**Early on in 2023 I began writing a story with a few ideas in mind. This story is an off shoot of that one and was completed first. So in case you might wonder why I have two tales with the same name, this is why. This one is a little under 2,400 words in length, the other is a little over 16,500 and has it's own separate posting.

There is comfort in knowing that someone special to you will never be forgotten. Sometimes, however, comfort alone is not enough ...

The darkest night

our blackened sky,

A hidden truth

in our brightest lie.

We've scorched the Earth.

you and I,

Trudged through its ruin,

yet still we try,

To live a life

the best we can,

beyond that darkest night

through the blackened sky.

It is said that it is darkest right before the dawn, but what if I were to tell you that the dawn is not coming? Besides, if the darkest night is what you know best, would the possibility of dawn ever mean anything to you?

There is no betrayal equal to that which allows you to forget yourself.

***

She lived in perpetual darkness. It was her way, her normal and it worked for her. She lived her life her way, she survived her past and deals with her present, so who was anyone to tell her otherwise? Who was anyone to suggest to her that she would be better off in this place or that or to if she'd be better off with this person or with someone who could aid her with her daily life? For she done perfectly fine all by herself. She managed until ... she didn't.

As a child she imagined a night sky, clear and calm. The moon is full and fixed, as the stars are too. They would guide her. What sight took away, sound, touch, and smell replaced. The moon and stars do not move, she does ...

When one sense is gone, or was never there to begin with, then other senses can and do pick up the slack, and then some too. In some circumstances, it may appear that the person with less has gained something more, a super-human ability in trade for what it is they go without. Like a blind person may detect the presence of a loved one simply by how they smell or how they sound when they move. Such an ability may seem magical, mystical even, to a regularly sighted person.

Lisa knew every inch of her home. Everything had its place. She could tell you what she had at any given time and where exactly it should be, and she could often tell when items had been moved when she had guests over. Some talents had taken time to acquire. Food for instance, she knew what she had and how much of it, by the feel of packaging and the strength of her memory and so on.

A standard weekly delivery came like clockwork. She'd be informed of a change of delivery person well in advance and she retained the right to appeal on whatever grounds she felt necessary.

A point came, slowly over a number of days, when she began to feel uneasy. Something wasn't quite right, and when she thought she knew what that something was, she passed it off as just her own nature being too cautious, the concerns of others simply catching up with her. Her father was the worst. He'd have her home with him and mom if he could, especially after what had occurred with her only sibling.

But Lisa needed her independence and dad had to allow her such a thing, not that it ever was a choice he could grant. She has many good people in her life, she'd be perfectly fine and for a long time she was. She could look after herself, even at times when things got a little difficult.

It comes to a head. In her own home, she is not alone. So uneasy as she is, surely, she has given away the fact that she knows it. Lisa can't sit still, and confirmation comes in her own movement. A small table in her living room. She has moved to it and feels for what gives her that confirmation.

A trinket, a small musical jewelry box is slightly out of place. It had been moved ever so slightly and enough for her to know the difference. Earlier in the day, only a couple hours prior, it had been right where it should have been, to the inch, and now it is off center. She also had another point of contention to rely on. Over the past three days there had been the odd slight shuffle or so in the shrubbery outside her home just as she was arriving home, enough of a ruffle for her to notice and for her to recognize it was out of place, when others wouldn't notice at all. Someone must have been watching her.

'Who is there?' she asks, appearing calm on the outside, anything but on the inside. '... There is no point in hiding it, we both know you are here.'

Fifteen feet behind her, someone stands silently right at the entrance to the kitchen. Lisa's senses are such that even while being so uneasy, she can detect the difference in airflow with the kitchen door being open while someone blocks the way. In seconds the intruder is upon her, and she doesn't have a chance.

A chloroformed rag knocks her out but not before she hits a panic button, unbeknown to her attacker. The triggered alarm is silent, and the button press had gone unseen with the intruder positioned behind her. There are no mirrors and a darkness had begun to set in so the intruder has as many disadvantages in this situation, perhaps more than what the intended victim would.

***

A difficult wakening comes. If she were in a hospital bed, then this moment may be the beginning of a recovery, mental to begin with, physical depending on the effects of being taken against her will, but she is anywhere but a hospital bed. Down here, the cold floor is whatever bed you can make it be. Incoming treatment will not be that of recovery.

Groggy, lightheaded, weak, still there is much to discern about her situation. She is chained at the wrists and ankles. The floor is hard, concrete thinly covered with straw. There is wood, plenty of it but this place is no barn. It is likely something underground.

The panic, once the realization comes, is unlike anything she has ever felt. Life has taught her control, though the panic cannot be eased, she knows to take in as much of her situation as possible. If there is anything close with which could be of advantage to her, then she needs to know of such.

If she were to call out for help, she'd be quite sure none would come, but that does not mean that there is no one already here. She does not need her eyes to know she is a prisoner in a place where it is futile to even consider escape. Death has occurred here, she can smell it, and death will likely come again. It is impossible not to consider that her own is imminent. Can there be another outcome? If there is to be then she may have to be the one to instigate it.

