Book 2: Ch.4

TRIGGER WARNING: 

This chapter deals with intimate details in the case of assault, violence, 

and abuse against women and may be too personal for some readers. 

It is not suitable for children. 

Viewer discretion is advised. 

CHAPTER 4

The Rabbit And The Snake Pit

 In the heart of a city where the fog clings like specters the multi-storied parking structures of San Francisco stood. A time when architects and urban visionaries built monuments of concrete and steel. Constructed in the aftermath of a world war and shaped by modernist ideals, these behemoths rose like fortresses among the bustling downtown metropolis. Yet beneath their cold, functional facades lay a housing of the unkempt and archaic. For decades, these structures had been the silent witnesses to the city's transformation. Their expansive corridors, illuminated by the ghostly resonance of failing neon and the aging of overhead lights, became the stage for urban legends. The design of repeated columns, echoing ramps, and vast expanses of weathered concrete invited the presence of a haunting hollow cathedral. Here, the seclusion and darkness spoke wordless tales of moments in passion and despair. Amid the creeping decay brought on by the ceaseless fog, the corrosive bite of the coastal weather, and the tremors of earthquakes they were like living entities. Void of art. Soulless golems in which each level a chapter filled with legend. Even some filled with chapters of forgotten crimes, and bloodshed. Cases that involved individuals who sought anonymity in these giant, sometimes poorly lit structures. Occasional murders and violent episodes leave behind somber notes in the history of these spaces. 

 Frances knows this. There was a lot of researching she delved into when preparing her adventurous move to this city. All that time researching flashes before her thoughts and she slams her trembling hand against the button by the elevator call. Her urgency rippling through the cold, industrial air. In an instant, the creaking doors opened immediately after she pushed the button. Without hesitation, she lunged inside, her fingers dancing over the control panel till she finally presses the first floor level. A desperate bid to outrun those phantasmal like men. She watches as the doors close with no sign of her pursuers. 

 Inside the decrepit elevator, the metallic groan of the machinery, inharmoniously mingled with Frances's rapid shallow breaths. She can imagine the news now, her obituary a short paragraph that describes where she worked and how she was a quiet introvert, any kind words would be nothing short of forced and empty. Another victim to be vaguely gossiped about in the lunch rooms. She cries at her swirling thoughts, "I could die tonight. I wonder what ditch they will decide to throw my blue body in or maybe I'll spend my last moments staring at the lights flicker on a tire stamped parking spot."

 There is an anxiety peaking as she feels scared and can't decipher if her fear is making her feel small or if the four walls are collapsing in on her with every moment she hyperventilates. In that claustrophobic descent, her thoughts churned as dark silhouettes of her pursuers haunted her mind. These men, cloaked in an unearthly aura and clothed for stealth, had spoken in riddles and threats. They knew a language that speaks to her despair, like they knew what to say to scare her, to cripple her. The perfect words that twisted in the corners of her own soul. In a personal critique she tells herself, "You can't freeze up again. Choose to fight or run, but for the fucking sake of your life don't freeze up again!" 

 She starts to anticipate when those doors open. They will be waiting for her. They have a plan and they are coordinating. Hiding in the stark silence of that industrial corridor. She has to be faster and her decisions have to be smarter and rapid. Their chase has only just begun.

 She can feel her heart racing, her pulse echoes like an erratic beat in her ears. The moment the elevator halted with a lurch on the bottom floor, its doors part to reveal the dense shadows of a parking garage sprawled before her. Under the sparse, flickering fluorescence, the corridor beckoned like a passage into another realm. Echoes in the deserted corridors were like whispers that seemed to murmur indistinguishable words. A world where the city lights could barely penetrate the grime and gloom. Every step away from the elevator was a step deeper into a night fraught with peril.

