Taken [Inactive]

Alison stood up as he opened the door, walking quickly into the bathroom and shutting the door. His comment about blabbing to Daddy made her angry. She loved her father, and she for the typical definition of a daddy's girl, but she wasn't blindly obedient to him.


She relieved herself quickly and then stayed sitting down for a while, trying to work out a plan of escape. She shoved some extra toilet paper in her pocket, then attempted to pull the metal circular piece that held the roll of toilet paper off. She succeeded at pulling it from its groove in the wall and shoved it in between her underwear and her skin.


She stood up and washed her hands before leaving the bathroom, pausing to look around the room curiously.
 
Isaac stood outside, having no idea what to do other than stand there as she did her business inside. He thought he heard something rustling around inside, so he banged on the door. "Come on, you've been in there for a while, back outside."


God damn, I'm such an asshole.





He didn't open the door, that would be too much, but he sighed to himself and thought about how he'd tell her his story anyways. What did he have to lose at this point? Even if he did get the money, he'd have to run fast. There was a good chance he'd get caught, so there was no point in keeping it hidden for much longer.


"I'll tell you what your dad did." He added. "Once you're, uh, done in there."
 
Alison looked at him, feeling a small amount of guilt for hiding a potential weapon under her clothes. The guilt flashed over her expression for a second, but she forced her face back to a neutral expression. "Do I have to go back in there?" she asked, nodding towards the white room. She was trying to act as though she was completely submissive to him, but her eyes still had a calculatedness to them that showed that there were thoughts ticking over within her.


A part of her didn't actually want to know what he had done. It would ruin her view of him forever, but the truth had to come out sometime, and at least here she had the chance to cry about it without her father seeing her emotions. She didn't want him to be a villain in the story of the city. She didn't want to see him differently.


Her hands slipped into her pockets, one finger tracing over the metal that rested underneath her jeans, her hand attempting to hide the cylindrical shape. She suddenly wished she was much better at poker, and made a mental note to get involved in some more games of it to improve her skill at lying.
 
Isaac took one look at her hands in her pockets, and casually slid past her into the bathroom. Not quite sure what was missing, but not able to deny what he saw, he held out his hand towards her. "Hand it over. Now." He demanded. His fingers flexed in a come here motion, as he waited for her to hand over whatever it is she was hiding from him.


"If you give it up now, I'll leave the door open for a while." He argued with her, it wasn't a bad deal. He continued to eye up the bathroom, stopping short when he saw the toilet paper off of it's stand. Then he knew, she couldn't hide it, her poker face was terrible.
 
Alison froze as he spoke to her, her hands clenching into fists in her pockets. She stared at him, opening her mouth to deny that she had anything, but when his eyes landed on the toilet paper stand she looked down at the floor and slipped her hand inside her jeans, pulling the metal out and walking slowly towards him, placing it in his hands. Her hand shook as she handed it over.


She stood in front of him, her eyes staring down at the ground and her hair falling forward to cover more of her face. "I..." she started to speak, then shook her head and bit her lip. "I... just... I..." she stuttered, trying to find words. "I wont do it again." she finally said quietly, resignation sneaking into her voice.


She turned around and walked back into the white room, sitting down beside the door again, her knees pulled to her chest in the same position she seemed to sit in most of the time. "Please tell me what he did. I... I want to know."
 
She'd taken something as a weapon, so he shut the door in her face and sat with his back facing her. Angry, he shouted now. "You know what he did? He screwed me over, that's what."


What do I care if one girl knows. Who gives a damn.





"Your father hired me off the streets. Sounds all sweet and dandy, right?" Isaac asked her, rhetorically of course. "Wrong!" He shouted and slammed his fists into the door. "He thought I could get him his fix, just because I lived on the streets, so he gave me a job, a salary, then he took every penny to my name. I have nothing now. Why? Because your father assumed every street kid is a heroin dealer."


Isaac paced in front of the door. Something about admitting it all to the daughter was satisfying. She didn't seem to know, and he shattered her illusion. Whatever image she saw in him, whatever profitable kind man she thought he was, Isaac would make sure to break every idea.


"I can't get a job, I can't get a loan, he's destroyed me. I'm not going back to the streets, I'm not doing it!" Isaac was yelling at her now. "He took my life, I'll take his. There, happy? Or do you want to hear every sob story along the way?"


