Lara's POV

Even with my eyes closed, I knew I was in no place I would recognise. Because if I was, I would know the freezing wet surface that I was sprawled upon and why cold had seeped into every inch of my body.

I could hear the sound of trickling water in the distance, along with the deadly silence of isolation. I knew I would find no comfort in opening my eyes.

I clenched my fingers, scraping them against the rough surface. Exhaustion overpowered my need for survival and I struggled to find the motivation to move. Maybe the clown would think I was already dead and leave me be, or, better yet, kill me quickly.

How long had I been gone? Had anybody noticed? Would anybody care?

I knew it was unlikely, especially with the last fight I'd had with my mum. She would think I had run away and there was no doubt she wouldn't bother looking for me. I wished she would, though. I wished somebody would care where I was, or be sad when they realise what happened to me.

How long would it take my friends to figure it out? What if they didn't talk to each other until school started, and only realised then? Or worse yet, what if they saw that my mum moved and assumed I moved with her, without saying goodbye? Would they even care?

But I had to believe they would. Even if they didn't notice my absence for ages, I had to believe they'd come for me, even if to just find my dead body.

A cough snapped me out of my thoughts and I froze, trying my best not to breathe. If the clown saw that I was awake, there would be no chance for my survival. There was another cough, followed by a groan. The sound was coming from a few metres away, in the direction behind me. There was the clank of chains, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

How would It do it? Would it be quick, like a slit to the throat or a stab to the chest, or would it be slow? Will my death be dragged out to serve as a better feast of fear? There was another clank of chains, and I tensed, not being able to help but open my eyes.

I should have done that earlier, because the sight that lay before me was enough to make me so still and cold that nobody would mistake me for a live body.

I wasn't in a basement , or in a house, or anything like that. I was in the sewers. And, in the middle of the room, piles upon piles of junk lay in a humongous pyramid, items ranging from broken bicycles to old raincoats. They were stacked in a way that almost defied the rules of gravity, in a shape that resembled a box of popcorn. And as my eyes trailed further and further upwards, I realised what everything was. At first it looked as if some of the objects were floating, slowly orbiting around the top of the tower, but after looking at it for a couple of seconds, there was no mistaking them for what they were.

Children, all the missing kids, were up there. Dead or alive, I couldn't tell.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight and I let out a choked sob, alerting whatever was behind me of my consciousness. But I couldn't care less, because I was looking at what seemed to be every single missing person in Derry; at least, those that weren't eaten as a meal.

I heard the clank of chains again, but I still couldn't look away. Was this what was going to happen to me? Would I be floating up there with everyone else, in a state that seemed neither alive, nor dead enough to be bones and rotten flesh?

"La... Lara?" I heard the voice groan from behind me, but still, I refused to look away. Let it be quick, whatever was about to happen to me. Let my death be as painless as death could be. "Lara?... Oh god, Lara..."

My breath hitched in my throat. That voice... That voice was heart wrenchingly familiar. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.

"Please... Not again..." the voice said again, and I turned around to look at the face that had been haunting me the last week.

Patrick was haggard and thin, covered in wounds from days of torture and without food. He was slumped against the wall, his arms chained and in shackles, blood crusted around his wrist. His hair stuck to his forehead and his clothes hung to his skin; clothes that I recognised from the day I had last seen him.

I let out a choked sob and pushed myself off the floor, black spots dotting my vision as blood rushed to my head. My legs wobbled as I tried to take a step forward, but I put my hand out onto a protruding drain to balance myself.

As soon as I could see straight again, I stumbled towards Patrick. He was looking at me with an expression of disbelief, which I was sure was a reflection of my own.

"Patrick?" I sobbed, coming to a stop at his feet. Exhaustion took over me once again and I collapsed to my knees. I felt his gaze on me as I closed my eyes and tears streamed down my face.

Patrick was alive.

But how? Why hadn't the clown killed him, or turned him into one of those floating corpses yet?

"Lara... You have to get out of here..." his voice was raspy when he spoke, but lacked any emotion or drive. He sounded monotone, as if he didn't really care whether I listened to him or not.

"Why... Patrick, what happened to you? How long have you been down here? How are you..." still alive, I wanted to finish, but I didn't. Instead, I grabbed the chains that bound him to the wall and started pulling. He watched me with a blank face as I struggled and I gave up with a groan.

He continued to look at me with the same expression and I stared back. There was a gash on his cheek running from the side of his temple to the corner of his mouth. I reached my hand out to touch it, but he flinched away.

"Patrick? What's wrong?" I asked, startled by his behaviour. He didn't reply, and that worried me even more. "Did I do something wrong?" He continued to stare at me, this time with barely concealed hatred. "Patrick, please, let me help you." I begged, reaching up to grab his chains. He pushed me away with his knee and I fell onto my back with a startled yelp.

"Stop pretending." he hissed, and I gaped at him in shock.

"Patrick I don't know what you're-"

"I said stop it!" he yelled, a murderous glint in his eyes. He lunged towards me but was resisted by the chains. I scuttled back in fear.

"Patrick! I don't understand... Please, let me-" I hesitantly reached my arm towards him again, but a growl sounded out of his throat and I flinched away. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He continued to glare at me without replying. I stood up angrily, uselessly wiping at my legs to get the layers of muck off my skin.

"Do you not want my help or something?" I hissed. "Do you like being down here?" Still, the same harsh expression with no reply.

"Fine, Patrick. Stay down here while I get the fuck out." I snapped, waiting for him to protest or ask me to take him with me, but it never came.

"Oh my god! I worry about you for days, thinking you'd either run away or that stupid clown had gotten to you, and when I finally see you again, you can't even talk to me! You literally pushed me away!"

His expression faltered and he sighed. "Fine. Please, get me out."

I tried to suppress my smile of relief as I bent down to grip his shackles again, but I was sure it showed a little. I felt his gaze on me as I started pulling, letting out groans of frustration as it wouldn't budge. Feeling my strength start to fade, I gave one last yank when my face was slammed into the wall.

I heard the crunch as my nose and mouth hit the concrete. A choked yell escaped my throat as I fell to the floor and tears swam in my vision, pain stabbing every inch of my face. I tried to shuffle away, but Patrick grabbed my leg and pulled me back.

I barely offered any resistance as he wrapped his legs around my torso and gripped my neck with his hands. I knew my nose was broken as blood gushed down my face, the metallic taste filling my mouth and the gap where my front tooth had been.

I wondered where it had gone. Maybe I swallowed it.

As Patrick squeezed my neck tighter, the pain in my face faded as the burning sensation in my chest increased. I had barely registered his betrayal when I felt his lips at my ear.

"You'll never replace me." he hissed.

Spots dotted my vision and the world was about to go black, when he let go abruptly as a high pitched giggle sounded from behind us.