The Return of Doctor Locklear

I'm afraid I don't have much time to tell you this, so I must be brief. I know I am not a perfect man. I have done many bad things. Terrible things. But I'm not bad person. I don't go out and intentionally commit these sins, it just seems that bad things always have a way of finding me. I'm chronically in the wrong place at the worst time.
 	
But this time's different. I'm innocent. Even the court systems agree with me, as I was fully acquitted and released from police custody yesterday. Or at least I think it was yesterday, I'm not really sure of time at the moment. 
You see, on my way home, a series of terrorizing events led me to where I am now: huddled in a filthy storage closet, holding my breath while hiding for my life. I can hear the footsteps creaking across the dim room on the other side of the door. It'll only be a matter of time until he realizes I'm in here. 
If he doesn't find me, I'll make a break for it and head straight to the police. But if I'm not so lucky... well, I'm frantically typing this into the shattered screen of my phone. I'll queue it in my emails to send off as soon as my phone is brought back into signal one way or another. I need someone, ANYONE to know what is happening here, and catch this lunatic.
As I mentioned, it all started the night I was acquitted of my crimes. It had been a long and ugly court battle, and I was beyond elated to have my name cleared. It had been nearly two months since I had been allowed the simple comfort of sleeping in my own bed. 
You see, no one had been willing to pay my bond, so I had been in the county jail for the remainder of my trial. But all of that was finally over, and I chose to revel in the fresh air as I walked the last several blocks home, rather than take a cab. It was then that I first noticed something amiss.
I could have sworn that I had seen a man following me. I just caught a glimpse of him, but I was certain of it. If it had just been some ordinary man, perhaps I wouldn't have even thought twice about it, but there was just something off about him. He seemed so familiar.
Yes, that's right. I have seen this man before. I hadn't made the connection until now, but I am certain it is the same man. He was in the courtroom. He was there, watching my trial. That tall, gaunt-looking man. 
Despite having what I assume was a darker olive complexion, he appeared quite the unnatural sickly pale. And he had these striking blue eyes that bore into me with such accusation I couldn't bear to hold the gaze. His long black curls looked wild and unkempt as if they hadn't been washed for days. But it was his attire that was more bizarre yet. He wore a long dark robe that seemed out of place in this century. It was really quite odd. I'm not even sure how he got in there as he didn't seem to be a member of the jury, and as far as I could tell he wasn't related to the family of the alleged victim.
I get shivers up my spine just thinking about the way he looked at me. I've never seen such calm collected hatred concentrated into a simple glance before. I suppose that should have sent off alarm bells in my head right away, but how could I have known any better? I had never seen that man before in my life, and for all I was concerned, he had never seen me either.
But I was wrong. He had seen me before. He knew exactly who I was and all about my history of chronic bad decisions. When I saw him scurry out of sight through my peripheral vision, I should have made a break for it. I should have ran home, locked the doors, and immediately phoned the police. But you know what they say about hindsight; it's 20/20.
No, instead of fleeing for my life like a much wiser man would have, I let curiosity get the better of me and turned around to see where he had slipped away to. The sun was just beginning to set, but there was still enough light in the day for me to feel the confidence to round the corner into the alleyway in which my pursuer had vanished.
The alley was narrow and stank like piss; no doubt it made a home base for some local vagabonds. Other than a few dumpsters and an abandoned shopping cart, there was nothing to be seen. I had just begun to turn back out onto the street when I heard a soft clatter coming from the shadows.
In an instant, I had whipped around to search for the source of the noise. It was then that I noticed the shadowy figure leaning against one of the brick façades. Just over six-feet tall, I immediately recognized that strange, out of place robe.
Just then, the now rapidly setting sun cast a gleam of light over my observer's face, once again revealing those deep blue, hatred filled eyes. The expression he wore seemed to mock me, daring me to confront him. So, I gladly obliged.
Another horrific mistake. As I charged him, I did not see the ever so thin wire stretching from the bottom of the shopping cart to the adjacent dumpster. My ankle was immediately filled with the searing pain as the wire dug into my flesh, sending me crashing to the ground. Before I could regain my composure the man was on top of me, shoving a rag over my mouth and nose. It was a familiar scent. Chloroform.
By the time I woke up, the sun had completely set. The only reason I knew this was because of the dusty old window across the room from which I could just barely make out the night sky. It took me a moment to come to my senses. But when I did I immediately knew something was horribly wrong.
