9.

Half past seven in the morning of the first day of September 1965, Mary Ellen Danvers left her home for a final time. She wasn't intending on leaving home for good, nothing of the likes, all she had intended to do was head to work like on most any other day she worked with the exception that she was to open up shop today.

Mary Ellen Danvers worked a local corner store. She didn't always open up though she had done such on a few occasions in the past. She had got herself up and ready, got her mug of coffee and ensured her eldest was up to get herself and the rest of the kids all ready for school then as confident as confident she could be that all is well and good, Mary made her exit and was soon off on her way to work only all was not well as well as could be and that corner store would have to do without her as would her children from this day on for Mary Ellen Danvers never made it to work.

The store usually opens for eight, but most passers-by did not notice anything out of the ordinary when a quarter past eight came and the store was yet to open. Half past eight done little to raise alarm as did eight forty-five. Nine came and some heads turned and by half past nine store owner was informed that the store remained unopen.

With it being 1965, locating an individual was not such an easy thing even in a town like this one where people generally take notice. One could inquire about the whereabouts of another and eight times out of ten would be given a positive answer as someone somewhere would know where that someone was. As inquiries were made as to where Mary Ellen Danvers could be, no useful information could be returned.

She is not at home, she had not been ill, her children all went to school, she had not been seen using public transport. Shop had not been open. She just is not particularly anywhere. This cannot be right; something is very wrong. A mother simply would not abandon her children. Yeah, there has been loss in her past, but hell would she allow tragedy to destroy her family so simply walking away is something that most definitely would not happen.

Mary Ellen Danvers awoke to complete and utter darkness with absolutely no knowledge of how she came to be where it is she is. She couldn't even begin to guess as to where it is she is. In her moment of waking she cannot move, she cannot move anything at all, not her arms or hands, not her legs or feet and not even her head. She is completely still.

She most certainly cannot take a turn to attempt to calm the panic that is consuming her more and more by the second. It is about two or three minutes before she concedes the fact that she is in the condition she is in, after which she does call out a nervous 'hello ...'

Her voice echoes out and does not receive an immediate response. Alright, this tells her she is in some sort of room, some kind of refrigerated room too for it is cold, so very cold. Deep breaths ... in ... two, three, four, five ... out ... two, three, four, five, and then repeat. A little less shakily she can call out another 'hello'. It echoes out just like the first one.

Her mind can start to race now. How long has she been here? Are her children alright? Are they being cared for? Are they eating? Does anyone know she is, and do they know she is not where she is supposed to be? Surly others know something is up? Do they know where she is? Will they be coming for her? There is no way she could possibly get answers to any of these questions especially with her current condition being what it is.

Then the panic begins to return. Why is she where she is? Is someone about to hurt her or worse yet, kill her? She cannot begin to know any of that, not yet anyhow. Something begins to creek, a door perhaps, yeah, a door is creaking open, it sounds to be in some way ... metallic. Mary is not able to turn her head, but she can see that a strong white light, an ever so pure white light is entering the room from somewhere off to her left.

This blinds her momentarily; she had been in complete and utter darkness for who knows how long? A couple of moments pass, and her eyes begin to adjust. A door has been opened. Someone is standing in that doorway. She can direct her eyes far enough to see the silhouette of a man, yeah, it is a man, a bald-headed man.

'Who are you?' she asks with a determination that is half frightened and half angry. 'What do you want from me?'

No reply is offered and still someone remains in that doorway, having yet to move since the door opened. From beyond that door, she can hear ... she can hear a lot of things. Drills in motion, possibly small handheld drills. Moving chains, maybe something like a conveyor belt is in operation somewhere beyond that door. These are disturbing sounds. Fairly soon those sounds become even more disturbing. There is a scream, a number of screams, coming from multiple people. There is moaning and there is one voice in particular calling out ... 'help me ... somebody help me ... please.'

Those words are immediately followed by an almighty scream, the loudest one to be heard yet. That voice and scream, it belongs to a female. Is whatever is happening to that person about to happen to Mary? No, this can't be.

'Who are you?' she asks again. This time it is with much more panic in her voice for now she knows for sure that she is in trouble. 'Please ... I have daughters ... three girls ... they need their mother.'

Will this do anything for her? Possibly not. The door closes. 'Oh, thank God' she says to herself believing she has been given time. Maybe something will happen before ... or maybe not. She has been thrust back into complete and utter darkness but in that darkness, there is the sound of footsteps, footsteps that echo out. She is not alone like she briefly thought she was, whomever had come to her did not leave the room with the closing of the door.

The closing of the door blocks all those external sounds, so the echoing footsteps are particularly loud. They echo. This room she is in, it is definitely a refrigerated room as it feels as if the room have been given a blast of coldness. In this, another realization is made. Mary is not wearing very much at all. Her legs are most certainly bare as are her feet and arms.

Whatever clothing that is on her is flimsy at best. Where is her own clothing? No time to worry about that for someone is coming to her, most likely the person who had been standing in the doorway. She cannot see him, just hear the footsteps that are slowly getting closer and closer.

'If you want money ... I can get you money. I don't have much of it but the store ...'

'I do not want your money', a male voice speaks.

'W - wh ... what do you want?'

'I want you, Missus Danvers ...'

The voice, she does not recognize it. How does the owner of that voice know who she is? Before she can consider anything else, a light comes on directly above her, a light that something akin to what may be found in snooker or pool halls and this light is no more than two feet above her with it having been turned on by a low hanging string. Again, she needs a second or two to adjust to the light.

A few things have become clear in this moment. Mary is laying on her back, her body strapped down in a number of places onto some kind of medical table, she already knew that to some degree. What she didn't know or was unsure about was the exact nature surface she lay upon. She could have been on the floor for all she knew before this moment. And she now has a clear view of her captor. This person, he is her captor, right?

He is right atop of her, inspecting her as if she were a piece of meat about ready for processing, inspecting her for flaws and such. He is as bald as bald can be and his head gleams with the light shining upon him. He had been wearing night vision goggles which obviously had allowed his precise movement through the room before a light had been turned on. These goggles have been replaced by glasses for the inspection.

He himself seems to be wearing what appears to be a white lab coat with a white shirt beneath as well as being fronted by a dark brown leather apron. There are latex gloves on his hands, and he has a face mask wrapped around his mouth as if her were a surgeon about to do surgery, no not quite a surgeon, something else perhaps.

Behind him there appears to be a workstation. He turns to it to untie a beige satchel that he opens out both sides. This wrap, it contains knives and surgical tools. Now true panic sets in. Mary tries to speak some more, she wants to plead for her life, but it is useless, the words won't come out. This bald-headed man has chosen what appears to be a scalpel. It too gleams in the hanging light.

Now it is her turn to scream and scream she does. Who knew that pain this severe could exist? Mary Ellen Danvers never returned home, and it would never be known for sure what had happened to her though speculation does exist ...