ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 ❜

chapter no. 038!

❝ THE GIRL WHO HAS GONE
ROGUE. ❞
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﹙FEBRUARY 27TH, 2016 ﹚

     PEOPLE SAY THE PAIN DULLS WITH TIME, AND THINGS WILL GET BETTER. But then again, people say many things, don't they?

     It's interesting, isn't it? How the placid, calm, and resolute souls are always the ones to give the gleaming, universal advice yet hardly ever face that challenging pain they spoke of head-on?

     Perhaps that's because they hadn't truly ever known pain or grief the way others had. The type of pain that mirrored its effects on one's body and mental stability. The type of pain that had been inflicted upon Caralyn Rosan Valentine for nearly two years.

     Twenty-two months. Ninety-five weeks. Six-hundred-and-sixty-nine days. 963,360 minutes. 57,801,600 seconds.

     It may not seem to be much time to some, but to Caral Valentine, it was never-ending. Every second that passed was an infinite span of space and time that only laughed at her. It mocked her and the position she'd been placed in. It made fun of the fact that she would never see the light of day again and would never know how much time had passed. The same also applied to everyone else.

     The concept of time had faded from view ever since that night. Not a soul bothered to track what day it was or what time. All that mattered was that they had her in their clutches. They had her. They owned her. Each day was new, filled with possibilities and endless ways to break her down further. It'd become a game, especially for two individuals in particular.

     The sound of the concrete, bullet-proof door slamming shut echoed around the darkened room, and footsteps followed. Flickers of light burned dimly above the woman's head as someone flipped the light switch.

     Before she'd felt his cold touch, the world faded into a whirlwind of muted blurs for a moment. A piercing silence punctured her ears, and every inch of her wanted to flinch at the ongoing stillness— the anticipation of what she knew was coming. As the silence faded, so did the blurs.

     It was then that she woke up.

     Once the world came into focus, the desperate desire for it to fade back to blurs of nothingness rested upon her shoulders.

     Nothing had changed. The lights still flickered like a candle flame, and the room was dusted in a pitch-black that belonged to an avalanche of monsters. Shackles were locked around her ankles and attached to the cold, concrete floor, only allowing her to move a foot before inevitably yanking her back if she was ever let down. Another set of shackles was clasped onto her wrists and held her up mid-air, the tips of her toes barely brushing against the floor.

     Any attempt of movement she made was announced to all those nearby, as the chains holding her still were old and rusted with dirt, grime, mildew, and blood and clattered together whenever they were moved. However, even if she wanted to move and the haunting sound of the chains squealing didn't cause her to flinch, she couldn't. She'd been living in mid-air so long that her arms had become inhumanely numb. If any of the men were to cut off one, she would likely be unable to feel a thing.

     In the beginning, she felt everything: every shove, punch, hit, kick, stab, cut, scratch, tug, pull, injection, wave of electricity from their corrupted torturous adaptation of electroshock therapy, and droplets of water from the buckets she'd been shoved in numerous times.

     It wasn't until three weeks ago that she began to lose her speaking ability. Due to how much she screamed and cried, along with the weeks at a time when she was completely isolated and didn't utter a word, the muscles in her vocal cords had grown weak.

     At first, there were subtle changes that she barely noticed— the volume of her voice had reduced, and its pitch had raised. Then, every word she spoke became hallowed, and a burning sensation ignited in her throat, making it harder to speak. Eventually, the pain became so unbearable that she gave up vocally responding to anything. Not even a grunt of pain could be heard from her, which only worsened the torture she endured from the men.

     Once they realized that they'd begun permanently silencing her, they decided it was time to get more creative with their methods. So, they started to take advantage of what they hadn't before, at least not fully, her.

     "Flip the second to last light switch. I want to see her face," someone called. The sound of their voice caused her to flinch. Per request, the switch was flipped, and a blinding light cast down on the woman, illuminating her entire figure.

     Her skin was sickly pale, and every blue and purple vein glistened in the light. What used to be naturally ivory skin had sunken in its tone and was now a grey, ashen color. All across her body, her skin was pallid and stretched thin across her stark bones. She hadn't eaten in two months but was provided water every three days to keep her body on the verge of life. Her feet were bare and painted in dirt and dried blood, and the only article of clothing she wore was an oversized pink button-up that was once white.

     On various areas of her body, she was decorated with an array of bruises, scars, and open flesh wounds that were slowly oozing blood and puss, providing a glimpse at the bones, organs, and muscles resting inside her body. Below her on the floor was an ever-growing pool of blood that had only doubled in size and spread. The edges of it were thin and dried, while the collection under her feet was fresh.

     "Cara, Cara, Caralyn," Michael Le sang, the bullet-proof door slamming shut. "Oh, my sweet, Caralyn Valentine." Goosebumps intertwined themselves down everyone's spine at his voice's sick and psychotic tone.

     The woman was taciturn; her tiny and frail body swaying slightly. Her head faced the ground and the once head-full of dyed platinum white hair had grown out to her waist, revealing her natural brunette color. Not a peep was heard from her as she remained still. She had stopped responding to that name months ago. The sound of it was foreign regardless of whose lips it slipped from. She hadn't been that woman in a very long time. If shown a picture of Cara Valentine, she would fail to recognize any of it. That person had gone from a memory to an empty space in her mind.

     "Today was a rough day," Le spoke, his manner soft, "wouldn't you say, Konaam?"

     At the mention of his name, Konaam Shirzad stepped forward. The corners of his lips curled upward as he caressed the ashen woman's cheek. "Yes, it was," he murmured. Dropping his hand, he stepped backward and glanced at his friend. "Should we tell her?"

     Le's response was automatic: "Of course."