I was in some sort of dimly lit room. I tried to look around but found it difficult, as I had been strapped to a gurney. From what I could gather from glimpses through my peripheral vision, it looked as though I were in the middle of someone's sitting room. It was completely dark save for the flickering of an old box television on a rolling cart. Despite most of the furnishings remaining in good condition, I doubted anyone had actually lived here for a long time.
I tugged at my restraints but found them to be secure. Just as I began to panic I heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by the squeal of ungreased wheels. Not knowing what to do, I laid as still as I could manage and pretended that I had not yet regained consciousness. 
This either worked or the loony decided to play along, because he did not disturb me. Instead he continued to push whatever it was that was making the horrible racket until it came to a stop right beside me. It wasn't until he began cooing over it as if it were a frightened child that I realized I must not be alone in this predicament. 
Through the madman's soft babblings I could hear the muffled sobs of another grown man. I was too focused on attempting to keep my breath steady and remain undetected that I didn't hear exactly what my captor was saying. However, based on his demeanor, it sounded as if he were attempting to comfort the now pitifully weeping man beside me.
The sound of the poor man's apparent agony was too much for me to maintain my resolve. For a split second, I inhaled suddenly before frantically attempting to regain my steady breathing pattern. I broke out into cold sweat when I heard the madman grow silent. I closed my eyes tight as I heard tender footfalls approach me. 
A gloved hand gingerly rested upon my temple for a moment before quickly withdrawing at the sound of a shrill cry from the man beside me. Clicking his tongue, I heard the madman leave my side once again.
After tending to the man to my left for a few more minutes, my captor announced that something was nearly ready, and the man beside me didn't have much longer to wait. He then promptly left the room, his dark robe flowing ominously behind him.
I took this moment to try and find out as much as I could. I tried my restraints again and found that the ones holding my head in place were old and a bit loose. After a bit of finagling, I was able to completely turn my head to the side to gaze upon my involuntary companion. It was then that the true horror of the situation struck me.
The man across from me lay strapped to a similar gurney. He appeared to be stripped of his clothing, as I could see his bare flesh rising and falling in an unsteady panic. Across the pale heaving canvas, I could make out a crisscrossing grid of pen marks. The dashed lines were laid about in a way that highlighted certain parts of the torso. 
A chilling thought sent a shiver down my spine. The marks seemed to map out all the man's vital organs. Did... Did our captor intend to carve them out?
No, I couldn't panic yet. I had to keep my head if I was going to make it out with my life. I turned once more to glance at the poor soul beside me, and that's when I noticed him returning the gaze.
He looked exhausted and stared at me through tear-stained eyes. He wore an expression of utter hopelessness and defeat, and he barely even reacted to my presence. Since my unfortunate friend made no attempt to start a conversation, I decided to make the first move. 
I tried to ask him his name, but all that came out was a harsh croak. I took a moment to clear my dried out throat before trying again. This time I was able to produce a few words.
"Hey?" I muttered. 
The man's eyes came to a focus on me, but he said nothing.
"Hey?" I repeated again, "Do you know where we are? What the hell is all of this? That man; do you know anything about him?"
Finally, that seemed to snap him to attention. He began shifting uncomfortably and motioning to the door from which the man had exited moments ago with his eyes. I was confused by this and didn't understand why he didn't just answer me, so I asked again.
He furrowed his brow and then opened his mouth to respond. But all that came out was a muffled cry of sorts. It was then that I noticed the stained gauze shoved in his mouth. He struggled with it for a moment before finally spitting it out, the soiled white cotton landing unceremoniously on his shaking chest.
I couldn't help but let my mouth drop in horror. The poor man... someone had all but removed his tongue. It had to have been our captor, as the wound still looked fairly fresh. Oddly enough, the incision looked quite precise. It was a clean cut with minimal trauma to the surrounding areas. This wasn't just your run of the mill psychopath with a butcher knife. Whoever had abducted us was clearly some sort of professional with medical training.
The man tried desperately to communicate with me, but the lack of his oral appendage made it almost impossible to understand. He kept mouthing the same few syllables, but I had no idea what they meant. However, within moments I found his manic mumblings turn into frantic screams as the door to our holding chamber opened once more. I threw my head back to its original position and resumed feigning unconsciousness.
Within moments the madman was looking over my companion, cooing at him again. But this time his words came out slightly muffled. Knowing that I could only maintain my act for so long anyways, I opened my eyes once more and turned to face my abductor.