 As Frances advanced cautiously, an unsettling awareness prickled the back of her neck. A silent warning that she was being watched. With each echoing footfall, the space transformed into a macabre theater. The sparse light and shifting shadows seemed to conspire against her, choreographing a dance of ghostly dread. Suddenly, a quieted groan echoed behind her. Terror, like electric shock, surged, and she bolted. Shooting for the only glimmer of hope at the far end of the corridor where the exit onto the street shown the sanctuary of light. To her dismay three dark figures materialized, blocking her path like silent sentinels.

 In a heartbeat, the cold calculus of survival took over. Her mind is racing. 'Continuing meant risking capture, stopping will ensure them closing in.' With no time for planning, she pivoted. Swinging around with nimble reflexes, launching her into a flash of movement where she sends a kick to a towering silhouette's knee. He was lurking close behind her and he is sent sprawling. Swift and fierce, She press her palm to his chest while he is in mid-fall, driving him hard into the unforgiving concrete.

 Her escape was far from over. Heart pounding with the creaks of the parking garage, Frances strategizes, "Fuck the exit. If I can get back to my car, which I should have never separated from to begin with, then I can plow my way out of here." She races to re-enter the elevator but the doors have closed. "No!" her internal dialogue screams. "I know they're close by. I cant stop moving! If anything, I'm persistent. Stupid maybe, but persistent." she attempts to comfort herself. Without stopping she continues upward along the winding ramps. It was tormenting for as she climbed the slope surge after surge of overflowing alertness and affliction splashed against her like crashing waves on a beach shore. On the second story, under the harsh intrusion of fluorescent lights that only served to emphasize the decay of this urban parkade where grim dread clings to every surface. There is scratching of unseen claws, the rustle of unseen terrors within the impenetrable concrete walls. It was heightening the atmosphere to something almost surreal, but definitively dismal.

In this nocturnal arena, every fleeting light, every shifting shadow, felt nothing short of a predator's hunt. Her breathing is so fast that several breaths seemingly took place in a single second and the time she perceived spun on and it was a forever night in endless darkness. She imagines that these men with phantom qualities, are reaching hungrily for her. That their fingers must be long and bony. Their nails are certainly sharply, unkempt and black. She creates a vivid thought of blood that must be built up on the tips of their fingers. "No." She tells herself. 'they look ghoulish but I do not for one second think… they can't be… vampiric? They're just men. Right? Immoral, unethical, dangerous men." Still she imagines they are beings whose souls are as evil and as dark as their clothes. Picturing their dark sleeves and pale clawed hands swiping at the back of her head, only inches outside of their grasp.

 The smell of dry dusty air irritates her nose. When she begins to feel a wetness dabble over her lips she touches at it. In the scarce light she peers down at the dark red that paints her fingers. All this give to chase and dusty air has brought on a nose bleed. 

 Then, leaping out at her, a pair of hands accost her. They grab and pull her towards them. But she grabs ahold of them as well. In a clever act of ingenuity, she exploits her attackers' momentum and hurls him over a railing, vanishing momentarily into the night. He doesn't scream but banging and a blunt plonking can be heard of his body hitting a car and concrete. 

Jumping nimbly atop a parked car, Frances steals a brief moment of reprieve as she looks over the railing to see what fate he succumbed to. Then she hears two men mount nearby vehicles. For only a glance she looks back to see her pursuers still in relentless chase. She must be faster, she thinks, then leaping from car to car. They soon catch up to her. She has to begin dodging a wild symphony of kicks, blows, and break-neck maneuvers. She jumps from a car, dismounting from the elevated chase. Turning around, Frances knocks their feet out from under them as the men jump from the cars towards her. Their bodies hit the floor with a crude punch. As she ascends the spiraling structure, her defiant spirit shows through the bruises and battered resolve. Just as she reached the third level, sinewy hands ensnare her arms and yank her to the ground. 

