked like two cracked pillows. Long, unkempt hair framed his strange visage. It was impossible to tell the man’s age. Everything about his appearance contradicted itself. Megan tried moving again, her arms, her hands, her fingers, her legs, anything , but to no avail. The man must have noticed some sort of movement because he giggled softly at her desperate attempt. “Oh angel, you can stop trying.” He disappeared from her sight for a few seconds, presenting a couple of syringes when he returned. “These will keep you calm and still. The Master told me to get them… He said you would want to run away.” His breaths were labored as he spoke and his voice sounded strained.
A sudden, high pitched moan from his mouth caught Megan off guard, before she could start wondering about who this ‘Master’ was. “Ohhh… He told me you would be pretty, but seeing you like this, my angel, I just want to….!” As he said that, he quickly dropped down on his knees beside her, resting one of his hands on her belly, the other one creeping towards her face, softly stroking her cheek. The first stray tear ran down Megan’s face. To her horror, he leaned down and licked it off her cheek. His tongue felt wet and disgusting on her skin, but she couldn’t help but notice that he had a surprisingly pleasant smell to him, despite his appearance. He threw his head back, licking his lips, as if he was relishing in the taste of her salty tear. She tried to beg him to let her go, but her voice wouldn’t comply, producing only a weak whine. “Speaking won’t work either.”, he continued, his voice now raspy and low. Megan’s tears began to spill seamlessly from her eyes. She was sure he was going to kill her, maybe he’d do even worse things before that. “Oh, my manners! My name is Dale, little angel. The Master told me your name already, as well as… just about everything else, so it feels like I’ve known you for such a long time already. My pretty doll…” His eyes were staring at Megan’s face with such admiration that she suddenly felt sick. Horrified, she felt his hand wander from her cheek downward, to her neck, then her collarbone and then finally, her left breast. He groaned, his breath rattling in his throat as his fingers began pinching her nipple experimentally. As he kept groping her, he laid down uncomfortably close next to her on the mattress. Megan took note of how huge he was compared to her, coming to the conclusion that she probably wouldn’t stand a chance of fighting him off anyway… and then she felt his erection against her thigh. She closed her eyes and prayed to be unconscious again, hoping that this was just a twisted dream and even found herself wishing to be back in her shitty apartment. Anything but this. But her prayer wasn’t heard, she realized in devastation, when she felt him rutting against her thigh, his hot breaths in her ear and his hands all over her. “Angel, you’re so good to me, oh!” Megan felt herself drift away, his twisted high pitched moans seemed distant now, despite being right by her ear. Dale didn’t seem to notice this, still desperately humping her paralyzed body and chasing his orgasm. A sudden, loud shriek from his mouth brought Megan back to reality. She felt the wet spot of his pants against her bare skin. This disgusting motherfucker had really just gotten himself off on her thigh like a dog. He laid halfway on top of her, his head collapsed on her chest. His breaths were shallow and Megan could’ve sworn he was sobbing. “Angel, that was… so wonderful. Thank you, Master, thank you…”, he muttered over and over.
Staring at the ceiling, she waited for him to get off her, but he didn’t. Instead, she felt his breaths become more shallow. He was falling asleep. ‘God, please…’, she thought, ‘Help me, let those drugs or whatever wear off, please…’ Megan stared at the ceiling, hoping for a miracle. The room was awfully quiet now, except for Dale’s quiet breaths and occasional snores. She could hear roaches crawling all around the room. More importantly, she swore she heard footsteps upstairs. Maybe someone could help her if she managed to call out loud enough? It felt like hours passed and Megan had almost given up on moving her limbs when she realized that her toes and fingers were tingling. Jackpot. She experimentally tried to carefully move her head, trying not to wake Dale in the process, and almost screamed out with joy when she succeeded. One after the other, she began lifting her fingers, wiggling her toes, moving her hands, making a fist - another two hours must have passed and Megan thanked God for the deep sleep Dale seemed to have, but she was awfully aware of the fact that he could wake up any minute now; his breaths had become irregular again and he had stopped snoring. Megan began moving her arm at the side that Dale wasn’t laying on and smiled to herself. If she played this right, she would get out of here.
