Devil

Don't go out after seven.

If you must travel at night, do so on well lit roads.

Seek transportation when it's available.

Look sharp. Don't dilly dally.

And if you catch a glimpse of the boy with murder in his eyes...

... you better run like hell.

_____

Everything was black. The bag over her head was comprised of dark, thick, rough fabric. It was tight to her face, scratching at her forehead, nose, and cheeks. But not so tight nor so thick that it would be of any use to her as far as an attempt at suffocation would go.

Without her vision, she became acutely aware of the feeling of every aspect of the room against her unclothed form.

Cold. So cold it burned, stinging and pricking, particularly the skin of her back as it pressed against the steel of the table.

She couldn't feel her arms. They were shackled somewhere above her head and had been for some time. The sharp, copper tinged scent of blood hung faintly in the air; her reward for struggling against the arm restraints.

Her midsection ached from a combination of hunger and her attempt at holding in her eliminations. Though she was unsure of how much time had passed within the room, it had been enough to eclipse the time necessary for her body to begin signaling its natural needs.

As her gut wrenched and her bowels gurgled, her throat convulsed into a hiccup, bringing bile with it. Perhaps she would vomit and choke on it.

Swallowing reflexively, she felt the drawstring securing the bag over her head rub against the skin of her neck and wondered if there was a way she could use it to strangle herself.

Of course not, what a silly notion. It wouldn't be that easy.

Pain shot up and down her legs, her ankles chaffing against the metal cuffs around them as her feet fidgeted. As she flexed them toward her and away again, the restraints that bound her thighs to the table tightened from the movement, smashing the muscle and causing her to cry out.

If I'm going to die here, how long must I wait? I've done nothing to deserve this... Tears swelled and burned in her eyes, running down her cheeks and wetting the bag.

"Please," She whispered raggedly. "Please, I've done nothing wrong. I followed the rules. All of them."

And even if I hadn't... The screech of a metal door sliding open met her ears, the sudden intrusion on her sense of hearing causing them to ring. She could barely make out the rustle of his movements over the ringing, but she knew he had moved to stand beside her.

"Quite a performance you're putting on, Nanako Maeda." His voice was dripping with ill intent, layered over an undertone of boredom. A vocal sneer if there ever was one.

As he spoke her name, her spine stiffened and she felt herself push back against the table, recoiling in fear, eyes wide beneath the covering. Her heart stopped and she felt her body grow even colder, fear producing sweat from every pore.

... You're supposed to be dead.

"I have to say, I'm loving every minute of it."