 The impact is brutal, face first. Her nose breaks, crunching with a bounce on the cold concrete, marking the violence of the fall. Frances listens as she collects herself to the shuffling of two pairs of feet. She schemes as they get closer and at the right moment, she strikes. With a spring she sits up grabbing at one of her pursuer's black coat collar. She drives her palm up into his nose. In the few second his eyes squeeze shut she explodes to her feet to repeatedly crack him in the dead center of his face. Tears of pain and fury flood her eyes even as she grapples with this attacker. Her fists are his instruments of ruin, pummeling his face until blood spattered in a grotesque display. The Blood makes his pasty makeup run. She changes up her direction and pops him in the stomach. Chunks of bile and blood projectile from his mouth. The expulsion douses Frances's right side, with a salty portion of it filling her mouth and she spits it out immediately in a spray. The other assailant, relentless in his assault, drives his bony knuckles upside her head but they barely faze her. With a swinging kick Frances hooks him by the neck, driving her foe's head fiercely into a nearby car window. The glass exploding in a crystalline flurry. She doesn't stay to see if he gets back up.

 She runs off. Her vision shaking. She is bobbing and weaving past cars. The brief glimpses of her attackers still fresh in her mind. The warm pulse of pain shooting up the bridge of her nose. These are the culprits of her spinning head but she pushes to remain focused. She has to. A rabbit in a snake pit, she has to be faster if she wants to survive. 

 A handful of dark forms appear all around in a horrible mad dash to keep her from getting to her car. Salvation remained painfully elusive as she felt that safety drew further and further away. Just as she is almost to her car, the shadows among shadows step into the light. In the eerie glow of the night, men emerged from the vale the midnight hours provide. Seven or so men before her; few appear to each side of her that she acknowledges with peripheral glances. She spins around but she can't run, not with 12 or so men walling the path in a dark row behind her. Surrounded. Even if she fights, she knows she is outnumbered. Fear feeds streaming tears, with a wet streak of blood between them that runs down her chin. She grips her keys between her fingers and clenches her bleeding teeth. She readies herself in fighting stance. That is when she notices them baring their teeth. Long, sharp, canines. 'Vampires?' She ponders. Her auburn eyes wide with both determination and dread. Prepared for what seems inevitable.

Then, amid the encroaching dark, a chilling thought cut through her terror. "You're the ones who killed Jolean," she spat, voice trembling between accusation and raw anguish, before launching forward at the men in front of her, swinging wildly. But the onslaught was relentless. Their tide of darkness, their hunger for something beyond mere flesh evident in their predatory eyes. They over power her easily. Restraining her. A bunch of men, keeping her from defending herself. All she can see is the light be snuffed out as their dark figures crowd her. She fights back with a panic, terrified the sum of all her fears is coming to life. Even as she struggles she begins to weep as a part of her has come to accept that there is no escape. Her wailing and screams reverberate through the garage's echo chamber. 

 "No!" She screams, throwing elbows and fists. "Stop! I'm a person! Stop! Please! Stop!"

The tears grow heavier with every thought in her struggle. "This is how I die. Chocked up as an added tally to the numbers in the statistics. A few words in an obituary. A new house on the market. My entire life's worth of things tossed out without a second thought. My battered lifeless body found by some woman on her way to work. Just like Jolean. But unlike Jolean, no one will mourn for me, because I had no impact here. I was an invisible woman. Too inhuman to love, I guess. I'm not sure that even my father will cry for me. Who knows, maybe I'll never be found." Her body feels heavy with the sorrows of the inevitable. She is meek in the descent of her doom. 

 In the ensuing chaos, as she fights desperately against overwhelming odds, a green, gaseous fog begins to roll in. Thick and malevolent, it seeps over the concrete with static sparks casting a spectral glow. Some of the vampires who are on the outside of the hurdle over Frances, are lifted, and disappear into the fog. Others including the one in the hurtle start to notice and slowly they stop. For a moment, as the eerie mist mingled with the crimson arcs of violence, Frances and her attackers, shared a silent communion with the unknown. It has both a mysterious and alarmingly malicious green presence that extracts fear. Monsters once relentless in their pursuit now falter, their fear palpable and contagious. Frances takes notice that these predators or vampires that she was afraid of, are undoubtedly, afraid.

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