Friday, June 05, 2009

Writing Study: Plot
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"This was smooth. You got all of the information correct this time." A few moments pass as Caroline listens to Bill. "Go ahead and lock up. I am going to go straight home."

Caroline presses the button on her ear bud, and slowly walks through the graveyard towards her car parked outside the grounds. A slight night breeze raises goose bumps over her arms. After a few more steps, a smile crosses her lips. Remembering goose bumps from earlier today she muses out loud, "Does Ramona even know what she does to me?"

Caroline takes her time, enjoying the moonless night. The peaceful walk calms her and she allows herself to fall into a daydream. Visions of Ramona caress her thoughts. Memories of their encounters over the last week slide through her mind. The ice that colored Ramona's attitude when they first met had melted in the heat between them. Ramona seemed to be trying to ignore the heat. During their meeting at sunset today, Caroline noticed a slight flush on the detective's cheeks. "I wonder how long she will take to figure it out?"

Deep in her daydream, Caroline starts as the needle enters her carotid artery. A smooth voice whispers in her ear. "She has not found me yet, so I think it will be a long time before she figures it out."

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Dreams of sweaty tangled bodies fade as Caroline wakes. She tries to stretch but is unable to move. The pleasant images shatter and awareness floods through her, adrenaline surfing the wave, driving away the last remnants of sleep. She opens her eyes, but it makes no difference. The darkness is complete. Panic slithers over her and she struggles and screams incoherently for long minutes.

The terror slowly eases its iron grip, allowing Caroline to asses her situation. She is naked. She is lying on a cold table. The surface is smooth and pulls at her body heat. Metal. Wide straps bind her at her wrist, elbows, shoulder, waist, thighs, knees, ankles and below her breasts. The straps have padding and a soft surface. How thoughtful. Remembering feeling something when she was thrashing to escape, she lifts her head from the table and feels something poke her lips. A cold liquid drips onto her lips. Not knowing what it is she turns her head to the side a spits, doing her best to keep any from getting in her mouth. Water? Or something else? Maybe to keep the captive alive?

Continuing her evaluation, she takes a deep breath through her nose. Musty. And is that concrete? She takes another breath. Rubbing Alcohol.

With an effort, she centers herself and does a quick meditation to slow her heartbeat. The noise of blood running through her veins ceases, allowing her to listen. Nothing. No sound reaches her. Feels like a large room. She makes a click sound with the side of her mouth. Yes. Fairly large, with soft walls.

Caroline lets a small screech escape her in surprise. A ghost suddenly appears next to her. Not able to move, fear skitters through her brain. Don't let it be angry.

Time means nothing in the total darkness. Her heartbeat is too erratic to use to count time. The ghost provides no light for reference in the room. She just "sees" it floating in the black of the room. An eternity passes. The ghost moves its arms up and blood starts to drip from scores of parallel cuts over its arm. A thought from the ghost grates through her mind. "Why?"

Comprehension slams into Caroline bringing a wave of blinding panic. She thrashes, trying to get out of her bonds, not moving the solid table or tight straps even a millimeter. Goddess! It is The Cutter. The Cutter has me. Ramona has not been able to find him. No one can find me! Goddess help me!

Another indeterminate slice of time passes. Exhaustion dulls the panic, allowing Caroline to think and observe. No ghost. It must have moved on since I was not answering it. She twists her hand around and feels along the strap with her fingers. She finds a small padlock attached to a thick D-ring. Well. This will be easy. Just a bit of blood... She closes her fist, squeezing hard so her long nails will cut her palm. He cut my nails? Wracking her brain, she considers other options. I need blood to focus the spell. I can't bite my tongue or lip, saliva will corrupt the blood. The bindings are too soft to draw blood. Do I wait until he cuts me? Can I do it?

"Yes. Let him come."

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Caroline wakes from a light doze, trying to identify what woke her. Bright light sends stabbing pains through her eyes. She hears the footsteps on the concrete and the brush of pants as someone walks into the room. Her eyes slowly adjust to the light, allowing her to get a visual of the room. With effort, she ignores the tall man moving around the room to quickly study the room. Sheets cover the walls of the spacious room, hiding the door. Two small tables are at the sides of the room. A drop ceiling has acoustic tiles and three times the normal amount of florescent light panels. Twenty I.V. Bags hang from the ceiling and connect to a tube that reaches down to right above her face. The end is connected to a metal tube with a ball in the end preventing the liquid from flowing. Looking down at herself she sees sturdy leather straps with thick padding and fur lining. The straps are attached to a metal table that belongs in a morgue. There is a lip around the outside, and a very slight angle to the whole table to allow blood to flow down a drain at her feet.