He sat down against the door and huffed angrily, pulling at his hair and clenching his teeth. Nothing calmed him when it came to Mr. Charles. He'd ruined him.
 
Alison jumped as the door slammed behind her. She understood his anger towards her in that moment, and she sat quietly as he shouted at her, listening to his story about her father. Every word felt like another pin was being pricked into her heart, every bit of anger in her captor's voice reinforced the hurt her father had inflicted.


How many more are there? she wondered, her thoughts racing as she tried to justify her father's actions, wanting to defend him, to say that she knew he wouldn't do that, but the more she thought, the more she realised she didn't know. Her father had always done well at compartmentalising. Work was work, and home was home, and Alison never really experienced the way he was at work.


Tears welled up in her eyes and sobs shook her body as the realisation hit her that her captor was right. He was entirely justified in what he was doing. Desperation could lead to a lot of actions, and revenge was one of them. Her father was responsible for this man's situation, and she had been caught in the middle of it. She should have known. She should have worked out that he was corrupt.


"God damnit!" she cried, throwing the plastic water bottle across the room. The lid burst off as it hit the wall, the remaining water splashing over the ground. The situation she found herself in paled in comparison to the grief that had just hit her. She felt like she was mourning the loss of her father suddenly... or at least, the illusion of her father.
 
A day passed. the second of the seven Isaac gave to Mr. Charles to pay up the ransom and there still wasn't a second call. He'd expected it to go slow, so Isaac wasn't too bothered by the absence of any exchanges between the two.


He found little sleep that night, the girl had been crying a little, and he felt sorry for her. Isaac hadn't meant to make her so angry, just make her realize his justification for taking her. Alison wasn't his problem, he had no quarrels with her, nor had he ever thought of a reason to in the two days. She was the daughter of a corrupt CEO, who blindly followed after him, unknowing of what secrets he held. It wasn't her felt, and he simply felt bad.


Isaac rapped his knuckles against the door. There was enough yelling, so now he just made his voice clear enough to be heard. "Alison? Do you need anything?"
 
Alison had spent the entire day on the floor, curled up and crying. She didn't use the blanket that night, because she couldn't find sleep no matter how hard she tried. She kept thinking about all of the moments when her father had come home looking distant and she'd brushed it off as him being tired, but she remembered his eyes being dialated and she knew that was a sign that someone was high.


She remembered so many moments, that she had written off as a simple weariness, or stress, but they had all been a sign of something else and she had been ignorant. She couldn't stop thinking long enough to sleep, and she couldn't stop crying no matter how hard she tried. She felt the room get colder at night, and then felt the warmth as morning arrived.


Her throat was dry from a lack of water, and her body was dehydrated from spending so much time crying. She didn't want him to open the door and see the state she was in, but she needed water. She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face, wiping her eyes furiously and sniffling a little. Her eyes were red and her face streaked. "Water, please." she requested, her voice hoarse.
 
Isaac rummaged upstairs for the water she'd requested, and he felt guiltier now. This was his fault entirely. He had to do something to at least make her stop crying, or at least try. After grabbing a water for her and himself, he continued to search his near bare pantries until he found a half full bag of chocolate chips. It wasn't much, but, it was chocolate.


Hopefully she doesn't get pissed because I assumed she likes the stuff...





He hopped down the steps and made his way back to the door, his head held low in shame. After knocking to announce he'd returned, he cracked open the door and carefully set the water and chocolate in a pile just a foot inside the door. Isaac quickly shut it and pressed his back to the frame.
 
Alison stood up slowly and approached the door, sitting down beside it and opening the water bottle, sipping it slowly. She cracked a small smile at the sigh of the chocolate, peeling the bag open and putting a piece into her mouth. The water and the chocolate gave her a little bit more energy and she sniffled, wiping her eyes and sighing quietly, trying to keep herself at the level of calm that she found herself at.


"Thank you." she said after some minutes had passed. "For the water, and the chocolate, and... for telling me what my father did." she still sounded like she was on the verge of tears, but her emotions were better contained. "I... I understand why you're doing this now. That doesn't mean I like it, or think it's the moral high ground, but I understand."


She tilted her head back, staring up at the roof. "I'm sorry. For what he did. I can't make it better... but I am sorry."
 
He appreciated her apology, he honestly did, but as she said it didn't make it any better. What's done was done. Isaac was just happy someone realized he'd been wronged.


"Of course you don't like it. It sucks. You've got nothing, stuck in a room, without any promise of anything. Just living on handouts." Isaac realized the parallel was similar between his own life and her situation.