If I thought those hateful blue eyes were unsettling, what now faced me was far worse. He had the hood of his robe pulled over his head, now hiding the majority of his wild curls, and over his face, he wore what looked like an old plague doctor's mask. The beak was stained from some sort of dark material, (I cared not to imagine what could have been the source) and he wore large circular goggles over the eyeholes. His wicked blue eyes were no longer visible through the dark tinted glass.
I couldn't help but release a gasp at the sight. Hearing this, he immediately unlocked his gaze upon my neighbor, and began approaching me. 
I fought violently with my restraints, but to no avail. He gave a soft chuckle. It sounded genuine. The utter normality of his tone just made it all the more deranged and cruel. He came to a halt beside my gurney and once again placed a gloved hand on the side of my face. In a soft, calm voice, he began cooing at me like he had to the man to my left previously.
"Now, now. Struggling will get you nowhere, my friend. You'll just tire yourself out before your big operation." He chirped as he rummaged around in his cloak pocket. 
After a moment of searching, he found what he was searching for and withdrew his hand to reveal a syringe and vial of some sort.
"Oh, you must be uncomfortable. Let me give you a little something to relax," he continued softly.
"No! No, please. I'm fine thank you!" I shouted, and to my relief, he slowly deposited the needle back into the depths of his pocket.
"Ah, so you've regained your ability to speak. And what lovely manners. It's really a shame I can't say the same for our friend over there. He kept making a dreadful racket. Saying a slew of nasty things. Made it nearly impossible to focus on the preparations, so I had to... alleviate the situation..."
He made a snipping gesture with his hands, and the tongueless man gave a whimper.
"I certainly hope that won't be necessary with you, my friend," the lunatic said in an almost singsong way. It was utterly appalling how unphased he was by his own cruelty.
I simply nodded in return, not trusting my voice to come screaming out in disgust, thus earning me the same fate. Swallowing my rage and undeniable horror, I responded as calmly as I could muster.
"Who are you, and why did you take me here? Listen, I don't care what you've done, just please, let me go. I promise I won't tell a soul! I'm a good man. I haven't done anything to deserve this. Please have mercy on me," I ended, losing my resolve a little as my voice began to shake.
"Oh I disagree, Mr. Claymore, but now is not the time for discussions. You can call me Dr. Locklear. I'll be performing your operation shortly. But first," he turned to gaze upon the other man, "I must care for Mr. Williams. All the preparations are complete and this is a very time sensitive procedure. But don't worry, if all goes well I should be back for you at the top of the hour."
At the sound of these words, the man next to me flew into a wild panic. He began releasing piercing shrieks of terror and violently shaking at his restraints. Seeing this, "Locklear" clucked his tongue disapprovingly and promptly stuck the man with the needle previously intended for me. 
Within moments he grew still, and just stared at me through watering, horror-filled eyes. It took everything I had not to break down there on the spot, but I knew I had to keep my poker face. Something told me that our captor wasn't exactly the most stable of fellows, and clearly he had no patience for emotional displays.
Swallowing my volatile mixture of emotions, I turned away and attempted to lie still again. This apparently pleased the doctor, as not long after I heard the previously inaudible murmurs of the old television set rise into distinguishable sentences. 
It took me a moment to realize that I recognized the voice coming from the TV. It was my local news anchor. For a brief moment, I felt a small wave of relief, as at least now I had some idea as to my geographical location. It was safe to assume that I was at least still within the county.
I was snapped from my thoughts when the doctor interrupted once more.
"Well now, Mr. Claymore, why not watch a bit of television. I'm sure it'll help pass the time faster!"
He gave a mad little chuckle that sent a chill up my spine. The kind only someone truly insane is capable of producing. Then turned with a swish of his cloak back to my sedated neighbor. Deciding to try to glean as much information while he was preoccupied, I attempted to make further conversation.
"This... this is Franklin county news, right? I recognize the anchor woman. Are you... are you a fan of keeping up with current events?" I said before I realized how desperate and insincere I sounded.
"Very clever boy, Mr. Claymore, trying to pinpoint your location like that!" Locklear chuckled, "Though I'm afraid it will neither confirm nor deny any useful information for you, seeing how it's all prerecorded tapes. See, we don't get much of a signal out here, so I decided to bring some entertainment for my patients to enjoy while waiting. I'm considerate like that."
This news hit my stomach like a brick, but I tried my best not to show it and attempted again.
"I...I see, how kind. Surely, if you're such a merciful individual, you'd justify at least hearing my circumstances out?" I pleaded, trying to maintain my pleasant demeanor.