     The lifeless woman was barely paying attention to the three men as she tried to dissociate her mind from her body. She knew that she wouldn't feel the pain if she were successful, as she had been so many times before. Instead, she could reside in the black hole of deafening silence that had become her mental home.

     "Oh, sweetheart, I hope you're listening well," Le's voice was a dangerous lullaby as he began singing. "Because I've got another story to tell. And this time, it isn't about the father with push-pin eyes that lived under dangerous skies. It's about a boy who won't let go of the girl who has gone rogue." Every word slipping from his tongue was a fired arrow heading straight for her heart. He knew his words would crawl under her skin and nip at her fingertips tauntingly. "Oh, I wonder how sweet Caralyn will feel when I bring Spencer here and spin the wheel to reveal how he will disappear."

     For weeks, the men had tried every trick in the book— every psychological form of torture to elicit a response from her— but nothing was working. Nothing they tried or did would cause her to lift her head. It wasn't until that morning that Matthew Johnston realized that one thing they hadn't tried in over a year was using the name of the man the woman was so hopelessly fond of. That man was the only weak spot she had left.

     At the sound of the good doctor's name, she blinked. Gathering together all her strength, she raised her head and felt the back of her neck and spine pop. A sharp, penetrating pain twisted in her back as she attempted to meet the eyes of the three men before her. The pain came in fast waves, erasing every thought from her mind and leaving her in a temporary form of paralysis. Not an inch of her had moved in so long that the slightest movement now brought upon a hurricane of pain.

     "Well, look who woke up," Shirzad smirked, crossing his arms.

     "And all it took was the name of the F.B.I.'s beloved genius," Johnston mused, a sadistic grin making its way onto his lips as tears welled in the woman's eyes.

     She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; to protest at the very mention of bringing Spencer there; to let them know that if they so much as touched a hair on his head, she would find a way to kill them. Opening her mouth, the words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't utter them. The all too familiar choking icy pain that infected her throat was back and forming a noose around her neck as her lips quivered. She couldn't do it. Closing her mouth, a single tear slid down her cheek.

     "Cat caught your tongue?" Shirzad teased, raising a mock-curious brow.

     Squeezing her bloodshot eyes shut, she breathed in deeply, wincing at the deep-digging pain that ran up her back. "Fuck you," she choked out, but only a faint whisper could be heard from her chapped lips.

     "My darling Clementine, I know how desperately you wish to speak," Le murmured, stepping forward and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But that's the price you must pay for all those shrieks."

     A series of shivers ran down her legs and her chest clenched as she felt his hands unbuttoning the pink button-up. "Would you like the room, Le?" Johnston asked, taking a step back.

     Le nodded, not bothering the glance behind him as Shirzad and Johnston exited the room.

     Once the concrete, bullet-proof door slammed shut, his hands dropped. "That's enough of the theatrics, wouldn't you say?" he asked, taking a step back as Cara struggled to keep her head up. "Now, it's really time to get down and play."

     She tensed up at the word play, ignoring the searing pain slowly choking her. "No," she whispered, but the only sound Le heard was the sound of her raspy breath shaking.

     "You needn't worry, dear Clementine. There won't be any shed from your bloodline," he jeered, his lips wearing the smile of a true madman. "After all, you're the only heir left, for your father left you quite bereft."

     When her father was mentioned, her eyes slowly crawled toward the left corner of the room where she had witnessed him murdered. It was the price she paid for not cooperating with Hennessy Lu the third time he interrogated her. It was her fault, and they never failed to remind her of that.

     Noticing where her gaze was directed, he smirked. He had her there. "If you tell me what I must know, maybe I'll reconsider bringing Spencer Reid down below. If not, those you love will feel your pain, and I will make them aware of my overruling reign." Le sighed, walking forward until their faces were inches apart.

     The soundproof room was eerily quiet as the two foes held unchanging eye contact, neither blinking. "Tick tock goes the clock," he began, his face falling stonecold and solemn. "And what time shall we see? Tick tock, oh how I wish you would unlock and hand me the key."

     Narrowing her eyes, she kept her mouth shut and gathered together a bundle of saliva as he continued to stare her down. Without warning, her body lurched forward, and she spit in his face. Stumbling backward, he growled and reached up to rub his eyes as a broken, raspy, and throaty laugh tumbled from her lips. "Tick tock... goes... the clock..." she gasped, her words coming out in raspy chokes for air, and she ignored the icy pain slithering around her neck. She had to stick up for herself. "And all... the years... t-they fly. Tick tock," she wheezed, coughing relentlessly as her voice was scarcely audible, "and all too soon... you and I... will die."

     Looking up, the man wore a look of complete and utter fury. He'd heard her. "Only one of us will have the privilege of death, and I'm happy to say that it won't be I left with one last breath," he hissed quickly, grabbing her by the throat and clenching until she was red in the face.

     "Fuck," she gasped, her voice barely a murmur as it took everything she had left to speak, "you."

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
act two:      𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,      ²
╱ ✹      ▬▬    ❛ © CARDIIAC       2023. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the thirty-eighth chapter!

     CARA'S ALIVE!!!! WHO KNEW?!

     just kidding, we all knew i wouldn't kill her off. at least not yet... kidding... maybe...

     anyways! if you couldn't tell... le is the rhyming king and is creepy as fuck. this is also his first proper appearance in the entire book! let me know what you think of him!

     btw yes, both le and cara referenced doctor who at the very end. i couldn't help myself, it fit too perfectly.

     &&& i know that some things might be confusing or left unanswered/unaddressed right now, but i promise you everything will make more sense as time passes. you will get the answers you want soon.

     also! HAPPY SATURDAY!! I HOPE EVERYONE HAS AN AMAZING WEEKEND!

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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