Caught

Nineteen inhaled a ragged breath, coughing out a spate of dust, aggravating my asthma. Breath gone, she choked on dust particles tickling the back of my throat. For every inhale, she breathed in more dust. She rolled onto her back and nearly brought up a lung trying to get it out.

Her throat burned, lungs seeking out much needed air. Laying on her back didn't help. She struggled to sit up, muscles twitching. Mind and body would not connect and she flailed like an overturned turtle.

What was Nineteen doing here? The last thing she remembered was some kind of chemical scented rag over her mouth. She had lost consciousness and woke up here. Wherever here was.

The weight of an elephant sat on her chest. Lungs constricted, she tried not to give into fear. The combination of dust and mold made breathing difficult brought to mind an image of a little girl who couldn't breathe. She had light blonde hair. There was a man with clean shaven cheeks and mustache. The little girl had been running then all of a sudden she couldn't breathe. The man lifted the little girl up.

Just as suddenly, the image vanished like a puff of smoke. What had that meant? Up to now Nineteen had no memories save from the Lab. This memory shouldn't have existed. Clear as day. She could feel the sunlight baking her head. Feel the wind of the summer breeze flushed on her cheek. Hear the whispers of the man. Not Papa. Some other man.

She rolled onto her stomach, holding her breath until the combination of sheer willpower and the desire to breathe got her to her hands and knees. Chilled from both fear and the damp room, Nineteen got to her feet. She shook all over. Locked up once again. "No," she whispered, "I won't go back." Flashes of her room set in the corner away from the others mingled with the little girl who couldn't breathe.

Images warred in her mind from the tapes she had absorbed always returning to the sunny day at odd intervals. There was a connection somewhere, there had to be. Was she, in fact, that little girl? How? Eleven had a Mom. She had learned that from the tapes. Was the man in her head her real dad? Had she been taken too? Had all the children?

She had to get out of here. Had to find Eleven. Get back to her. Together, they could figure it out. But this room. The cement floor and the cement walls made escape difficult. Nineteen would try anyway. She wasn't about to give up. Eleven needed her. In the dim light of a distant hanging bulb, she walked around the room. The walls were made of cement blocks, same as the floor. As she sought out the elusive door, she kicked up a peculiar scent of bleach and mold.

Wherever she was, it wasn't the lab. Was she still in Hawkins or had they transported her somewhere else? Someplace further away? She didn't have the answers unless she got out of here. Her feet kicked at debris as she circled the room, bits of wall crumbled beneath her hands. Okay, so not completely solid. She had a chance. If she could find the door, chances were the knob was metal.

Halfway around the room, Nineteen tripped over something. "A bag!" Was it hers? Of course not. Nineteen had no bag. She picked up and took it over to the circle of light. The bag was lightweight and small. Pink and purple colors with the seams red. No clue as to the contents or the owner. She unzipped the bag and stared at the contents inside. A candle, a single match and an inhaler.

She had a light, dim as it was, so the candle and match were useless. Nineteen grasped the inhaler in her hand. The weight felt familiar. She turned it over carefully, studying it. A typical inhaler with a mouthpiece and an injection button. She'd been breathing in short gulps of air ever since she woke up. Walking around the dust encrusted room increased the weight on her chest. Without thinking, she shook the inhaler and sprayed the contents into my lungs. Instant relief. "Huh." How had she known what to do? Why was the bag so familiar?

While the inhaler helped her breathing, all three puzzled her. How would any of these items help her get out of the room? She pocketed the inhaler keeping it with me just in case. The candle and match stayed in the bag. Nineteen zipped it closed and pulled the bag onto her shoulder. She licked dry, chapped lips. What she won't give for a bottle of water. Couldn't they have included one? The bag had plenty of room. Whoever they were, they had thought to include the oddest items but no water.

Feeling as if she were being watched, she walked the room again seeking an alternative means of escape. No windows. One locked door. Nothing to climb on to get to the light in the ceiling. It flickered far too much casting her in darkness half the time. She hoped it would stay on until she found a way out.

On my tenth trek around, the light bulb popped plunging Nineteen in total darkness. She groped for the candle and the match, lighting it with shaky hands. The candle allowed her to bring the light close to the walls. Using it helped her to find the door quickly.

The knob rattled in her hand. Locked. Of course it was locked. Frustrated, she set the candle down and pounded on the door. "Let me out!" She hit the unyielding metal until the thin skin on her knuckles busted out. Blood dripped down to her wrists. "Ugh!"

From the room in the basement to another room similar in shape and size. Her heart felt as if it were about to jump out of her chest. Why had she gone back to the lab? She should have waited at the cabin as Joyce told her to. She would be there right now. Maybe with Eleven, eating a meal perhaps or watching some TV show. She'd be safe instead of in danger. Free, instead of stuck.

Fear built in her chest, causing her to hyperventilate. Her fingers curled into fists. A violent shudder tore through her body making all the hair on her head stand on end. What was happening? She glanced down. Tiny sparks of light emitted from her fists. Even without water, she could use her powers. The water would have helped bring her powers to the forefront sooner but it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was getting out.

With her hands on the door, the metal gave way, past its melting point. Soon, a human sized hole appeared. Nineteen took up the candle and the bag and stepped through the opening. The light from the candle illuminated a short hallway. The walls were covered with cobwebs and caked on dirt. Was she back down in the basement? Why would someone go to the bother of jabbing her with a needle if they were just going to leave her?

She took one step at a time, heart hammering. She had gotten out twice already. What was the purpose of locking her up? Maybe they had wanted to see if she had any powers. The thought sent chills down her spine. Sure. Go through this elaborate set up to ensure they knew what they were dealing with.

Why now after all this time? Had Papa come back? If so, why hadn't he just talked to her? She had no answers. In the midst of the questions persisted the image of the little girl. An anchor in a sea of lies and half truths.

The flame flickered wildly, a breeze from some hidden fan threatened to snuff it out. She held the candle closer to my face, unwilling to stumble along in darkness. No telling what could be lurking in the shadows up ahead.

A banging vibration was felt through the floor. Nineteen jumped, nearly dropping the candle. She clutched it too tightly, hot wax burning her fingers. What if the candle burned down to nothing before she found a way out? What would she do then? Nineteen picked up the pace, determined to find the exit before that happened. She had spent quite some time alone, in the dark for far too long.

The hallway seemed to go on forever but eventually she reached the end of it. She scanned the walls. No door. No way. Not possible. Her heart sank. After all that effort, she was trapped. Carefully, she scanned the hallway, turning slowly in a circle. Solid wall. Solid wall. Window. She spun back. Wait, what was that? She stepped closer. There was a window.

She stepped closer. The flame revealed another hallway on the other side of the glass. She rapped the window with her knuckles. The glass gave off a strange vibration that traveled down to the floor and through her shoes. There was only one way out. Through the glass.