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She wasn't sure how this happened. The bath was supposed to be Isobel's most relaxing moment until she got a cut on her right hand, the blood splatter spreading along the damp palm. Her heart sank, she could get hurt anywhere, just not there.
She immediately stepped out of the bathtub and haphazardly pulled out a couple of rolls of paper to press against the wound, what she had expected to be a shallow scratch was as if it were an ever-blooming flower, glowing eerily under the yellow light. She could feel the gas exchanging sharply in her nostrils. She pulled on her robe, threw a dry cap hastily over her head, and stepped out of the bathroom.
The cold air hit her, but she couldn't feel it, she couldn't feel anything but the panic that was about to burst out of her chest. Her trembling left hand rummaged through the drawer in a haphazard manner, the clearly partitioned and organized items now seeming like fish in a pond, dodging her nimbly.
Finally, she finally found the gauze, snatching it out like a lifeline. Isobel didn't know when getting the package open had become such a difficult task, the screeching sound of the plastic wrapping accompanied by the dripping of water from the ends of her hair and the ticking of the beads of blood that pooled along the lines of her palm.
Isobel felt like dying.
She couldn't feel her fingers had gone cold, slowing the wrapping of the gauze. Without waiting for the bandage to be fully wrapped, blood soon seeped through the thin gauze. Those memories of the time when she couldn't move, forced to witness the flesh of her palm to be slashed open by the sharp tip of a knife assailed her. Panic and helplessness spread like a contagious disease, miraculously infected her across time and space.
She was standing, she was indeed standing, she didn’t make any movement, but the angle of view was suddenly reversed, like the video recorded by a knocked out camera, as it had been when he had paralyzed her by puncturing the needle into her skin. She heard a dull thud, the clatter of her wooden body against the carpet. She was still awake, but unable to move. The dizziness mixed with the deafening ringing in her ears made a disjointed musical score.
Was she dancing in a chaotic club?
No idea.
She'd long ago thrown that part of her memory into the deepest corner, but it somehow managed to burrow its way out, swinging a vicious blow at her when she least expected it.
Oh, the pain, she felt it, first in the sting of her palm, followed by a dull ache coming from her head and crotch.
How could an agent with the experience of more than 20 years end up like this? She couldn’t give an answer.
It obviously wasn't a big wound. She's been through much more savage scenes than this. Why was she reacting like this?
All she knew was that she was trapped in this already wooden shell, the man's hideous, twisted smile becoming clearer and clearer, and no matter how much noise she tried to make, or how much effort she made to move her body, it was silent and futile.