"Oh, I think you've got me all wrong," his voice darkened in a sick glee, "I'm not merciful in the slightest. I stand for justice alone, and she can be a very unforgiving mistress. There's no 'being the better person' here. That type of rhetoric is exactly what allows monsters to keep prowling the streets."
I wanted to shout back but instead ended up choking on my words and couldn't form a sentence until he had already unlocked the brakes on my neighbor's gurney and pushed him out of sight.
"Sit tight, Mr. Claymore, the doctor will see you soon enough," the madman cackled from somewhere down the hall.
My heart beat so hard it was painful. Again, I tore at my straps wildly, though he did not return to the room. He knew there was no way for me to get out on my own so he was not concerned. Regardless of this, I kept resisting. I wasn't ready to give it up yet. I knew if I didn't try, I would die in this strange house.
My ears were met by a strange screeching sound, then a sliding. I heard the doctor chuckle and roll the gurney forward, followed by the sliding noise again. Was... was that an elevator? Just what kind of building was this?
Panic beginning to set it; my hands clawed violently around, grasping at anything possible. Suddenly, my pinky hit something rough. I gently explored the object with my finger until I realized it was the bolt securing the strap on my right wrist. Quickly, I moved my left hand to feel for the bolt to my left. It wasn't rough... it was perfectly smooth.... Then that must have meant that the bolt on my right wrist was rusty! In other words, it was weak!
A new glimmer of hope sparked in my heart. I summoned every last fiber of strength I had in my body, and focused it on my right arm. It took several intense pulls, likely leaving deep bruises, but eventually I felt it give a little. I wiggled my arm and heard the loose bolt jingle a bit. I was making progress!
Taking an enormous breath, I then pulled so hard I was afraid I would break my own arm. With a loud clang, the bolt released and the leather restraint flew loose and nearly hit me in the face. Oh my God. I had done it. My right arm was free!
In a mad rush, I quickly fumbled with the restraint on my left arm, and upon releasing it, unstrapped my head, and finally freed my legs. I pulled myself into a sitting position and rubbed my aching back. If it weren't for the urgency of the situation I would have stayed there for a moment, nursing the angry bruise now forming on my right wrist, but alas, I was already working on borrowed time.
Fortunately, I hadn't yet been stripped of my clothing, so I dug my hands into my pants pocket. My heart filled with ecstasy as I realized he hadn't taken my phone! But instantly that hope was crushed when the screen lit up only to reveal that there was utterly no signal. The disappointment was almost crippling, but I had to keep moving.
Hoisting myself out of the gurney, I finally got a chance to view my surroundings for the first time. It indeed looked like I was in some sort of strange sitting room. There were old moth eaten chairs and bookshelves so dusty I couldn't see the contents. The whole room was quite dark, but I could see my way around thanks to the dim glow of the television. 
Without meaning to, I found myself pausing in front of the screen, watching as the anchorwoman commented on the footage of the medical building surrounded by police and flashing lights. According to the date on the bottom corner, this happened a little over a year ago. I started wondering what was so significant about this one news story to the doctor a moment before the anchorwoman answered my question.
"I would advise everyone be on the lookout. Though Evander Locklear only has a history of targeting criminals and those absolved of violent crimes, he is highly unstable and could be dangerous to anyone while he is on the run. According to our source at the Franklin Police Department, he is highly intelligent and likely to continue his spree of madness until caught, so please direct ANY information related to...."
I tuned the rest out at that point. I knew that name sounded familiar. The whole city had been in a panic over his escape from the mental ward, but a few weeks passed and no innocent bystanders were harmed so naturally people just stopped caring. It stopped being interesting front page news, so I guess the whole incident got swept under the rug in our collective consciousness. It's interesting how humans work that way.
Decisively, I turned away from the television. I couldn't waste any more time. There were no more signs of Locklear, but I wanted to get out of there and give myself as big a head start as possible. So turning on my heels, I made a beeline for where I assumed the front door would have been. 
I dodged around the couch and turned the corner through a doorway at the far side of the room. It indeed lead to the front door! Running through the foyer, I grasped the handle and turned it quickly... but nothing happened. Tried as I might, I couldn't get the door to budge. Then it hit me. The loon had several sets of deadbolts from the inside, effectively keeping me trapped there.
No worries. Not the time to panic. There's more than one exit after all! Turning back into the sitting room, I ran to the window through which I saw the moonlight. But again, my heart sank. The windows had been nailed shut, and what's more, it looked as though the madman had crudely installed bars from the outside. He had thought of everything. There was no way out.
