â
A single cone of light shone through the darkness of the basement, the scent of damp and decay forcing Danielâs arm to cover his nose and mouth. The long forgotten warehouse had originally been constructed as an old cotton mill, somewhere for the poor immigrants to work after they landed on Ellis Island.
The flashlight continued to follow the path of his pistolâs sight, roaming over rusted pipes and puddles of rancid water pooling on the cobbled stone floor. Groans from the buildingâs deteriorating structure echoed through the cavernous room and were the only sounds to be heard, until his keen sense of sound identified a muffled call for help.
Heâd found her.Â
Following the source of the panicked moans, Danielâs rapid footsteps hurried towards the woman heâd been searching for - the fourth victim of the cityâs most recent serial killer. The corridor opened up into a main area, a maze of pipes snaking along the brick wall and there, tied with thick rope and gagged so that she couldnât speak, was Elena Ivory Saint-Claire
It had only been a three days ago when this living nightmare started. The last thing she remembered was tucking her son to sleep, preparing breakfast for the both of them, seeing Landon board his school bus ... everything after just happened in a blur as she was preparing to get to work herself afterwards.
At that moment, all she could feel was the sores on the parts of her skin where the thick rope was tightly bound to. The friction caused from trying to wriggle herself free only caused much damage and pain to her skin. She had eventually given up by the second day of being held captive. Everyday for her was remaining in the dark, listening to the dripping water from a leaking pipe somewhere at the corner and the rattling of something bizarre. Sometimes a masked man would come in and torture her - but as of then, the torture she truly was experiencing was not being for her son. If she was gone, there was no one else to help him out.
Elena was on the verge of falling unconscious. She hadnât been able to sleep and she was violently refusing the food her perpetrator would bring for her to prepare her for her âdayâ. As to what event that was, only Satan would know.Â
She had grown accustomed to the silence. That was why she perked up a little upon hearing the soft sounds of footsteps. The ray of light moving around and scanning the area like a laser was enough to make her realise that it wasnât him. He usually came with a dramatic entrance: limping footsteps, and an old-fashioned lamp that made rusty swinging noises as he carried it about.
Instinctively Elena made whatever noise she could to get her possible saviourâs attention. But she stopped immediately when she heard those familiar limping footsteps again. Â














