Violence warning !!
~~

"The Bear Forest Snatcher they called me."

Mr. Patrick continued as he played with the blade against her skin. "They never asked me my real name, you know? Don't you find that rude?" Fancy didn't say anything, her eyes stayed glued to the knife, wondering when he would use it against her. "Hey!" He shouted in her face, his other hand reached up to grip her chin and forced her to look at him.

"I'm talking to you, Francine." She shook with fear. "Do you find that rude, my dear?" She nodded. Eyes welling with tears. "My name is Samuel Patrick. Samuel Kelvin Patrick, by the way. Nice to officially meet you Francine Marie Jenkins." He said.

"Now that you are mine, that is." He flipped the blade in his hand and pressed the tip against her skin, the skin just south of her neck, over her collar bone. "Please no." She begged. "Please please please." "Shut up." He slapped her. She screamed. "That's always the problem with you." he hissed, the blade pressed against her skin as he began carving her flesh.

"You women, you girls. You were made to be seen and not heard, do you hear me? A perfect little barbie doll. You know, they never made barbies that speak? They made babies that cry- that's for you girls to learn motherhood. But Barbies? They are perfect, seen and not heard. Seen and not heard. You are barbie. Seen and not heard. Seen and not heard."

He lifted the knife from her skin, the letter S had been traced in blood and slice. "Stop." she begged. "Stop please." "Now now," He pressed the knife to her skin again, "None of that." He continued as he began to carve another letter.

"If it wasn't for my son and William I would have never known that you were here, you've come home to me, Francine." "You're insane." "You belong to me." He replied. "And you know it. Why else would you be here, back to me." she whimpered, pain coursing through her body. He finished another letter. K.

"And you'll join them." He said, starting his final letter on her skin. Fancy gave a shriek and she cried out, pain searing through her. "You'll join your sisters. Here. with me. Forever. I'll make you perfect." He finished his last letter, a P. His initials.

"There we go." He pulled his knife back and cleaned it on his pants. He grabbed a bottle of something and poured it over the markings. Fancy screamed. Rubbing Alcohol. Oh how it burned, how it seared and stung. He had marked her and now he was making sure she felt it, against her skin.

This sick fuck marked her as his own and he made sure she knew it too. "Now for the final touch, barbie." He placed a fresh piece of duct tape back over her mouth. He stood and looked down at her. His prisoner. His barbie doll. "Now you're perfect." He said, he clapped his hands together. Fancy flinched from the noise.

"Seen and not heard."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Yeah?" He stepped back. He had answered the phone.

"Ness. Hey." Oh how Fancy wished he was here. Ness would help her, wouldn't he? Or did he know? Did he know from the beginning and was trying to throw her off the path from the start? Couldn't have been. Was he feeding her information to her father on the side?

"Did you try turning it off and turning it back on?" Samuel asked, clearly frustrated. "No I can't come to you right now I'm-" He hesitated. "I'm in the middle of something." Okay so Ness didn't know. Good. her hope in him was restored.

"Ness- Ness no- Ness would you fucking listen to me?" Samuel roared. Then he sighed. He rubbed his forehead with his free hand, clearly distressed. "Alright. Alright fine. I'll be there in ten but I can't stay long. Just long enough to help you reset your computer, okay?" Samuel looked at Fancy. "Yeah. see you soon. Uh huh. Bye." he ended the call and looked to her.

"Looks like my son is looking out for you even if he doesn't know it." He walked over to Fancy and leaned down to her. "You better be here when I get back." He sneered in her face. He brought his knife up one more time and brought it down across her pretty little cheek. Fancy flinched and yelped against the tape that covered her mouth.

"Remember what I told you, Francine." He said as he placed the knife on a table in the basement, out of her reach. "Seen and not heard."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Gone.    

          Gone.   

                    Gone.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

She waited until she heard the sound of him driving away, gravel churning under the wheels of his car, the same one that had brought her here. It had been her coffin hours earlier. She had a limited amount of time. She didn't know how long it would be until he returned but she wasn't about to waist time to find out. She started thinking immediately.

What to do first? She couldn't slide her wrists free, the pole she was taped to extended all the way from the floor of the basement to the ceiling. She couldn't pull free either, the pole was solid metal. She should free her hands first, regardless. They would be her most useful tool for escape. She would need them to free her feet and rip the duct tape off of her mouth.

But how was she going to free her hands, first of all? The knife he had used on her was all the way on the other side of the room. Useless. She wiggled. Shifting her weight, and then she remembered.

Her Louboutin heels.

She pushed her wrists down to the ground and flattened her palms against the pavement. She pushed her legs up, preforming almost a perfect table pose. If she were in yoga she'd be so proud of herself. She was thankful that she had done cheer since middle school, it left her flexible and made this that much easier. Thank you, coach Mills for all those stretching routines at the beginning of practice.

She stepped back, walking her heels backwards and closer to the pole. She wanted to unbind her wrists first, then she could focus on getting free from the pole. She grunted as her tendons and muscles pulled and restrained, her pose getting harder and harder to keep as she stretched her physical limit.

Her right heel hit it first, the tape. She pressed down on the ball of her foot, raising that heel just enough for her to slide it over the tape. Then she shifted her weight, pressing down on her heel and pulling her wrists up against it, creating friction between her heel and tape She pulled and pulled.

She thought she might just pull her shoulders out of her sockets. But she kept pulling, she kept going. Her elbow popped and a sharp pain stung her forearm. She was about to give up, try another way instead of wasting her time with this method. And then she heard it, clear over the sound of her heavy breaths.

A tear in the tape.