Solitirium

Sometime during the expedition, the rain had stopped and the sun began to rise over the horizon. Unfortunately, the sudden break of day did not convey a new outlook on the situation; the woman had not gotten a second of sleep for fear she would not wake up, and she was still convinced that, while in the man's grasp, there would be a morning when she would not awaken.

The car slowed as they neared a house--the first one the woman had noticed in miles--and the man steered into the driveway.

"Get out," he demanded without looking back at her, "Know that there's nowhere to run." She did as he ordered and opened the car door, following him toward the entrance of the house, which he opened to reveal a quite plain interior; the floors were wooden and the walls were unpainted. To the left there was a hallway adorned with closed doors, and to the right of the front door, there was a couch and a small television, in front of which a large black dog lay on a pillow fit for its great size.

The man led her through the room with the couch and into a kitchen where there was yet another closed door. The woman thought it would have lead to a pantry, but when the man opened it, it unveiled a staircase descending into a well-lit room.

"Go."

Before making her way down the stairs, she realized she had never looked at her attacker's face in the light. However, as soon as she looked, she found she could not look away; he was surprisingly normal. She was expecting to see the face of a killer, a face with horrid scars and a permanent scowl, but she saw an attractive young face in its early thirties with dark hair and a mysterious ambiance.

That was, until she looked in his eyes. When her eyes locked with his metallic grey orbs, she knew that she was staring into the soul of a slayer. They were filled with hate, with secrecy, and with an undeniable sense of wrath. He stared back into hers, unmoving, until she turned around and advanced down into the basement. She heard the click of the lock when her feet touched the wood floor, almost hoping that he would not retrieve her from the depths so she would not have to look at him again.

"Hi."

The woman jumped a foot in the air at the sound of another voice, letting a small cry of surprise escape her lips. Once she was over the shock, she turned to see to whom the voice had belonged.

"Hi," she reciprocated, still slightly staggered from the greeting.

"I'm Damian," the voice said, the face it belonged to smiling. The woman looked at him differently than she had looked at her kidnapper; she started with his eyes, which were soft and somewhat sad, yet welcoming...Far from the eyes of a killer. He looked about her age, with an angular, attractive face topped with short dark hair.

"Damian," she repeated, "I'm Elana."

They both exchanged genuine smiles that lingered until Elana spoke again, "What's going on?" she said, shaking her head slightly and frowning. Damian sighed, not having an answer for her.

"I'm not sure. That guy hasn't said anything or even come down here; I don’t think he's going to kill us though...But I don't know why..." he trailed off as if deep in thought.

Elana nodded, "How long have you been here?"

"A day or so."

She nodded again, and looked around the room. She spotted a very welcoming sofa adorned with a blanket and pillow as well as a slightly ajar door, through which she could see parts of a bathroom. She walked over to the couch and lay down, staring straight up at the ceiling.

She unwillingly closed her eyes, and before she knew it, Elana was captured by a deep sleep. Damian, however, remained awake and listened to the thud of the man's footsteps above their heads; they were moving more quickly than usual.

"He has something planned."