Just in that moment, she felt Dale moving on top of her. She closed her eyes and froze entirely to maintain the illusion of being paralyzed. Dale slowly peeled himself off her, and Megan could feel him staring at her. His breath was fanning her face softly and she tried not to show any reaction, feigning sleep. “My beautiful sleeping angel…”, he said in his strange voice. Then she felt him lean down again, placing a surprisingly soft kiss on her lips. A tear or a bead of sweat fell from his face down on her forehead and Megan almost furrowed her brows, but remembered to stop herself from showing a reaction. Megan’s mind was racing. The drug hadn’t worn off enough yet for her to walk, she could feel it. But maybe she could stun him somehow and crawl upstairs and scream for help. She knew, if she waited any longer, that he would probably inject her with another dose anyway and then all her progress would be lost. So, in the spur of the moment, she opened her eyes and decided to lash out at him, scratching him hard across the face. She could feel pieces of his skin under her sharp nails and he staggered backwards, wailing in pain. “You bitch!” This was her chance. Megan rolled herself over to her stomach and began pulling herself forward. Adrenaline pumped through her body and Megan was shocked at how fast she was able to move forward. Behind her, she still heard Dale cursing under his breath and crying in pain. Just as she reached the wooden stairs, she felt his big hands pulling her back by her ankles. Her jaw painfully collided with the first stair, and Megan tried to hold onto it desperately. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’, she thought, she had almost made it out. In a last attempt to get away from him, she tried to kick him, but her legs weren’t obeying her yet, so she put all of her remaining hope into her voice. “HELP! SOMEONE! PLEASE! HELP ME!” It wasn’t as loud as she had anticipated, but if someone was up there, they must have heard her.
Dale pulled her across the room and threw her back onto the mattress unceremoniously. Within a second, he was on top of her, pinning her down, his mangled face uncomfortably close to hers and then he…. started crying? Megan blinked, confused. “Why did you do this, angel? I was going to be nice to you…” She remained silent, hoping that the person upstairs had called the police. “If you’re not going to play nice, then I won’t either, Megan .” Dale was seething when he said her name. He reached over to the syringes, grabbed one and removed the cap with his teeth, which Megan couldn’t help but note as very nice looking. He grabbed her arm and prodded at the inside of her elbow, trying to find a vein. “What did Ruth say… Here…”, he muttered to himself. Then, without hesitation, he jammed the needle into her arm. Megan screamed in pain. She was sure he had missed the vein and she was hoping that whatever he injected her with wouldn’t kick in. “Since you can’t be trusted…”, he reached into a drawer next to the mattress and fetched two long pieces of rope. “Hold your hands out and stay still, or I will hurt you beyond imagination.”, he growled. Defeated, Megan held out her limp hands in his direction and let him tie them together. “Ow…”, she complained, hoping he’d loosen them, so she could have a chance to get out of the restraints at a later point, but he ignored her. For a moment, he stared down at her with a mix of disappointment and lust, then moved on downwards to tie her ankles together as well. Megan could feel the loss of sensation in her limbs again and out of desperation, she decided to use her last strength before her voice gave out to try to reason with him. “Dale… You said your name is Dale, right? Please, Dale, just let me go and I swear I won’t tell anyone…. Please…” While she was pleading, she felt her tongue grow heavy in her mouth. Dale stared at her indifferently. “Don’t make me get out the tape for your blabbering mouth.” Megan felt more tears running down her face. A wave of fatigue washed over her. Just when she thought she was going to pass out from exhaustion, Dale grabbed her hands. Megan noticed a nail clipper in his free hand. She whimpered. “Hold still or I’ll nick you. Oh wait, I just remembered-”, he said mockingly, swinging her numb, tied arms side to side, “-you can’t move now, even if you wanted to.” He leaned down, diligently trimming her sharp nails down until they were all short and useless. There went Megan’s only weapon. She had never felt so hopeless in her life.