He had once lived on the streets, he knew what it was like waiting on the honest hand to give him a dollar so he could afford to buy a bottle of water at least. Those years were long behind him, but for the rest of his life it would define who he was. Never did he submit to drugs, and only once did he use his donations to buy a beer. It was long overdue, he had thought.


Isaac let the guilt eat at him once more. He was wrong, and he knew it now.
 
Alison listened to him speak, getting used to the tone of his voice. She had no one else to talk to, so conversation with her captor had to do. It let her get to know his weaknesses a little more, see that he was sympathetic towards her. He clearly felt some remorse for what he had done to her.


She slowly stood up, walking silently to the other side of the room. The whole room was definitely sealed, there was no doubt about it. To get out she needed that door to be open, but he wouldn't easily open the door after her behaviour earlier. She paved back and forth slowly, only stopping to pull her shoes off and toss them to the side of the room.


"What will you do if he doesn't pay the ransom?" Alison asked loudly enough for him to hear. "No offense intended, but you don't seem like you have it in you to kill me." She says, approaching the door once more and sitting down.
 
She's right. I couldn't kill her if I tried.





He bluffed, and said threateningly through the door, "I will." Not feeling like it worked, he added in a lighter voice, "We'll see."


The phone in his hand rang again, and he looked at the number. It was different form yesterday, but he didn't doubt it was Mr. Charles. The phone was disposable, again, he wasn't stupid enough to use his own phone for a kidnapping. He answered it, clearing his voice as he did so.


"What'll it be?" He asked.


"I want to negotiate the price." Mr. Charles said through the phone quickly, as if he were rushing to finish the conversation. Isaac smiled and shook his head. There was no negotiating, not with this. No matter how guilty Isaac felt, he wouldn't budge on the price at least.


"I don't think so." Isaac responded, and started to hang up.
 
Alison could have jumped for joy when she heard the phone ring. She had begun to think her father had given up on her already. She pressed her ear to the door, and in a moment of silence shouted, "I'm in a warehouse basement! No windows! Blue walls!" She cried, then ran away from the door.


It was a desperate move. She only guessed at the colour of the wall because of a small patch, but she had to try something.


Her father was corrupt, but he was still her father. He would come for her. He had to.
 
Isaac growled in anger and snapped the phone shut. He slammed his fists against the wall and yelled at the girl inside. "Shut your damn mouth, if you ever do that shit again I will not hesitate to tie you back up, against the wall where you can't move."


He hated how she made him feel. One minute he was guilty, because she wasn't cruel. The next he was furious because she could ruin him. Now she even knew why he'd been let go, why he was trading her for a ransom. Isaac hated how she used him, hated how she saw through his weaknesses.


There wasn't a thing he could do now but wait again. The phone rang and he didn't answer. So it rang. Rang. Rang.


He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
 
Alison flinched at the pounding against the wall and the shouts that followed. She had wanted to get a reaction out of him. Part of her figured that if she were able to push him just far enough that he would hurt her, he would feel guilty and then be kind to her. Perhaps even leave the door open.


She sat down by the door again, remaining silent and falling into a light sleep. She wasn't tired, but there wasn't really anything to do except sleep and think.


Some time later, she woke up and ran a hand through her messy hair. "Do you know how to play poker?" She asked. "I've always wanted to be good at it, but I just don't understand the rules well enough."


In her tired state, she didn't feel any hostility towards her captor. She wondered if this was what Stockholm Syndrome felt like.
 
Isaac didn't respond, he was busy sleeping on a couch upstairs. He couldn't deal with the constant ringing of the phone, so he shut it off and decided to get some rest. Alison was safe enough in the basement. There was no way out and no way in unless she was on the outside already.


Time never passed quickly enough, yet he longed for it to never move forward. This way, he could at least stay trapped in his own house and live out whatever remains he could. There wasn't enough cash for him to stay another month. He didn't have food, the water would shut off when the rent was late. He was deep into his problems, but he reminded himself whose fault it was.


Mr. Charles


 
Alison sighed as she realised he either wasn't there, or that he wasn't going to respond. She stood up and approached the vent, peering into it yet again. Yelling wouldn't help her, it would only result in more problems for the moment.


She paced away from the vent and sat down again, using her fingernails to lightly trace marks on her skin and playing noughts and crosses (or tic tac toe, as some call it) on her leg. She was bored. Boredom couldn't hurt her, but it definitely didn't help any.


