A Life Less Ordinary
You Will Do As I Say
Slamming the door behind him, the man let out a loud, mechanical sigh barely audible over the screams. He fell forward, landing hard on top of Isla, knocking the wind out of her. She was pinned beneath his body, barely able to breath from his weight.
“P-Please…don’t hurt me.” She gasped.
When he didn’t respond, she began to struggle to push him off of her, to very little avail. He was too heavy.
“Who are you??” she asked, pushing up with all her strength. Still, no answer.
Letting her body go limp she tried to conserve her strength. His face was less than an inch from her own, his hot breath escaping from the vent in his mask. He was breathing shallowly, but his eyes were closed. His head was shaven and covered with scars. The skin that wasn’t covered by the mask was covered with dirt and he had a gash on his forehead just over his left eye. Blood oozed from the wound, down into his eye.
Isla’s skills as nurse resurfaced. She managed to pull her left arm free. Carefully, she traced the side straps of the mask until she felt what seemed like latches. Pulling the latch, she felt it give, and moved to the other side. She clasped the mask under his chin, but before she could remove it, his eyes shot open.
She froze, meeting his cold green eyes. “Y-You’re bleeding-”
He struggled to push himself to his knees, straddling her beneath him. She stared back up at him as he slowly locked his mask in place, his eyes never leaving hers.
“My name is Isla Sophia Sloan I’m 26 years old…My parents are Dean and Lori Sloan I was born April 28th 1986 in Elizabeth City…my favorite color is blue my favorite song is Anemone my favorite band is Rammstein my favorite movie is The Patriot or Braveheart…” She began to ramble.
Isla squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head, imagining the worst as she felt his hands brush her hair from her neck. Tears began to stream from her eyes. His fingertips swept across her collar to the back of her neck. “If you are going t-to rape me…” she gulped back a sob. “Then please kill me..”
His weight shifted and she opened her eyes. He was sitting in front of her, leaning back against the steel stairs. His breathing was haggard.
She scooted back against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, trying to put as much distance between them as she could-which wasn’t much in the narrow stairwell.
His arm rested on his bent knee and he pointed his finger at her. “The…device…around your neck…” His voice was terrifying, like a machine. A machine in pain.
Her hands quickly went to her neck. A rubber choker was clasped around it.
“What is it?!?” she cried, her fingers searching frantically for the clasp. The masked man held up his hand, producing a small pen-like device.
“If you remove it…it will explode.” his voice sounded exacerbated.
Isla stared at him, tears welling up. “Why? What do you want with me?” She cautiously lowered her hands into her lap. They stared at each for a moment, sizing one another up. Everything about this man enticed fear. He was massive. Something that looked eerily like dried blood was splattered on his thick neck. He wore green camo pants with brown combat boots and a black, worn leather coat. Underneath the coat, she could see what one could only assume was some sort of flak vest. And then, there was the mask.
The mask reminded her of The Predator. A thick strap came down between his eyes and around both sides of his face, connecting to a vent over his mouth. Ten metal tubes, six on top and four on the bottom, connected to the vent.
“I require your services.” He sounded as if her were channeling Darth Vader.
Isla shook her head slowly. “What services? WHO ARE YOU?!” she yelled.
“You may call me Bane…you are a medical professional, yes?”
She glared at him, refusing to answer.
His eyes crinkled at the ends and she could just imagine him smirking. “You don’t have to answer, Miss Sloan. Or nurse Sloan. You’re badge confirms my suspicion. You will do as I say, or I will trigger the bomb.” He slowly twisted the detonator between his thumb and forefinger, taunting her.
She laid her head in her hands, trying to wake from the nightmare. This wasn’t happening to her, it just wasn’t. Stuff like this only happened in the movies. He wasn’t here, she wasn’t here. She was in her stuffy little apartment in her stuffy little bedroom, in her warm bed, with Baxter The Cat. She could almost hear the traffic outside her bedroom window, smell the food from the diner on the first floor. It was all just a dr-
“Well?” Bane’s voice gave her a violent start.
She lifted her head and stared at the ceiling. “Do I have a choice?”
He gave a short, inhuman chuckle. “We all have a choice, Miss Sloan. Help me, or die. Those are your choices.” He pulled himself up, leaning his weight against the railing and unzipped his coat.
