My heart was pounding loudly in my chest, its rhythm beating frantically against my ribcage. My breathing coming in short, sharp gasps as I struggled for air.

  Tired muscles screamed at me, the red hot fire of lactic acid scorching and burning them from within. I had only climbed a few steps but my body felt as if I had scaled a mountain.

  The bright light flooded in through the open door, burning my eyes, stinging and blinding me. My lids screwed down, squinting, I was just able to make out a dark figure looming ominously over me, silhouetted against the dazzling glare.

  My focus began to sharpen, the shadow gradually taking form, its features solidifying. His face looked different, I’d become accustomed to that cold, hard mask. But the angles were softer, the lines smoother somehow. The set of his jaw was relaxed and eyes wide, the cold, icy glint that had been present in them for the last few days was gone. The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.

  Lars looked down at me as a knot of unease formed in the pit of my stomach.

  Exhaling deeply, his sigh loud in the surrounding silence. “Heidi, what are you doing climbing all the way up here? We’ve spoken about this before, these stairs are dangerous. What would happen if you were to fall while I was away? You know that all it does is tire you out.”, his voice sounded soft, patronising and calm. It was the sort of voice that you’d use when explaining something to a difficult child.

  The swirling haze of confusion descended on my mind once more, my thoughts twisting as I struggled to comprehend what was happening. Lars, his whole demeanour seemed odd to me, unsettling. The look he gave me was one of warmth, there was almost a kindness to him. The words he used, he sounded genuine. But something didn’t feel right, something nagged at me from the corner of my mind, just out of reach, a softly whispered warning.

  The look of his face triggered something inside me. A chaotic spiral of colours and visions flashed in and out of my head. Fragmented thoughts leapt forward, jumbled and distorted. Visions of Lars that I couldn’t quite grasp. Pictures that seemed to dissolve and slip out of sight before I could begin to understand what my subconscious was trying to tell me.

  My lips twisted as I struggled to form the shape of the words. My voice, a slow, drawn out slur, “What have you done to me, Lars. Where am I?”

  “Oh, Heidi do we really have to have this conversation every time that you wake up?”

  I was still trying to make sense of what was happening to me, still trying to understand. Lars’ words floated around in my head as I tried to grasp their meaning.

  Every time that you wake up?

  The last clear memory that I had of my brother was when we were in the kitchen and he’d made me that cup of tea.

  When he’d drugged me.

  But the other visions, those other thoughts and memories were still swirling around, coming in and out of view. In some, I caught brief glimpses of Lars, his face sometimes kind and smiling, sometimes red and twisted with rage.

  Before I was able to begin trying to piecing them together, I was snapped back to the present. Lars’ arm wrapped around my waist tightly, his grip was strong and firm. He easily hoisted my up and over his shoulder.

  The icy grasp of terror grabbed my heart. I tried to struggle, tried to kick him, my arms trying to flail at his back but I couldn’t move. I was held tightly in his vice like grip.

  What was he doing? where was he taking me?

  “Now, now Heidi, don’t let yourself get over excited. You know it’ll only wear you out further.” his voice still that slow, syrupy, condescending tone. “Let’s get you back down the stairs. We’ll get you fed and then you can have some rest.“

  No, not back down there, please not there again! Trying to protest, my voice came as an incoherent slur.

  The golden light of the doorway swayed as we began to descend the steps. The glow getting smaller, more and more distant with every step as he carried me back down, down into the gloomy, dank darkness. Every step bumping me, sending a sharp jolt of pain through my bruised ribs.

  Bruises? I peered back into the fog of my mind but I had no memory of receiving any bruises. Something wasn’t right.

  Fed? Rest? His words echoing around inside my head, repeating again and again. I struggled, my mind was swimming, desperately trying to make some sense of what was happening to me.

  My arm jerked out unconsciously, stretching, reaching towards the open door, a hand grasping for the promise of the freedom that lay beyond. A freedom that was slipping further and further out of my reach. By the time we had gotten to the bottom of the steps and he had begun to cross the floor, making our way towards the opposite wall, the wall where I’d woken up, the light was out of view. A dim yellow glow faintly illuminating those stairs was the only sign of that open doorway.

  Down here, the suffocating air, damp and gloomy pressed on me. There was no light, no sound. Silence, save only for the echoes of Lars’ heavy footsteps pounding in my ears and that incessant drip, drip, drip ringing in my skull.

  The ceiling felt lower, the walls closing in on me as he carried me helpless across the room. When we reached the far wall he swung me off of his shoulder and holding me in his strong grip, gently placed me back down on the floor.

  My eyes flickered up at him. Standing beside me, his head was bowed, his gaze fixed unblinking on the floor. My eyes followed his gaze down to the spot where I’d been sick earlier, dark and wet on the concrete slabs. The acrid stench of my vomit still hung in the air.