She ate another granola bar an hour later, then sat down by the door again, singing to herself. The room had acoustics that resembled that of a bathroom, and it made her average voice sound somewhat impressive. She sang '99 bottles of beer on the wall' hoping that her captor would tire of her noise before she reached zero bottles.
 
Seventy four bottles of beer on the wall...





Isaac's eyebrows twitched with annoyance. The song had gone on long enough, but he was doing his best to ignore her. He'd rested long enough now, so the phone was back on and he was back to being the captor once more.


Take one down, pass it around...





He still hated the tune. Something about the way it creeped through the vents in order to reach him, as if it searched him out on purpose to annoy him to the breaking point. Not today.


Seventy three bottles of beer on the wall!





Isaac groaned loudly and threw the pillow he'd been clutching onto the floor. He stumbled down the steps and pounded on the door. "Knock it off would ya!"
 
(I'm so glad you knew the song! I thought it might be confusing If you didn't know.)


Alison made a small, scared noise as he pounded on the door. She hadn't expected him to appear so quickly. She looked up at where the door handle should have been and frowned, "sorry." She said simply.


"I don't know if you've ever been locked in a sealed white room before, but it's actually quite boring once you get over the panic." She stated. "You could have at least given me some books or something of the sort. Or a TV so I could watch bad daytime TV..."


She was testing him to see what he would do if she displayed no fear. She wanted to know what it took to break him.
 
"No." He grunted lazily through the door. Isaac resumed his watchful position with his back against the frame, gun in one hand, cell phone in the other.


It wasn't much fun for him either, sitting here listening to her whine all day. If his emotions didn't get the better of him it was her, crying or yelling at him. One way or another, it was miserable, and overall a bad idea. He'd scratch his head, count numbers in his head, if he had his actual cell phone he could've been at least looking up something to do, play a game on it, but he'd ditched it outside of town. The bill was getting too expensive anyways.


"Just stay quiet, and no more yelling through the walls when I'm on the phone, got it?" He asked her.
 
Alison wasn't sure if this was him regaining composure, or if she was getting closer to what she wanted. She wanted the door open, more than anything. The air in the sealed room had begun to feel stale, like a bedroom that had been shut for weeks when its inhabitants were on vacation. She frowned, chewing her bottom lip.


"Yeah, got it." she responded hesitantly. There was a hint of defiance in her tone, the sort of defiance that comes about when a child promises not to eat a cookie, and then when their parent's back turns, they immediately dig into the jar. She didn't mean for it to be there, but it snuck into her inflection.


Her father had been trying to call. She knew that much. She knew he was at least trying to rescue her, even if it was in the form a negotiation. Everything was always a negotiation with her father. If she wanted to stay out until midnight, he'd draw it back to eleven, and then she would counter and demand eleven thirty. It was a practise she was used to, but now that she was being negotiated for, it didn't feel so good.


"Doesn't it defeat the purpose of capturing me, if you're just as captive as I am? Don't you have other places to be that are more exciting that whatever this building is?" she asked curiously.
 
"Nope." Isaac popped his lips after. "Your dad took all my money, can't get a job either remember?" He said coyly.


There wasn't anything in the house anyways. He was ready to sell it, pack everything into his car and go. That was the life he lived now, but at least he had the car at all. No more payments, it was something he could sleep in to say the least. The streets were cold, dank, and full of dangerous people worse than himself.


"Oh, let's see, we could play a board game, or I can get cable running." He added sarcastically. "Would you feel better if I gave you a marker so you could color on the walls?"
 
Alison rolled her eyes at his response, then laughed dryly as he mentioned a marker. "Now that you mention it, a marker would be great." she told him, the sarcasm in her voice equalling his. "Maybe a pizza, too. With lobster on it. And a bottle of the most expensive champagne possible, because if I'm going to stab you with a bottle, it's going to be with the finest possible bottle." It was obvious she was joking. She knew how people saw her - a spoiled princess. She was, she supposed, but that didn't mean she couldn't make fun of herself.


"I'd love to play Monopoly, actually. My father used to play with me, but he always crushed me at it. He's not good at losing. But... uh..." she paused awkwardly, "I guess you know that, already... and I know you weren't being serious about giving me anything... but I'd play a board game with you. It's not like I have anywhere else to be, and neither do you, so we might as well keep each other company, right?"
 
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