Things were looking bad, but I wasn't ready to give up hope just yet. There were still other windows and at least one more door somewhere for me to try. So, shaking the sinking feeling off, I turned around once more and headed back through the sitting room, this time going to the opposite side. 
The next room I entered was the kitchen. Immediately, I started looking through the drawers for anything that could be useful. Bingo. So he hadn't thought of everything! There was a knife, very dull albeit, but a knife nonetheless. Grasping my new weapon tightly, I worked my way to the back door. As I feared, it was locked just like the front, and the windows were also locked and barred.
I went room to room until I had to come to terms with the fact that there was no way out up here. Which left me with only one option, no matter how unattractive. If I wanted to live, I would need to take the elevator Doctor Locklear had used earlier and hope he's so busy with his current victim that he doesn't notice me looking around for another way out.
It took me a moment to gather my courage before returning to the sitting room once more. The last doorway I had not yet walked through was the one through which Locklear had disappeared earlier. Cautiously, I peered around the corner. It was a short hallway that simply lead to a strange, old looking elevator. Again, it troubled me. What kind of place was this?
With a shaking hand, I hit the button to call the elevator back up to my level. It took a few moments, and when the old doors slowly opened, I held the knife defensively, half expecting the madman to jump out from behind them.
But he was not there. The elevator was completely empty, so I slowly stepped inside. It was strange. It didn't look like a normal elevator. More rough and industrial like a cargo elevator almost. But before I could ponder this too long, the cart and stopped moving and the doors were sliding open once more. Once again I recoiled, and once again he was not there, so I tentatively stepped out.
It was at this moment that all the pieces came together in my mind. I was in what looked like a large old operating theater. There were gurneys and shelves full of strange liquids and ominous tools everywhere. This wasn't a normal house at all. It was an old fashioned mortuary.
A terrible noise snapped me back to my senses. It was a shriek of utter agony. On both ends of the room I was in, there were doorways. I now knew Locklear was behind the one on the south end of the room, because I could hear the screams of the poor man from earlier. Whatever sedative Locklear had given him earlier had clearly worn off. It was awful of me, but I was slightly grateful because without his cries, I may have waltzed right in on the doctor.
Heading up to the door on the right side, I paused occasionally to make sure I couldn't hear him coming out into the center room. My fingers shook as I took the dirty old doorknob. Incredibly, it opened! However, it did not lead outside like I had hoped. Instead it took me into another strange room. This one looked more like it was used for storage. There were rows and rows of freezer chests, as well as a tall, strange shelf like unit on the far wall. 
As I approached it, I realized what it was. I didn't want it to be true, but the dark curiosity told me to pull open one of the large sliding drawers. It was heavier than I expected, but I was able to open it after a bit of tugging. And to my horror, lying neatly on the slab wrapped tightly in a white bag was the form of a body.
Once again I knew better, but felt the horrific need to know. So, still shaking, I reached for the zipper. As the bag opened and revealed its contents I had to fight back the urge to vomit. Lying on the cold slab was yet another man. Or at least the shell of one. Pen marks and stitches littered his frame, and the skin on his torso hung loosely, as though he had been hollowed out. 
Worst yet was his face. Both hollow eyes sockets had the remaining skin stitched shut, along with the mouth. What disturbed me most was how much blood there was around the sutures. I'm no medical genius, but I'm pretty sure anything done post mortem wouldn't bleed like that. So this poor bloke must have still been alive while this was going on, and if that sick bastard is as twisted as I'm betting, he probably felt every bit of it too. 
Fighting off a wave of nausea, I quickly zipped the bag once more and shoved the drawer back in place. The screams had not yet let up, so I knew I still had some time. There was what looked like a heavy garage door at the far end, and I excitedly rushed over to it. I pulled on it as hard as I could, but the heavy steel would not budge. There was a button to automatically open it, but it was inside of a box that required a key to open. I could try smashing it, but that would definitely attract Locklear's attention. No, it seemed as though my only hope was to sneak the key, which the doctor no doubt had in the other room with him.
Realizing there was no other way, I turned and began to head back through the strange storage room. Once more the burning curiosity took me over as I turned to look at one of the freezer boxes. I knew what I was likely to see, but I had to see. Just to be sure.
Once more, the nausea returned. Carefully packed in ice was a wide array of human organs. I had seen enough. I dropped the lid and gasped for breath. So many freezers... Just how many of them were full? And how many of those morgue drawers were occupied? Just how much destruction was this one man able to wreak in a single year? I couldn't take it. I had to keep moving.
