Matt ran a hand through his long dark brown hair, letting out a sigh.  He really would have preferred his brother sitting beside him, but they had wanted to be chivalrous to their female companion.  It wasn't that he didn't want Trish sitting beside him, or that he didn't like her - on the contrary, he was very fond of the little blonde.  However, after the events at the hospital, in which he and Jeff had discovered what was happening to Amy, he would have liked to be able to maybe share a few whispered words about the situation with his sibling.

The trio drove in relative silence for a few miles, the road noises and the music from the radio the only sounds for a long while.  Then, from the back, Jeff finally did the honors of being the first to broach the subject of their redheaded friend.

"God, poor Amy..."

"Yeah," Trish agreed with a wince.  "Poor Adam, too.  It's so horrible...I can't even begin to imagine what anguish they're going through right now - to lose their baby like that..."  She couldn't fathom such tragedy.  The blonde was also thinking about her fellow diva friend's other plight, but she wasn't about to blurt that out - not even to Matt and Jeff, who were such great friends of Amy's.

"Adam looks like he's in shock," Jeff observed.  "But I can't say I blame him...I mean, man!"

"They'll be all right," Matt stated optimistically.  "Both of them.  It'll take time, of course, but they're both such strong people."

"I just hope Amy's nightmares stop..."

Matt turned his head sharply, briefly looking away from the road to stare at Trish.  From the back, though belted in his seat securely by his lapbelt, Jeff leaned forward as best he could and stared at her as well.

The darker Hardy brother's face and voice were both serious as he asked her the question.  "You know about her nightmares?"

Trish bit her lip, then stared at Matt almost as if in shock.  She hadn't meant to let it slip...  "Yeah," she admitted in a small voice.  "When I went in to visit with her, she...she told me."

There was a brief moment of silence as the Hardys contemplated what all this meant.  Then, Jeff tapped the petite blonde on the shoulder.

"Oh, God...what does that...I mean, Trish...do you know?"

"Jeff!"  His older brother's voice was loud as he glared at him through the rearview mirror, shooting him a murderous look.

Trish's heart nearly stopped at the rainbow-haired young man's question - because, at that very moment, she knew for sure that her suspicions had proven to be correct.  Taking a deep breath, exhaling it and trying her best not to break into tears, the Canadian began to tell the two brothers about what she'd suspected...

*

The young woman slowly opened her eyes as she awoke, a pounding sensation in her head.  She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the overhead fluorescent light, initially disoriented but suddenly remembered...

She felt tears coming to her eyes as she took in her surroundings.  She was still in this Godforsaken basement, wherever this place was.  She'd dreamt that she was outside, roaming around through a field alone, happy and warm - feeling safe.

Oh, shit... It had all just been a dream - she didn't have her freedom, and she wouldn't anytime soon, as far as she could tell.  She'd been held prisoner here for days already.  What was the sicko planning on doing with her?  Keeping her here forever?

Harsh, brittle sobs escaped her, and she raised a hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to drown out the cries escaping her.  If her heard her, surely he'd come down here and torment her again...

Getting to her feet, the woman suddenly made up her mind.  Somehow, someway, she was going to get out of here.  She was going to get away, go back to where she belonged - go back home and report this psychopath.  Who knew how many other women before her had had to endure this kind of horror?  And how many others after her would suffer the same fate?

She wiped at the tears on her cheeks as she stared up at the small window behind her.  It was up quite high, but she thought it might be the key to her escape.  The asshole had a footstool down here - she knew because she'd seen it.  She wasn't a petite girl - she was five-feet, seven inches tall - so she figured she would be able to reach the window if she could only get to the footstool.

Her captor kept the small window covered so that nobody could see within his basement.  There was a long curtain with a pattern of dark gray covering it.  If she could get to the window - part the drapes, see outside... She might be able to call for help.  She was certain people passed by that window.  If she couldn't fit through it, perhaps she could open or break it and call out to someone for help...

She suddenly jumped about three feet in the air as she heard the cellar door creaking on its unoiled hinges as the bastard made his way down the stairs.  The thumping of his footsteps terrified her even more, and she hurriedly sat down on the floor, turned away from the window.  If he saw her staring at it... If he suspected for a second that she might be getting any ideas...

"Good morning, my sweet Angelica."

The young woman hung her head, daring to raise her eyes a bit so as to quickly glare at him.  He made her sick to her stomach.

John stepped further into the room, her breakfast plate in his right hand, a cup of hot coffee in a mug in his left.  He squatted down before her as he placed both on the floor, then reached into his pocket for a fork, laying that on the plate.  He stared at her wordlessly for a moment.

"Angelica, I brought you some pancakes this morning...I know they're your favorite breakfast," he said, his voice in a pleasant tone.

She refused to look up at him as she quietly reached for the fork.

"How about a thank you for going through so much trouble to get you these delicious pancakes?"

"Fuck you, asshole!" she shouted at the top of her lungs as she quickly brought back the fork and stabbed at him.  She let out a growl as the utensil got him in the upper arm, and the man fell back, surprise registering on his face.  He swiftly recovered, however, and he grabbed at her wrist to prevent any further damage.

"You little bitch!"  As his hand closed on her wrist, causing her to drop the fork, she had the cup of coffee in her other hand, and before he could react, she tossed it into his face.  He let out a bellow as the scalding hot liquid burned his flesh, his eyes.

The woman got up, taking advantage of the bastard's pain and distraction, and sprang across the room to the small nearby bathroom.  She chanced a glance over her shoulder just before reaching it, seeing the maniac a few feet behind her, stumbling, and realized she was going to make it.

She slammed and locked the door behind her, backing up and pressing herself against the wall beside the toilet as she listened to the sounds on the other side of the door.  The psycho was shouting obscenities, and she could hear he was nearing.  Then, her eyes went wide with fright, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest, breathing heavy, as he pounded on the door.

"If you don't come out of there, I'm breaking the door down, you ungrateful little slut!  And then, I'm going to make you feel sorry you were ever born..."

Her chest heaved with all the effort it took for her to breathe.  Oh, God... What was she going to do?  She instinctively knew the bastard wasn't going to give up easily.  If he didn't manage to break the door down, what if he had a key?  She imagined he might have one.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the tiny window behind her.  She'd never considered the window in this room... It was close enough to the toilet that she would be able to reach it.

The young woman put down the commode's lid, then climbed atop and reached over for the window's equally small shade.  Her heart pounded some more, this time with nearly giddy anticipation that she might now be seconds away from her escape... But as her hand moved the shade, her heart sank, and she let out a small gasp of disappointment.

"No!" she cried, her eyes taking in the small bars on the window.  Oh, God... What was she going to do now?  She felt hot tears coming as she lowered herself from the would-be way out, coming to sit on the closed toilet lid with her knees drawn up to her chest.  She sobbed bitterly, her throat feeling raw as she began to cry even harder, louder.

She began to draw within herself, actually successful enough at it that she no longer heard the asshole pounding on the door from the other side.  Nothing seemed to matter at the moment - the only thing she cared about was hiding herself in her soft, dark, safe place...

There, nothing could hurt or scare her.