Bedrock: A Psychological Thriller | Book 1 | The Bedrock Series (Ebook)

Chapter One

Sometimes you have to look back in order to move forward. Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where that is the only thing you can do, which is exactly the situation Addison Greyer found herself in when she awoke in a hazy fog with something warm and wet trickling down her face. She tried to shift, to pull herself up, but it was useless. Her body hurt and nothing was right. This is what dying feels like. She did her best to recall what happened before she was in this predicament, but nothing came and it took so much effort to try and remember. It was almost more than she could manage. She told herself to breathe. But even that hurt. She brought her fingers to her face, or at least she imagined she did. It was hard to tell. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t feel, not really. It was cold, so cold. Addison inhaled carefully. Where am I? 

Before her brain could grasp the answer, she felt herself slipping backward, back into the darkness, back to sleep. She willed herself to wake up, to open her eyes, but it was of no use. Her brain and her eyes refused to cooperate with one another. She couldn’t focus on a single thought and she went in and out of consciousness several times before finally waking to the clanking of chains. Metal on metal. One second she was here and another there. What were those crazy boys doing now? And why can’t I wake up and make them stop? 

Her head throbbed. Her heart raced and she curled further into a ball. It hurt to move, not that she could move much and there was that sound again. Wake up, damn it. Wake up. Finally, her eyes fluttered open, though just barely. She could see a blurry figure standing a few feet in front of her but her eyes still refused to focus and she was too dizzy in any case to determine who it was. Focus, she told herself. What do you see, taste, smell, touch? Use your senses. The metallic scent of blood overwhelmed her. Aside from a dry mouth, that’s all she could taste. Blood. Is this a dream and if so, how do I wake up? She felt the chill of the concrete beneath her. Her head was too heavy to lift, but she forced herself to do it anyway. She wiggled her toes. She wasn’t dead. Again, she heard the clanking of the chains, which made her breath catch and then a male voice. “Wake up,” the voice demanded.

Who was he? Did she know that voice? She thought before she felt herself start slipping again. Suddenly she was jolted awake by something slashing her skin. That did it. She opened her eyes just as the leather whip slashed again.

“Wake up, it’s time to talk,” the booming voice commanded. It was muffled, disguised, it sounded as though she were hearing it from under water.

Oh my God. How did I get here?

Addison forced herself to focus. Pain tends to help people with that. She surveyed her surroundings and quickly realized she’d woken up in her very own version of hell. Glancing around the room, she realized it resembled a dungeon, the kind you might see on TV. The only lighting was a single bulb hanging in the far corner of the room. The room itself was cold, dark, and damp. Basement like. Thinking it was sweat, she reached up and wiped at the wetness on her forehead. But when she pulled her hand back all she saw was red. Her hand instinctively went to her neck. There was a chain around her throat, shackles on both her hands and feet and her clothes had been removed. Addison tried to get a look at the man, at the voice who spoke to her, but he was behind her, beyond her range of sight, somewhere in the dark. Plus, everything was so foggy. Where are the boys? She gasped. Where are my kids? Does he have them, too? She started to sob.

The whip struck her again. She didn’t care. She couldn’t make the sobs quit coming. Struck, again and again, she did her best to shield her face and withdrew into herself trying to make her body as small as possible. As she crawled into a ball, she felt a tugging on the chain around her neck. She was choking. She couldn’t breathe. If it didn’t stop soon, the darkness was going to take her once again and she was powerless to stop it.

The deep voice spoke again. “Look— we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s your choice. I actually prefer the hard way, so keep it up if you like. Just know…next come the shocks.”

I’m going to die here. Oh God. No, not like this, please. Please, not like this.  She thought of her children. What would they tell them? She shook her head hoping it might help. It didn’t. Just do what he says. It’s your job to figure out what he wants.

It took everything she had to pull herself up to a sitting position but she held her palms out and then she did it. Eventually, she managed to prop herself up against the far wall of the cage. This is when he came into view, at least partially. He was wearing a ski mask with dark glasses over the eyeholes and that’s when Addison realized, he could be anybody. Still, she knew she needed to put as much distance as she could between them. Addison felt her survival instincts kicking in.

She met his gaze head on. Not that she could see him, not really. But he could see her. He sat in a chair opposite the cage and watched her. Addison didn’t speak. She wanted to beg, to plead for her life. She wanted her kids and her clothes, she wanted out of there. Something deep down told her to keep her mouth shut. So instead of saying all the things she wanted to say she simply watched him, refusing to take her eyes away, her mind running a thousand miles a minute. The two of them stayed that way for an eternity, chills ran through her, tears fell involuntarily, but she didn’t look away. Until, finally, he got up from the chair and ascended stairs that were just beyond her line of sight.

He was gone. She took a deep breath in and held it before exhaling slowly. He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you. Breathe. But he’s coming back. Breathe. Addison felt herself slipping again, back into the fog, and she didn’t fight it. She laid herself down on the concrete floor, slowly and so carefully, unable to take the pain of each small movement. She was so tired, so weak, but it was the blood, and the awareness that he would be back that scared her most. He wanted her to suffer; that much was clear. The fog seemed like the only respite she had. It beckoned her. And she welcomed it.

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