Just as I was about to re-enter the main room, I noticed it was quiet. The screaming had stopped. How long ago it had been since I heard it I didn't realize. I was so excited over the door I zoned it out. I froze, not wanting to move. And it paid off. Within a moment, I heard a distant door creak open, and a pair of heavy boots walk out.
I didn't dare to breath. I could hear him whistling some deranged, happy little tune while he waited for the elevator. This was it. I had to make a move. When he got upstairs he would find me missing, and it would only be a matter of time before he realized I was no longer on the upper floor. He was going to come back down here like a bat out of hell, and I needed to make sure I was gone by then.
The moment the elevator doors slid shut, I burst through the door. Running swiftly through the large room, I bolted for the door on the south side. I knew it wasn't going to be pretty, but I couldn't allow myself time to prepare for what was behind it. It was now or never, so I threw myself through the next door.
Immediately, the smell hit me. Blood. Bile. A regular potpourri of bodily fluids wafting through the air. Suddenly, I found myself wishing for a mask not unlike the one the doctor wore. 
But the smells weren't even close to the worst part. What I saw in that operating room was enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. The room was filled with several tables under an operating light. One of the tables held a few portable coolers, and the other held what remained of the man I had briefly met upstairs. 
Just like the other corpse, his hollowed eye sockets and mouth had been stitched shut, but unlike before, this man's body had gone to pieces. Literally. Along with the grid-like stitches across his torso, both his arms and legs had been amputated, and laid neatly beside him. And next to those, lay all of his fingers and toes, also amputated. Each one individually, I'm sure.
The sight was so horrific I nearly forgot my sole reason for entering this death chamber. Quickly, I averted my eyes from the nightmarish scene and instead started scanning the room for the key. Tools, chemicals, aha! He had left his bag on one of the tables to the side. I dove for it and started digging through it.
I pulled out a ledger. I quickly skimmed through it and realized it was filled with names and ages. These couldn't have been his victims, since they all seemed to be fully grown. The ages next to the names were primarily those of young children. The list was so long. I kept flipping pages but it never ended, so eventually I tossed it aside. Equally baffling was a delicate silver locket. 
Strange as these things were, I couldn't afford to waste any more time pondering them. After all, he was a madman and there was likely no reason to them I could understand. After rummaging around desperately for a few minutes, my hand finally grasped the familiar cold surface of a metal key. Throwing the bag aside, I turned to run back to the heavy door.
But I had run out of time. Just then the elevator doors slid open, and I heard the heavy boot steps echo through the room beyond.
"Well this was unexpected, Mr. Claymore," he called from the center room.
"I really should have paid better attention to the state of those old restraints. My mistake. It won't happen again. But play time is over. It's time to start prepping you for your operation."
My chest heaved in terror. Maybe I could just run past him and out to the door? No. That wouldn't work. I'd still have to unlock it and wait for it to open. He'd catch me by then. Perhaps I could charge him? I had a knife after all! But his next words sank that thought as well.
"How clever of you to grab that old knife. Though I must admit it won't do you any good. My reflexes are phenomenal, and at the risk of gloating, I must say my strength is nothing to sneeze at either. I could easily disarm a man of your size and sedate you with this needle I have in my hand before you could even land a first blow. Now enough of this silliness. If you behave yourself I may give you a special treat and anesthetize you for the procedure. Unlike our little friend in the other room, you wouldn't have to feel a thing! Can't beat that offer!"
Thoughts flooded my mind. There was no way I would just surrender myself like that. No, I'd fight until the end. If he searched the storage room first, I could take the elevator up and hide, then take the elevator back down while he was looking and escape!
But my hope deflated. His footsteps were approaching the room I was in. Frantically, I looked around for an escape. There was another door at the other end of the room! Without thinking, I bolted toward it and threw myself at it.
I don't know what else I could have done differently. That door was just a storage closet. Sure it has a lock, but even on the extremely slim chance that he doesn't have the key, the thin door is easy enough to break down. My hope is that he'll move on to another area to look for me. But if he realizes I'm in here, I feel as though he'll probably toy with me for a while. That seems to be his style.
I pray that I'll be able to outsmart him somehow and get out of here, but I am so scared. I'm out of time to write this. I hope it reaches someone. It has to. I can hear that demented chuckle again. Wish me luck.
File:Gift_locklear_for_madame_macabre_by_bleedingheartworks-db1bw0i.png|Art by BleedingHeartWorks
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File:Return of Locklear (Part 1, Story 2)
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Category:Dismemberment
Category:Disappearances