How in the world does this guy get by without a clock?

You'd flopped onto your back after you were sure Jack wasn't planning on bursting back in. You were staring at the bulb on the ceiling now, hoping that despite its weakness, you'd go blind if you looked at it long enough. So far all you'd managed were small spots when you looked around. But, you figured, progress is progress, and the sooner I'm crippled, the sooner he has no use for me and I end up dead.

The thought made you smile, but that faded quickly when you remembered that Jack himself was blind. He didn't act like he was blind; in fact, you wouldn't know if you hadn't asked him. Maybe it's the mask that's throwing me off because I can't see where his eyes are going. Or maybe he's just really good at using his other senses.

Whatever his limits were, you knew that when Jack was around, there was no hope of you getting anywhere. He kept within five feet of you when he could help it, which was essentially always. His attentions were fully yours, and you didn't like it one bit.

Why did it have to be me? And what gives him the right to do this to me, to keep me here against my will like some kind of animal? I'm a person, for God's sake, and so is he!

Your anger grew more and more as each second passed. It was as if someone had set a fire in your stomach, and the smoke was billowing up out of your gut and into your head.

It was made even worse by the fact that you had given up on yourself so soon. You knew, somewhere inside of yourself, that it was only natural given the hopelessness of the situation, but the smoke was clouding that thought. Instead, you could only think of your parents.

Even if they're gone now, I have to stay alive for them. They wouldn't want me to give up so easily, and they'd definitely never let me give up because of them. I've got to stay alive for their memories.

The thought of your parents gave you a strength you never thought you'd find in this dreary place. You were hardly scared of the pain anymore – you'd get out of here, or die trying.

But what if he doesn't kill me?

You shivered. If you tried to escape and failed...

Jack seemed the type to know exactly what to do to torture someone. And, even if he wasn't, then his friends were. The clown was the first to come to your mind. He'd done that to your parents, a pair of innocent people who had never wronged him or anyone he knew. What would he do to you?

You'd never gotten a good look at the other man you'd met, but you feared him, too. His temper was one of the worst you'd ever seen. Even when he didn't seem mad, like when he was carrying you through the woods, he gave off a very excitable aura. If you managed to piss him off, you'd be dead for sure.

But your thoughts drifted to something Jack had said.

"I'm the only one allowed to hurt you."

It sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't doubt that he'd meant what he had said. He'd take out all of his anger on you if he felt even the slightest inclination to do so. You could barely even stand the thought of his wrath.

No. Don't let him scare you. Dying is the easiest thing in the world to do – raise your expectations.

You were determined, now. The smoke from your stomach was clouding every last one of your thoughts, and you genuinely felt that it was possible to beat Jack and his sick, twisted friends. Your head fell to the side, and the bookshelf caught your eye. You had half a mind to pick one up and attack him with it as soon as he came through the door.

But, unfortunately, you knew better.

If I'm going to get out of here, I have to know the way. That clown just teleported me here, and I have no idea where I am, besides that it's a basement.

You tried to piece together a plan in your head.

All I need to do right now is gain his trust. He might be crazy, but he's still capable of that, right? If I can get him to take me somewhere, maybe to make my own food or something...but that could take forever!

This is nothing like the romance novels.

You stood up and started pacing around the room, trying to come up with more ideas.

He kidnapped me because I 'smell good'... and he was drinking my tears. Maybe he's delusional and I can trick him into letting me around, or something?

You ran your hands through your hair and sighed in frustration. You turned around to continue your pacing, and your eyes caught the bookshelf again. You approached it hesitantly, and when you saw the braille markings on the spines of his collections, you had an idea.

You heard the key jiggling in the lock, and turned around as the door cracked open.

Here goes nothing, I guess.