“Now, as I stated previously, I require you’re services.” He grunted as he pulled his colossal arms from the coat. “Medical services…I will give you fifteen minutes to gather what supplies you need to treat this.” He was bleeding from a mass of wounds in his chest and abdomen.
“P-Please…don’t hurt me.” She gasped.
When he didn’t respond, she began to struggle to push him off of her, to very little avail. He was too heavy.
“Who are you??” she asked, pushing up with all her strength. Still, no answer.
Letting her body go limp she tried to conserve her strength. His face was less than an inch from her own, his hot breath escaping from the vent in his mask. He was breathing shallowly, but his eyes were closed. His head was shaven and covered with scars. The skin that wasn’t covered by the mask was covered with dirt and he had a gash on his forehead just over his left eye. Blood oozed from the wound, down into his eye.
Isla’s skills as nurse resurfaced. She managed to pull her left arm free. Carefully, she traced the side straps of the mask until she felt what seemed like latches. Pulling the latch, she felt it give, and moved to the other side. She clasped the mask under his chin, but before she could remove it, his eyes shot open.
She froze, meeting his cold green eyes. “Y-You’re bleeding-”
He struggled to push himself to his knees, straddling her beneath him. She stared back up at him as he slowly locked his mask in place, his eyes never leaving hers.
“My name is Isla Sophia Sloan I’m 26 years old…My parents are Dean and Lori Sloan I was born April 28th 1986 in Elizabeth City…my favorite color is blue my favorite song is Anemone my favorite band is Rammstein my favorite movie is The Patriot or Braveheart…” She began to ramble.
Isla squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head, imagining the worst as she felt his hands brush her hair from her neck. Tears began to stream from her eyes. His fingertips swept across her collar to the back of her neck. “If you are going t-to rape me…” she gulped back a sob. “Then please kill me..”
His weight shifted and she opened her eyes. He was sitting in front of her, leaning back against the steel stairs. His breathing was haggard.
She scooted back against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, trying to put as much distance between them as she could-which wasn’t much in the narrow stairwell.
His arm rested on his bent knee and he pointed his finger at her. “The…device…around your neck…” His voice was terrifying, like a machine. A machine in pain.
Her hands quickly went to her neck. A rubber choker was clasped around it.
“What is it?!?” she cried, her fingers searching frantically for the clasp. The masked man held up his hand, producing a small pen-like device.
“If you remove it…it will explode.” his voice sounded exacerbated.
Isla stared at him, tears welling up. “Why? What do you want with me?” She cautiously lowered her hands into her lap. They stared at each for a moment, sizing one another up. Everything about this man enticed fear. He was massive. Something that looked eerily like dried blood was splattered on his thick neck. He wore green camo pants with brown combat boots and a black, worn leather coat. Underneath the coat, she could see what one could only assume was some sort of flak vest. And then, there was the mask.
The mask reminded her of The Predator. A thick strap came down between his eyes and around both sides of his face, connecting to a vent over his mouth. Ten metal tubes, six on top and four on the bottom, connected to the vent.
“I require your services.” He sounded as if her were channeling Darth Vader.
Isla shook her head slowly. “What services? WHO ARE YOU?!” she yelled.
“You may call me Bane…you are a medical professional, yes?”
She glared at him, refusing to answer.
His eyes crinkled at the ends and she could just imagine him smirking. “You don’t have to answer, Miss Sloan. Or nurse Sloan. You’re badge confirms my suspicion. You will do as I say, or I will trigger the bomb.” He slowly twisted the detonator between his thumb and forefinger, taunting her.
She laid her head in her hands, trying to wake from the nightmare. This wasn’t happening to her, it just wasn’t. Stuff like this only happened in the movies. He wasn’t here, she wasn’t here. She was in her stuffy little apartment in her stuffy little bedroom, in her warm bed, with Baxter The Cat. She could almost hear the traffic outside her bedroom window, smell the food from the diner on the first floor. It was all just a dr-
“Well?” Bane’s voice gave her a violent start.
She lifted her head and stared at the ceiling. “Do I have a choice?”
He gave a short, inhuman chuckle. “We all have a choice, Miss Sloan. Help me, or die. Those are your choices.” He pulled himself up, leaning his weight against the railing and unzipped his coat.
“Now, as I stated previously, I require you’re services.” He grunted as he pulled his colossal arms from the coat. “Medical services…I will give you fifteen minutes to gather what supplies you need to treat this.” He was bleeding from a mass of wounds in his chest and abdomen.