Saturday mourning

This is a continuation of a story that was started by Kat at her Reflections blog. A sequel was written by Chris at Spontaneous Fiction and then Raynwomaan put together chapter three. This is the next instalment. I hope you enjoy it.

Noel had been waiting for a while. Something bad had happened, but what? She felt helpless, which was a feeling almost alien to her. Slowly, the fog in her mind cleared and she remembered: Ms. Friday.

She felt around her head for the lump she knew was there; the shock she felt as her fingers grazed a thick clump of blood and hair was still evident as she brought her shaking hands back to her lap. Why did she feel this way? It was so unlike her to feel scared, unsure. Noel tried to summon the strength and wherewithal to work out where she was, how she’d got there and how she was going to break out.

Glancing around, there appeared to be little for her to work with. A small table was bolted to the concrete floor, as was the squat chair in which she sat. A window – more an aperture – was placed high up on the wall, its glass strengthened with wire to prevent escape. It seemed hopeless, even to Noel.

Voices, faint and indistinct, were just audible to Noel as she sat contemplating her next move. She felt her body for more wounds, finding none; however, neither did she have her weapons. The voices came closer and she recognised Ms. Friday’s nefarious tone barking instructions at some poor subordinate. Noel wondered to herself whether he was a looker. Guilt washed over her as she recalled the last man she’d disposed of; he’d been quite something. Noel let out a sigh of regret and buried her head in her hands.

Ms. Friday opened the door and saw Noel, bent over and wracked by sobs. So, she thought, they had broken her at last. Noel looked up through her lank hair just as Ms. Friday entered the room, a small man with glasses trailing in her wake.

"So, you’re awake now, are you?" Ms. Friday hissed. Noel ignored her, wiping the backs of her hands across her eyes to remove any trace of her tears.

"Well," Ms. Friday continued, "Dr. Scramton will access you now and then we will decide how you will die. Believe me, it won’t be a pleasant method I choose, pain is something you will almost certainly feel. There’s something about torture that makes me wet." Ms. Friday turned on her spiked heel, laughing. The echo of the door slamming filled the silence of the room.

Noel looked over Dr. Scramton. He wouldn’t be that difficult to overpower, surely? He stared at her through his thick glasses, the clipboard in his hand resting on his thigh.

"Hi, Nnnn-noel – ccccc-can I cccccc-call you Nnnnn-noel?" he stammered.

"Sure thing honey," she replied, giving him her best doe-eyed look. "So, you need to give me the once over, do you? Best get it over with honey, I ain’t got all day."

Dr. Scramton moved towards her, shuffling his feet across the concrete floor. He stopped just out of arm’s reach.

"C’mon Doc, you can’t check me over from there." Noel moved her legs slightly apart, giving the good doctor a glimpse of her red lace panties. She saw his eyes light up. Then, quickly she was on her feet, her hands around his throat. The light in his eyes dulled as his windpipe was crushed.

"I’m sorry, Doctor, but Saturday is not a day on which I choose to die. I prefer death to be a Friday. A Ms. Friday to exact."

She moved the dead weight of the doctor’s body into the corner and rifled through his pockets. On his person he had one comb, complete with grey hairs, a map of the compound and a small torch. Nevermind, thought Noel, I could use the excitement of having no weapons. After all, the past two days have been fairly boring.

With that, Noel slipped out of the room skulking down the gloomy corridors in search of her nemesis, Ms. Friday.

The story continues here