TW! torture, implications of necrophilia & rape

"...Maeve."

It was a voice she recognized, even longed to hear. Jumbled nerves awoke her, and she found herself not at the snowy lake resort, but in her dorm back in the Boston QZ. The room was a disaster. Clothes were scattered all over the floor, in piles, and on the bed she slept in. It was probably a bigger mess than the floor. Cold light spilled in through the taped-up window, crookedly gleaming onto the crevices of discarded clothing piles.

She looked around, noticing the bare walls and the furniture, dust-caked, or missing. She wondered why her room was in such a state for a moment, but then she realized.

It wasn't messy. It was abandoned.

"Maeve." The voice was louder now and behind her. She spun to look for the person, but instead of a person, she found the corkboard she used to tack up pictures, it was in the same place hers used to be. Of course, it had to be hers. All those photos were hers; she took those with her camera and sacrificed her time and volition. Despite the room being a total mess, the board was tidy, untouched, and completely preserved with every photo and trinket tacked.

She stepped over the dirty clothes piles and approached the board of photos. A mist overcame her, and the tears brimmed in her ears seeing her precious pictures again.

"Remember when you took this one?" An arm reached around her head; long fingers tapped a picture with four people posing ridiculous poses. Her, Olive, Sydney, and...Jordan. She held the camera, smiling and making a peace sign with her right hand. Olive winked with her tongue out. Sydney, a girl across the hall, squished her face and blew a raspberry. Jordan came out of nowhere, photo-bombing the picture. "You were so annoyed at me, I thought you'd have a stroke. It turned out well in the end, didn't it?"

"Jordan." Her voice cracked and a nasty lump formed in her throat.

"Mi Amor," he whispered lovingly in her ear. "I missed you."

She gulped down, happy and concerned. "How are you here?"

"Same as you, Amor." He withdrew his arm.

"But you're dead." Was she dead too? Thinking it gave her the worst feeling. She couldn't be dead. Ellie was still out there with those people, not to mention TJ and Joel.

"Don't remind me."

Clench.

"How am I here? Am I dead too?" Fearfully, she turned around. He wasn't a phantom. He was right there. Right in front of her, looking the same as he did the final time she saw him. Shaved head, clammy skin, scared.

His beautiful green eyes met hers and he lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek tenderly. She missed his touch, leaning into his palm, feeling touch-starved and yearning for the warmth of his body. But the warmth was not there. His touch was like ice, it stung her skin.

"No."

"Then, am I dreaming?" she murmured under his gaze.

"Mariposa," he answered just as solemnly as she did, giving her a small, encouraging smile. "You're not done just yet."

She looked up at his handsome face. "What?"

"You have to wake up."

She blinked. "What-"

"Please," he begged, fully cupping her face with both hands. "Wake up."

"Jordan..." the tears welled in her eyes, overflowing and rolling down her cheeks. A fierce cold washed over her, casting painful goosebumps across her flesh. She felt as if she were being dosed in ice-cold water. "Please. You're all I've ever wanted."

"Te quiero, Mariposa."

For one final time, he grasped her hands in his and leaned down. His lips were frozen against hers. She gripped his arms, wishing the moment would never be over.

But the feeling came to an end.

Metallic squeals caused her to jolt awake. The icy room enveloped her. She tried to move, only stopping when pain tore through her as well as shivers. Saying it was "cold" would be an understatement. As she attempted to move, she realized that her wrists and ankles were bound by something that looked like rope.

What the fuck? She struggled in the binds for a moment. She needed to get out of there, and find Ellie, wherever she was being held. God, she hoped Ellie was safe, or as safe as she could be. As worried as she was about Ellie, she had her problems. She told herself to believe in her sister, that she was an incredibly resourceful girl, and that she'd find a way to survive.

Maeve looked up from the ropes, observing the room. Where the fuck am I? A meat locker? The place remained empty, given a few large hooks hanging from the ceiling, a small table with wheels, a large bowl, and some tools beside it. It didn't seem dangerous. No one was around, or it seemed that way. It was hard to believe they'd leave her unguarded. She was about to try and claw at the rope around her ankles when she heard something odd.

Something that sounded like infected. It gurgled out furiously, and jostled every so often, almost rhythmically. The clangs of bars and flesh were the loudest.

What the fuck?

Metallic squealing replaced the shaking bars, coming closer to the room she was in. It was like hearing nails scrap against a chalkboard.

"I see you're awake." She jumped hearing Adam's voice. Her head snapped toward the left, expecting to be there, but instead, she saw a runner stuffed in a small cage, it was welded to keep it inside. Its body was folded, its knees at its chest. It squirmed in the kennel frantically, only able to muster gurgles from its cut-out jaw and throat.

"What the fuck?!" Her eyes widened in horror.

"Relax," the ebony-haired boy grunted and wheeled the cage fully into the room, moving it to the opposite side of the meat locker. "Can't you see it's not going anywhere?"

She couldn't say she didn't trust that; it couldn't move. The way it was intentionally damaged gave her the worst heebie-jeebies she'd ever had. Its arms were gone, nothing but stubs. She noticed the legs, they were folded under its body, its feet gone. And then she noticed the worst part: the infected was naked and its lower regions were exposed, made to hang from the cage. Her horror intensified, realizing what the infected was for.

Oh God...I'm going to be sick. Her stomach churned uneasily.

"Don't bother trying to escape," Adam interrupted the silence. "There's a blizzard outside. It's getting worse by the hour. You won't survive even if you did manage to outwit me."

