Death Follows Her

The darkness enveloped me, accompanied by the musty scent of damp earth and decaying flesh. Time was a blur in this pit, and the ones who put me here had not returned for what felt like an eternity. Agonizing pain coursed through my body, as if I were being consumed by flames in various places. My sharp tongue had gotten me into this predicament, and there was no way out. All I could do was pray for a swift end to my suffering, unsure if I could hold on much longer. In the distance, I could hear footsteps approaching, likely belonging to my tormentor returning to extract the information they desired. I was utterly alone, my only source of solace already destroyed by their hands. All I could hope for was that my husband's body would be discovered and given a proper burial - a small mercy owed to him.

As the door creaked open, a dark figure entered the room. The overpowering scent of his sickly-sweet cologne filled my nostrils, reminding me of his presence. His voice, like a catchy tune, was etched into my mind, never to be forgotten. My swollen and bruised eyes caught the glint of a knife in his hand, stained with dried blood - my blood. As it sliced through my flesh like hot butter, I winced and bit my lip to stifle a cry. I refused to give him the pleasure of hearing me scream. In a flash, it was over, and he hastily made his exit. I couldn't understand what made him stop, but I couldn't hold back the bile rising in my throat. He wanted me to pay for his troubles, constantly reminding me that I owed him for the "little bitch" and that I should have kept my opinions to myself.

Despite the pain and suffering, I vowed to seek retribution from the bastard who brought me to this desolate place. His actions had left me with permanent scars that would never truly heal. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire pierced through the silence. Confusion set in - why would I hear such chaos? No one knew my whereabouts, stranded in this far-off pit of despair. As the commotion grew louder, I mustered the last of my strength to crawl towards what seemed like a door. The blood loss had weakened me to the point of unconsciousness, yet my hand felt the dampness of wood and I began desperately pounding on it. My voice, hoarse from screams, was barely audible, but I refused to give up hope that someone would hear my plea for help.

My vision began to darken as the door slowly creaked open. A familiar voice echoed through the room, but I couldn't trust my ears. I recoiled in fear, thinking it was just another figment of my imagination. "Becca?" the voice called out, "It's me, Derek. I've found you. You're safe now." I shook my head in disbelief. Could it really be him? Has he finally found me? Another figure appeared in the doorway, "Did you locate her? Is she still alive?" Derek whispered, "Yes, but she's in bad shape. There's blood everywhere. Her clothes are shredded."

The second shadow spoke, "Alright, let's bring in Doc to check if we can transport her. We need to make a move before they bring in reinforcements." The first shadow nodded in agreement, his eyes locking onto mine. Despite the harsh conditions, I tried to focus my vision. My eyes were swollen shut for so long that I feared I might never see again. Suddenly, another figure entered with a blanket and a duffle bag. They draped the blanket over me and the one called Doc approached with an object, reaching for my arm. Panic consumed me and I began to scream and thrash my fists. I was determined to fight back and survive.

The initial shadow spoke in a soothing tone, "Becca, you gotta relax. The doc is simply administering an IV. We need to stabilize you before we can transport you. Everything will be alright, I promise. They won't harm you. You know me, you can trust me. Look at me." With great effort, I attempted to sit up, but he grasped my hands and placed them on his face. Drawing closer, I peered into his eyes. It was him. It was Derek. How did he manage to locate me? The last time we met, he had just returned from his last mission. We had discussed his plans to leave the military and join my company.

Through my tears, I cried out "Derek? They killed him. They callously laughed and dragged him away. We must find him. I can't leave him here alone. Please, I beg you, help me." Derek reassured me, "Don't worry. We located him. The other team has picked him up. He's now on the helicopter. I promise we will bring you both back home. But for now, I need to stabilize you for transport. Your injuries are severe." I could only numbly nod, knowing he was right, yet struggling to accept the truth. As the other man finally managed to find a vein in my hand and start the IV, I could feel the drugs coursing through my body, bringing warmth and relief. My head began to droop and I felt myself drifting away. But Derek held onto me tightly, his strong arms supporting me. The doctor gave his approval and Derek carefully lifted me up, surprised by how little I weighed after weeks of deprivation without proper food or water.

He was incredibly gentle, despite the fact that my legs and back were still raw and bleeding. He and the other two men quickly made their way down a corridor. My eyes were only half open, my mind still foggy from the effects of the medication. I knew it was probably for the best that I couldn't see anything. The sounds of gunfire and screams only meant one thing - chaos and destruction. As we stepped out into the cold air, it hit me like a ton of bricks and I gasped for breath. Derek looked down at me, his expression full of concern. "Hang on, Becca," he said soothingly. "We'll be in the air in just a few minutes. Just try to relax. You can sleep if you need to. I won't let you go. Dad would be furious if I did." I could only nod in response, my body feeling completely limp and exhausted. In that moment, I knew that Derek would have my unwavering loyalty for his actions that night, and his father would receive a heartfelt thank you as well.

The hours following that moment were a hazy blur. It felt like an eternity up in the air. I could barely make out the darkened body bag next to me. It contained my closest confidant, my husband, my protector. But in the end, I couldn't rescue him. His heart simply gave up and betrayed him, just as I had failed him. Could I ever forgive myself for not being able to save him? Would I have the strength to endure and seek retribution against the one responsible?