Layla heaved a sigh of relief as she slumped away from the wall. Moving to the far side of her cell and sliding down the wall to hug her knees. The cool stone made her shiver through the thin material of her shirt. Hugging her knees she looked across at the latest star she’d scratched into the concrete, completing Orion's belt. The wall was littered with constellations. Every star marking another day locked underground, or as close to days as she could figure out since she hadn’t seen the sky even once since she’d been down here.
She’d long since covered the other walls in scribblings. Just over two thousand stars, two thousand scratches in the concrete marking almost six years since she’d been kidnapped while backpacking through the Scottish highlands. Cults and doomsday preppers had never even crossed her mind. Those were thi. ngs that existed in the states, not Scotland! She’d been backpacking to save money during the summer break at university. While her friends had all gone on expensive trips around the world or gone home to see family, she had neither the money or the family left to do either of those. So she stayed local, rented a storage unit for everything that wouldn’t fit in her backpack and she set off.
Getting out of Glasgow hadn't taken long, one bus out to a village on the outskirts and a few hours walking, the city a distant memory by the time the sun went down and she had her tent set up.
She’d hiked and camped for weeks, visiting random villages, mountains and ruins along the way as she wandered across Scotland. Nothing but wilderness and open sky most of the time. Some days she hadn’t even moved her campsite, simply laying back to stare at the clouds as they drifted across the endless blue. That was the one thing that had always been funny to Layla, yes scotland had a well earned reputation for being extremely wet and grey. But in the height of summer, the skies turned to the brightest blue during the day, and on a clear night the sky would be so filled with stars you could barely tell them apart.
Overall it had been the most fun holiday she could remember having since her mother died, that is until she’d found herself in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t on her map, admittedly one that was quite old, and her phone signal had been patchy at best as she’d gone further and further north. It had seemed a normal enough village at first, if extremely remote, with just one gravel track in and out. A few dozen houses, a local store, a handful of warehouses she assumed belonged to farmers, and even a local pub with a room or two to stay in. all in all a very normal village. Until she’d fallen asleep in one of the pub rooms she’d gotten extremely cheap for the night and woke up in her cell, all her belongings gone and left in nothing but her leggings and tee.
Now almost six years and two thousand stars later she wondered if she would ever get to see the sky again. Sure they had taken her out of her cell. But always to somewhere else in the underground complex that seemed to stretch beneath the entire village, and never a window in sight. She sighed, wondering why she even bothered to keep track of the days. Clinging to hope in the old stories her mother had told her, keeping time with the knowledge of constellations she’d studied at university the year before. Just then footsteps started to echo down the long corridor, the sound leaking through even the thick steel of the door. She groaned as she realised it was that time of the month again. Marcus, the leader of whatever the hell this was, here to give her another sermon meant to convert her to the cause. Layla worked her jaw, trying to gather enough spit to aim at him when he opened the door. It was petty and surprisingly difficult. They barely gave her enough food and water to keep her alive. She had long lost any remnants of fat or muscle on her frame, the malnutrition keeping her weak, it was probably some technique that was supposed to make her more pliant, more susceptible to Marcus’ “teachings” not that it mattered. The man was so greasy just being in the same room made her feel so dirty and disgusting she rarely had the presence of mind to even pretend to listen to him.
As the door swung open she leaned her head back, determined to try and leave a mark on one of the expensive suits he was always wearing. As the man strode in confidently, she let fly, managing to land the blob of phlegm right on his left knee.
“Was that really necessary?” he sighed and looked down at the mark, the moisture quickly spreading to leave a dark patch. Barely concealing the sneer he pulled a tissue from his pocket and dabbed away what he could before looking back at Layla full of exasperation. In response Layla bared her teeth, her already dry throat even more so now that any attempt at a growl would only end up in a coughing fit. A lesson she had learned repeatedly in the early days. Glaring at the man responsible for her imprisonment, the dirty blonde hair in a thick mane down his back, framing a broad square face set with venomous green eyes. His brow creased forward and full lips turned down towards a rather prominent chin. Broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms thoroughly filled his shirt. Though she hated it Layla had long since memorised all of his features in detail, she’d done it with all of the guards and other cult members who visited her with any regularity, whether for maintenance tasks like her meals and showers or those who tried various methods to convince her that accepting Marcus’ teachings was in her best interest.
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“I don’t understand why you insist on being so obstinate. What could you possibly hope to achieve with this defiance?” he sighed again, leaning casually against the wall as his eyes drifted across the constellations scrawled over every wall “every month I offer you a chance to see your precious stars again. To stand beneath the open skies. To be a free woman if you would only see reason and agree to join our order. What is stopping you? It’s not as if we are some demonic cult forcing you into orgies and sacrifices. In almost six years here not once has a single one of us laid even a finger on you save in our own defence, and then only because you decide to cause unpleasantness for your carers” he shook his head as if in sadness, though layla had endured enough of these conversations now to see through the facade. Not that it had taken much, she’d seen far too many conmen and liars in her years of foster care to be taken in by anything Marcus said.
Tuning him out as she often did Layla turned back to her concrete sky, one by one listing off the names of every star she could remember, pausing longer on some to remind herself of the stories attached to them. Seeing the vacant expression on her face and knowing that once again Layla had descended into her own version of reality Marcus turned and walked out of the cell, resigned this time to see her broken to their ways before their next meeting, even if it did mean resorting to the less savoury methods he had long since stopped using, they may have been effective in the beginning, when time was more critical and the community was more vulnerable. But once the village came wholly under his control he prided himself on being able to use more humane methods to convince new members that the community was good for them.
That night when her carer came, though that was just Marcus’ name for the guard assigned to her, instead of escorting her to the usual shower room, she was taken to an even darker concrete room than her cell. This one lacking even the flimsy mattress that was the only furniture she had. The floor wasn’t flat either, it sloped gently downwards to a drain against the far wall and when she turned to look back at the doorway there were several nozzles jutting from the wall. Before she even had time to open her mouth to ask what was going on high powered icy jets began to hose her down. The shock and the sheer pressure sending her tumbling to the ground further from the door. Even as she fell the jets didn’t waver, the water unerringly aimed straight at her.
In her weakened state she lacked the energy to even try to push against it. Sprawled on the floor she could do nothing more than endure the torment until eventually when she had long lost feeling in her limbs the water relented.
“Get up!” the gruff voice of the guard ordered, “back to your cell. Marcus finally decided that if you’re going to ignore any attempt at civility then you’ll be treated like the animal you insist on being” barely able to lift her head Layla tried to glare at the guard, though the numbness made it difficult to know if her facial muscles were doing what she wanted. Growling, the guard stepped forward, seemingly ready to drag her back to the cell if she refused to walk, not that she had much choice since her legs were still numb. Taking hold of her sodden shirt he turned and started to drag her out of the wet room and back down the corridor. Once out of the room the heat of the building began to seep back into her limbs. Not enough for any sort of comfort, just enough for her nerves to start screaming in pain and making her aware of every bump and scrape she received as she was dragged.
Getting to her cell she was bodily thrown into the room. Left shivering on her mattress as the door locked shut again.
The next morning, exhausted still from the cold and the lack of sleep, Layla barely stirred as the door opened once again. The same guard stood there, scowling down at her
“move, time for your next lesson” he said, already taking a step forward, clearly ready to drag her again. He got a grip on the collar of her shirt again and started dragging. Layla stirred just enough to see the doorframe as she passed through it, looking back at her stars, her concrete sky. Then everything went black.