'Good, you're awake ...' speaks a female voice.

'W-who are you? ... Let me go ... please ...?' Lisa asks with a frantic demeanour taking her.

It kinda make her look like a mad woman to her ... companion though it doesn't take much to notice that there is something off about the newcomer. The room is dark but is not in complete darkness. Lisa will only see what her senses allow her to see.

'I would if I could honey, though it ain't I who is holding us captive.'

'Captive? It was not you who came into my home?'

'No, so he took you from inside your home, did he? He must be feeling brave. He took me and your predecessor from dark outdoor places. He had been following us.'

He, ... yes, Lisa knows that the person who took her was male, or at the least, taller and stronger than herself. She can take it that the other person here is as much a victim as she is, or at the very least, not the one who took her. Her predecessor, the death she senses. She seeks confirmation.

'The other person you speak of, she is dead, right?'

'Yes ...', she shivers and alters her position to sit against the pole she is chained to. 'The bastard didn't even have the decency to remove her before committing the act ...'. Her right hand begins to tremble, and tears begin to flow. 'He killed her right in front of me, made me watch every damn second of it ... he only removed her remains in the moments before he brought you in. She had been ... been dead a good day and a half. It was if she were sleeping, while I just sat here, staring, scared out of my wits that she'd wake up looking to feed on me or something like that ... lack of sleep, frightened as hell, with a dead body just feet away ... does some strange things to ya, ya know ...'

Lisa is at a complete loss for how to react to this. She simply waits and listens to what her companion tells her ...

'You're blind, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Well at least that's something, he'll surely do a repeat performance, this time with my death occurring in front of you. You won't see it, of course. I've never been so afraid in my life ...'

Lisa would debate the fact she would still fully witness such an event, if indeed it is to happen. What she'd feel during such an occurrence will let her know it's real. The quivering in her companions voice too, more than suggest that truth has been told, no debate will occur obviously enough. She hears a key turn in a lock. There is distance between her and the sound and though she knows what it is right away, she still feels the need to ask.

'What was that?'

Her companion may not be blind though her time here in this place has her well attuned to its sounds. 'Shit, he's coming.'

'Oh crap, what do we do?'

'There is nothing we can do other than pray ...'

Time passes and all is quiet, until she hears it ... a noise, soft and gentle. Yes, she believes she knows what it is, un-mistakable, a key unlocking a lock. There is a second lock being unlocked, then a third. A door opens, it is off to one side and behind her position. Someone has come through.

'It's him' speaks her fellow captive, fear evident in the tremble of her voice.

The door clicks closed though goes unlocked. She is sure if one were to try to use that door right now, they'd get through it. She has come for one purpose surely. Her companion's time is coming to an end. A collection of keys is set down on that surely is a metal table, ten to fifteen feet from her current position. There is give in her chains, but is there enough of it? Possible not, right now may not be the best moment to test it.

Her companion's breathing is becoming erratic, what is he playing to do to her? No words are spoken, not by him at least. There are yelps and pleads which seem to do little to prevent an advance. A belt has been removed and he snaps it twice. Lisa does not need her eyes to know that death is not the first thing on the agenda.

If survival is to exist, she must remember being a child ... when she would have imagined a night sky, clear and calm. The moon is full and fixed, as the stars are too. They would guide her. What sight lacks, sound, touch, and smell strengthen. The moon and stars do not move, she does ... could this work? Are there enough tools at her disposal to embrace an escape? Only one way to find out ...

***

A doorbell sounds and she is quick to respond from her side with her home.

'Yes? Who is it?'

'Eh, ma'am. This is Officer Brady responding to a panic button alert ...'

'Oh, forgive me please officer' she says opening her door as far as its chained lock allows it to go. 'False alarm, I got a little spooked earlier. Nothing to worry about, I just over-reacted is all.'

'Well, if you are sure ma'am.'

'I'm sure.'

'May I ask, what is down there?' he asks, peering in past the opening in the door as far as he can see.

'Just the entrance down to the basement ...' she responds, being aware and unaware of what is being implied.

'I could go down and have a look around for you while I am here. Check everything out for, you know, safety reasons.'

'That's very kind of you sir, but not necessary.'

'If you are sure ...'

'I am, and once again I apologize. I should have called ahead of the false alarm.'

She closes the door and locks it down before another word could be spoken.

***

'What's the deal next door?' an arriving visitor asks of whom she has come to visit, noting the presence of a police officer, next house over.

'Oh, that's Miss Smith, Lisa, but I don't know her well enough to call her Lisa. She lives alone though some would tell you otherwise. She lost a sibling, a brother when they both were in their teens. Some say he is not dead at all, as sometimes two voices can be heard conversing inside, one male voice and the other female. She may be creating both voices but who really knows?'

'Do you ever hear the voices?'

'Nah, I tend to keep away. Interfering is just asking for trouble if you ask me, especially since it is rumoured that he had been abducting young women ...'

'Really?'

'So I heard ...'