  My breathing hitched, suddenly becoming ragged as panic seized me, another shudder rippled down my spine. Dragging myself backwards I tried to put some distance between my brother and me.

  One thought tumbled over and over in my mind. I’d made a mess on the floor. Would he be angry? Would he punish me?

  A slight tut escaped Lars’ lips, his eyes remaining fixed on the ground, his head shaking slowly from side to side.

  My heart hammered against my ribs.

  When he looked towards me, I had expected to see a face full of fury and rage but instead what I saw was something different. It was a soft face, the same face that I’d seen at the top of the stairs, a face that if I hadn’t known better, I would have said carried genuine concern. I looked at him, at his eyes, at his lips, looking for any sign of anger but there was none. His brows furrowed and lips pressed together in worry. There was no sign of the cold detachment or anger that I’d come to expect from him.

  “Oh, Heidi.”, his voice was soft with pity. “It really doesn’t agree with you does it? You seem so unwell. Let me just clean that up and then perhaps we can have a talk. Maybe if you promise to be a good girl, I might be able to do something to help you feel better”.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Good girl?

  Good girl... those words reeled around my mind. They repeated themselves over and over, good girl, good girl. There was a strange, distant familiarity about them. They repeated but in a voice that wasn’t Lars’, it was a voice that sent a cold chill down my spine...

  As quickly as it had come, the thought evaporated. Just another memory, coming within reach and then slipping away before I was able to grasp it.

  Lars turned his back on me, his footsteps once again echoing in that low room as he made his way towards the wall on the left. Towards that metronomic drip.

  I watched him, I was confused. He was acting kindly towards me. I had expected more manipulation, more games, perhaps even something worse. But here he was now, appearing genuinely worried about me.

  I watched him as he picked up a green plastic bucket. Putting it under a tap, a dripping tap that I’d only just then noticed, he turned the handle. A gush of water poured out, filling the bucket to the brim.

  Bending over he reached into a large cardboard box and pulled out a cloth and sponge. Then picking up the bucket of water he started making his way back towards where I was sitting. The water slopping and splashing over the rim of the bucket, leaving a wet, glistening trail behind him.

  Setting the bucket down, he knelt beside me. The water, glinted in the light from that small window, circular ripples spreading out from its centre.

  Meticulously, he scrubbed at the floor. The sour, acidic smell being replaced by the sharp and pungent smell of disinfectant.

  His hand reached out towards me, my body tensed, an uneasy flutter in my stomach as I instinctively shrank away from him.

  “It’s OK, you managed to get a little bit on yourself. Here, let me just clean you up”, he spoke, still in that soft, caring tone.

  Taking my arm in one hand and with the cloth in the other, he gently wiped me clean.

  “There, that’s much better, isn’t it?” smiling as he tossed the cloth into the bucket of water, causing some of the liquid to splash over the side and onto the floor.

  Perhaps he did care about me.

  Care about me? What was I thinking? This was Lars! This was the man who had physically assaulted me, manipulated me, drugged me and brought me here. Where those the actions of a brother who cared? How could I even begin to think that?

  “Now that’s all cleaned up, let’s get you fed. You must be hungry.” with those words, he swung his backpack off of his back and set it down in front of him. Pulling the zip open, he began to rummage around inside.

  Hungry? I hadn’t even thought about food, but as soon as he mentioned it a deep, rumbling growl rose up from my belly. A gnawing ache within my stomach told me that it must have been some time since I had last eaten.

  From his bag, Lars retrieved a brown plastic box which he placed on the ground in front of me. The lid came off with a pop and he pushed it towards me, his eyes fixed on mine, studying me the whole time. His hand dipped back into his bag and he pulled out a clear plastic bottle of water, this he placed next to the box.

  I tingled with apprehension, glancing down into that box. Slices of rye bread, dark brown with a thick, cracked crust. Ham and salmon, a delicate and inviting pink. Packed alongside those was a vibrant green salad of lettuce and cucumber, boiled eggs and rings of red onion.

  All I wanted to do was to grab the food. My stomach clenched and twisted in hunger. My throat raw and parched cried out for the water. But something held me back, a sliver of doubt, a small voice whispering from the back of my head caused my hand to freeze. The food was from Lars and the last time that I’d accepted anything from him, it was that cup of loganberry tea. Tea that he’d laced with drugs, the drugs that he’d used to sedate me and bring me here. But to survive I had to eat. I looked into his face, searching for anything that would indicate a deception, the slightest flicker of the eyes or tightness of the jaw.

  I could find nothing in his face to betray him. There was no cold edge to his eyes or cynical turn to his mouth. As I looked into his wide eyes, I found myself starting to trust him. Well, a part of me at least wanted to trust him, wanted his generous offer of food to come without any strings attached.

