Days.
It had to have been days since I woke to that beautiful dripping.
I hadn’t heard it since. Not for real anyway.
Imagined it. Dreamed of it.
I mourned it. Became obsessed with it.
After trying so hard to stay awake at first, I’d gotten to the point that I couldn’t do much more than sleep. I didn’t know if it was a product of the fall, the drugs, the dark, my body drying up, or a combination of them, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. And I knew it wasn’t good.
I dreamed about that damned dripping, though. More times than I could count, I’d jerked awake thinking I’d heard it. A few times I’d even crawled over to where I thought I’d found it that first time—on a diagonal line that started slightly to the right of my puke. The concrete had been dry, though. As parched as my tongue.
I moaned and rolled onto my other side. As if I could get away from that awful thirst. My hips ached with the movement. They were sore from the constant contact with such a hard surface. My bones were used to memory foam and Egyptian cotton sheets. My skin, too. There were several raw, tender spots that I knew would soon turn into sores. I moved around as much as I could, but it was hard. I was just so damned sleepy. And so damned weak. And so damned thirsty.
Thirsty.
That word, that feeling went through my head again. Thirsty. In big, gnarly, black letters. It was menacing, foreboding. And on a loop that was driving me crazy. It made me angry. And desperate. And despondent. And then angry again.
I liked the anger better.
With a growl, I pushed myself into a sitting position. I needed to get moving. Without water or food or movement, the drugs weren’t leaving my system like they should. I felt groggy, and it was only getting worse.
I leaned left. Tried to lever myself to my feet. I yelped as my weight rolled over my tailbone, grinding it into the cold slab floor. I swayed. Then used my hands to my balance myself. Before, my brain seemed to know which way was up and where my body was located in space, despite the lack of visual cues. Now, not so much. No matter what I did, nothing seemed solid or straight or steady. Unless I was asleep. Then, either I didn’t notice or I just didn’t care.
Angrily, I pushed to my feet. I stood for one second. Two. And then dizziness hit me. Sharp and sudden. Like a gunshot. I dropped back into a crouch so I wouldn’t fall. I hunkered there for a couple of minutes before I tried again. The next time, I came up slowly. Waited. Counted. After fifteen seconds, my head seemed fine, so I started moving.
I swung my arms first, like a kid playing helicopter. My joints protested, probably from having been violently jerked out of socket not so long ago (or maybe it was so long ago), but I ignored them. I had to get moving. I had to keep moving. I had to be ready for whatever eventually came at me, because I was sure something would. Something or someone. Eventually.
I started jabbing at the air. Quick thrusts followed by snappy uppercuts. I’d taken a kickboxing class once. I didn’t love it, so I didn’t go back. I was regretting that decision.
The more I moved, the better I felt. I added some legs, driving each knee up and away from me. Strike, strike, strike, I could hear the instructor saying. I imagined my captor coming through a door I couldn’t see, grabbing me with hands I couldn’t detect, and me fighting back. Because I would fight. If it were the last thing I did, I would fight.
My body temperature rose. Got hotter than the scorching, stagnant air of my prison. Then my breath started to get choppy. My skin started to burn, like I was melting from the inside out.
Bile flew up from my stomach, surprising me. Warm, acrid fluid filled my mouth. I doubled over and hung my head between my legs.
I was nauseous, and so damned hot, but not sweating at all. Not one tiny drop.
My knees went soft and I staggered backward, trying not to fall. I lost my feel for what was up and what was down, what was right and what was left. I flailed my arms.
I heard a click. For a single inhale, I smelled cologne. Something with sandalwood. Then I smelled that strange chemical smell.
I couldn’t even catch myself before I blacked out.