The man steps up to her. A ski mask over his head stands out against the expensive looking three piece suit he is wearing. Blue surgical rubber gloves cover his hands. He speaks with a smooth voice. "I apologize for the secrecy. I am taking steps I normally do not take. You are not what I would normally use for my tableau but I felt it necessary. You are too... perceptive. I believe that if I left you be, you would have been able to give information to detective Truman that would lead to me." He looks down and presses open Caroline's hand and traces the many overlapping scars on her palm. "And you have already ruined part of the tableau. I definitely prefer a clean canvas."

"Sorry to disappoint. It's an occupational hazard."

"Really. It is part of your occupation. I thought that you might be a bit of a kindred spirit. I thought maybe you would understand why I cut. How disappointing. Pardon me while I prepare." He turns away and walks to one of the tables.

"So. I'm disappointing. Why don't you just let me go? After all, You don't want a disappointing experience."

He turns to face her, "Oh No. Do not get me wrong. I will still get what I need, you will just fail to understand like all of the others. And really, at this point I can not let you go."

"I don't know who you are. You are wearing a mask. The suit is weird, but it does have the effect of not allowing me to know who you are. So you can let me go. Just put me out again, and drop me in the cemetery you took me from and there is no way I could find you."

"While that is a reasonable assertion, I need you. I do not have the strength to take the time to find another tableau. And my original reason still applies. You are too perceptive. I will just have to deal with the extra imperfections that I normally do not have to deal with."

"Well then. Since I'm doomed, what's your name? It would only be polite to tell me your name."

"Good try. For now you can just call me Cutter like the press does. It fits."

"Well. I had to try."

"Understandable. I will make a deal with you. When you are near your end, and there is no doubt that you will pass on, I will let you know."

"How kind."

"Yes. Sarcasm." The Cutter frowns. "You are very calm about this. You think you have a plan to escape."

"No. Not really. But I'm very much a realist. I don't want to die, but screaming and yelling in a panic won't save me from you. It's just a waste of effort. If I'm to die, I want to die in peace."

"Well, all of my tableaux die in peace. It is the way it is. Eventually the blood loss just makes it peaceful." With a smile he adds, "Now this will be interesting. Normally I have to deal with wailing and thrashing. It makes it so difficult. If you are going to be calm about it, perhaps this will be different. Are you ready for your instructions?"

"Instructions? You have instructions for me? You actually expect cooperation?"

"No. Perhaps instruction is not the best word. Are you ready to listen to the information I have to give you?"

"What information."

"Are you ready?"

"Okay... go ahead." Fear starts to sneak back into her.

"I will be cutting you. You will not be able to stop this. I will only do this in little bits. I savor the process. I do not want you to die too soon. The liquid from the tube is a nutrient solution that has all you need to survive. You can drink from it any time you wish. It will not kill you. You cannot see it, but the table has a way to clean you, so if you feel the need to excrete, do so. This will take about a month. I will no longer listen to what you are saying. You are no longer Caroline. You are now my tableau."

The Cutter turns away and goes back to one of the tables at the side of the room.

"You're really going to ignore me? I can call you a dickless coward and you will just ignore it?" With satisfaction, Caroline notices him pause before he continues whatever he is doing. "Or maybe how you must be totally emasculated at home and have to strap down pretty women to get your jollies."

"How did you know I am mar--"

"So you will listen to me now."

The Cutter walks to the table. "Tell me how you know? You can't know!"

"I see you know how to use contractions now. Learn how to speak in the last few minutes?"

"I said tell me how you know!"

"Or what, you are going to kill me? That's already going to happen. Cut me more? I have seen your victims."

"I can take the liquid away. Dying of thirst is much more unpleasant than the death you will have at the end."

"But faster. I think I might prefer that much shorter painful death to the rather prolonged painful death you have planned for me."

"Ah. I see now. You are trying to get me to kill you faster. I was starting to think you were smarter than I gave you credit for, but seeing as you just told me what you are planning, I am no longer sure that you are."

Caroline widens her eyes as if she was just found out. The Cutter turns back to the table and picks up something shiny. Hands shaking slightly, he comes back to Caroline, a scalpel in his hand. She pushes back her fear, and allows her anger to come to the forefront. Glaring at The Cutter she says, "I won't scream for you."

The Cutter smiles "So many of them say that. Let us begin." His hands become rock steady as he makes his first cut.

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