  Reaching forward cautiously, my trembling fingers closed around the cool, smooth bottle. I unscrewed the cap and lifted it to my lips, taking a sip. The cool water ran down my throat, the first swallow felt almost painful, scraping and burning but then came the sweet, soothing comfort. Cool and delightful. It washed away that cloying metallic film which still coated my mouth. Moistened my parched lips and throat. I couldn’t help myself as I guzzled down that water. Every swallow brought with it relief. Somewhere in the back of my head still the worry lingered, what if he had put something in the water? But in that instant, my animalistic instincts took over me, water was life and nothing mattered but survival.

  Setting down the bottle, my attention turned to the box of food.

  I gave in to my hunger and ate ravenously, grabbing the food, tearing at it with my teeth, cramming it into my mouth. The emptiness of my stomach yearning to be filled, my exhausted body screaming out for sustenance. But with every mouthful there was a scream of caution from the back of my mind. A part of me searching through the flavours that melded together so delightfully on my tongue, looking for anything, any wrongness, any off taste that could give away Lars’ ulterior motive.

  The flavours exploded on my palate, the nutty rye bread, smoky flavours of the salmon and a saltiness from the ham. The salad was delicious, a subtle tang of the dressing, the crunch from the lettuce and onion, cooling moist cucumber and all set off with the smooth egg.

  Lars watched me as I ate but there was nothing in his expression to give away ill intention.

  As soon as I’d finished that meal, I started to feel better. The ache in my belly was gone, my stomach had settled, the nausea faded away and my head started to clear. The fog in my brain parted and my thoughts became sharper.

  “Now that’s put a little colour back into your cheeks, hasn’t it?”, Lars said while clearing away the remnants of the meal and gathering up the box and bottle, packing them away into his backpack. Pulling the zip closed he looked back at me, his blue eyes fixing on mine.

  “I’ve been thinking, the medicine that I’ve been giving you, it’s been making you quite poorly hasn’t it?” He continued on quickly, not giving me time to think on that. “Perhaps, if you could promise to be a good girl for me, I’ll let you stay awake?”

  ‘Good girl’, that phrase again, and again those images and memories dancing just out of reach on the edge of my subconscious. But then his other words slammed into me, ‘medicine’, ‘stay awake’.

  I looked down at myself. My dress, that once vibrant pink velvet was looking dull and filthy, covered in dirt and stains. It had fitted me perfectly, now it hung loosely on my frame. My arms and legs were unnaturally thin, skin taught and pale, almost skeletal looking.

  Softly I began to run my hands over myself in exploration. My ribs and hips felt prominent, bones protruding sharply. Bones that were tender to my touch, each touch sending a sharp jolt of pain, each one making me gasp. With every gasp I discovered a new bruise, bruises on my ribs, hips, bruises covering my body.

  Those fragmented, broken memories...

  My heart skipped a beat, a cold stab in my chest as a chilling realisation began to dawn on me.

  Eyes rising slowly, I met Lar’s gaze. His expression had changed very slightly, eyes narrowing, his lips tightening.

  My voice was a whisper, a thin plea, “Lars, what have you done to me?”

  “I’ve been looking after you Heidi.” his voice still maintaining that kindly tone, but now I noticed something new, a slight tightness had begun to creep in.

  “You’ve drugged me? Kept me here?” I desperately tried to add an accusatory edge to my voice, but my words come out sounding shriller than they had before.

  “Drugged? No, I’ve just been giving you your medicine, a little something to help calm you down. You’ve been getting yourself over excited lately.”

  The air in my chest turned an icy cold. He’d been holding me here, keeping me sedated!

  “How long Lars, how long have I been here?” I gave up trying to put any defiance into my words, they quivered and shook as I spoke.

  Lars’ lips pulled tight, curling slightly at the corners into a sneer, his eyes narrowed, hardening with a chilling glint. There it was, that was the look that I had been watching out for. All kindness melted away and was replaced by the cold, cruel expression that I’d become accustomed to.

  His voice took on a sharp, dangerous edge, “It’s August, Sister Dearest”.

  August!

  My chest constricted, a heavy pressure suddenly crushing my lungs. Gasping for air, I choaked, struggling to breathe. Desperately I dragged myself backwards. Scrabbling. Hands and feet slipping frantically over the rough ground, backwards and away from Lars. Stopping only when my back hit the hard, unforgiving, wall with a thud

  Suddenly, acutely aware of them, my bruises ached and throbbed, pulsing in time with the beating of my heart. Bruises on my ribs, bruises covering my body, each one a chilling mark of his cruelty, of events that I had no memory of.

  Three months? Three months I had been here. Three months of my life stolen, spent drugged and defenceless at his mercy.