She glared at him. "You're sick."

"Insane," he corrected blatantly and shuffled to the table, taking something from the surface. "Suits me better."

"What're you doing?! STAY BACK!" Maeve panicked, seeing the knife in his hand as he approached her.

"Where's the big girl attitude you had?" He taunted, crouching before her. "I seem to call you threatening me and shooting at me not even two hours ago."

"You deserved it!" She spat at him.

He looked amused. "Gotta hand it to you," he scratched his chin. "For a girl, you have serious balls. Not even my men would dare point their guns at me."

"You were hunting us," she glared at him, bravely meeting his eyes. "It was either you or us."

Adam smirked. He said nothing, his eyes dropping to her body, scanning her. "Out of all the people we've met in the past few years, you're by far the prettiest girl I've taken."

Her face screwed up; disgust and terror flared inside her. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Instead of answering her like a normal person, he reached for her. She flinched away against his touch. His knuckles grazed her cheekbone gently, sliding down to her jawline and then her chin. His fingers suddenly gripped her face and forced her to meet his gaze. His nails dug into her skin, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"I'll be taking my time with you, lamb," he licked his lips. "No one's ever excited me so much before. You don't plead for your life as they did. You fight to survive."

She grimaced under his dark gaze, praying for him to just stick the knife in her throat and end her. She didn't want to imagine what he planned to do to her. The thought was too grueling and horrible. How that infected was trapped in that cage, positioned so lewdly, she understood what he does to it. She had an inkling he'd want that with her.

"Your sister got off easy," what? "She got my father instead of me. He's a lot gentler than I am, but if she'd anything like you, I imagine she's being chopped to pieces by now."

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was muffled by his hand.

"Because it's fun," he answered with a maniac smirk. "Their screams pleased me. I enjoyed the terror they had when they realized they were going to die. It was intoxicating to watch the life fading from their eyes."

"What will you do to me?" She was afraid to ask. Maybe she wanted to stall him and allow her to find an escape route.

His smirk broadened, the grip on her jaw loosening. "All in due time, my lamb. But first things first," he raised his knife: a thick, black steeled hunter's blade. "A trophy for the hunter."

It was quick. Her body was forced against the frozen floor with pressure sharply leaning onto her spine. She cried out, wiggling with all her might. A tug came to her scalp, and then she felt a jagged force jostle her body and head. He was cutting her hair.

"Get off me!"

With one final tug and cutting, she felt her hair graze her neck, almost ticklishly. No! She felt defeated as her long braid dangled before her eyes.

"You have such pretty hair," Adam said in an admiring tone. "I couldn't resist."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Maeve peeled herself off the tiled floor the best she could, watching Adam stride to the table again and laying her cut hair beside the bowl.

"You'll grow it back," he turned to her. "That is if you're still alive."

She froze. That's right. He brought her here to kill her. Torture her. Something. He wasn't going to just let her go.

"You know," he began, fluctuating the knife between his palms before setting it on the table. "I knew the second I met you at the university, that you'd be something special."

Her body stilled, refusing to move, frozen with fear. Of course. Why hadn't she realized it before? The bruise on his face, was the same place TJ hit him when they were attacked. Adam's face split crookedly, craning his neck toward her. His cruel blue eyes made contact with her frightened ones.

"Wild group you four are," he seemed content with her reaction. "Didn't expect so much fire."

Her heart did terrible jumps, terrified of the malicious amusement in his tone. She scooted back to the corner behind her. The cold nipped at her skin with every passing second, and the ropes that bond her wrists and ankles began to feel raw on her skin. Her toes were blister-red and past the point of being numb, the same for her fingers. It hurt to breathe.

"Still," Adam suddenly began toward her. "No matter if you're a roaring bonfire, I'll snuff you out, like so many others."

"Stay back!" Maeve bit out, trying to shrink herself further into the corner.

Adam chuckled. "You won't escape me again, lamb."

She screamed out as his long fingers seized her biceps, his nails raked across her frosty skin and forced her up. If her feet weren't tied, she wouldn't been kicking at his calves. Her struggle didn't work with him. He dragged her to the middle of the locker near the caged infected. She saw the hook hanging, waiting for something to be hung.

"Now, you're gonna be a good lamb," Adam sharply snagged her bound wrists. "And hang out here."

"No!" Her arms were forced above her head, and the frozen metal of the hook burned her skin. Gravity pulled on her body as she hung just a couple of inches off the ground.

"Perfect," he smirked a smirk that made her wish for instantaneous death. "Simply perfect."

She shuddered under his fingers as they slid down to her waist. He hooked his thumbs into her waistband. Fearing his intentions, she kicked at him, which only angered him.

His cold eyes narrowed menacingly, and he grabbed her thighs harshly, squeezing them hard to inflict pain. It was easy. She was near frostbite, every move she made was excruciating.

"Looks like you need to be whipped a bit."

"Get the fuck off me!"

"This would be so much smoother if you'd do as I say," Adam's jaw tightened, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "This would go a lot smoother if you just listened to me," he hissed, releasing her legs, and making her swing precariously. In a swift motion, he grabbed the knife from the table, its cold steel glinting ominously as he pressed the tip against her right hip bone. "Just be QUIET! I can't think! Slaughter animals don't talk; they just squeal."

Maeve's voice twisted into a gurgled scream as the blade sliced into her flesh. A searing pain erupted from her hip, blood pouring out in a crimson rush. The knife plunged deeper, angling sideways, tearing through her.

Her cried reverberated off the walls, swallowed by the howling blizzard outside.