Within These Walls Sample
Prologue
“Bye Lilly, I’ll see you at study group tomorrow night,” Charity calls out as she rounds the corner that separates her from her friends. She has just left a local diner where she met up with some other first-year students from her Art History class. It was supposed to be a study session, but they didn’t end up getting much studying done. Charity enters the dark walkway that leads to her dorm building. She hates this part of her nightly walk. Even after eight months of being on campus, she still hasn’t gotten over the fear of walking home alone.
Nothing has ever happened to her to warrant this fear, but stories can dig deep for some people. Mainly stories about young, attractive women who find themselves in a predicament when alone—at night—after they told everyone they were fine to make it home on their own. Only sometimes they do not make it home, sometimes they make it to a hospital or a morgue, and sometimes they are never seen again.
Charity laughs at herself and her own paranoia as she walks under the shade of a large Moreton Bay fig tree. The tree marks the halfway point of her trek home. Nothing has ever happened to her or anyone she personally knows, at least nothing of excitement that is worth retelling. It's always just a story that someone has heard, a friend of a friend, and so on. Charity tsks herself at the thought that something would happen, but then it does.
First, there is a short rustling in the branches beside her. Before she can even turn her head to take a look, she is violently dragged from the concrete path. Charity hits the hard dirt ground with a sickening thud followed by a snap. She hasn’t even managed to let out a scream before pain shoots its way down her left arm, and a gloved hand covers her mouth, muffling her cry for help. It is pitch black, but even in her panicked state, her eyes had already adjusted, and she sees the figure that hovers over her.
“Shhh,” he whispers.
Charity immediately shakes her head and kicks her limbs, trying to get free. She quickly finds out that her efforts are ineffective. The man holds his full weight over her—pinning her down. He reaches a hand up, and through the mouth hole of what she believes is a pink ski mask, she can see his lips form into a tight grimace. With the flick of one gloved thumb, he uncaps a syringe. She doesn’t hesitate, taking this moment of preoccupation to push him off her with all her might. He tumbles to her left. Without thinking, Charity jumps to her feet and takes off, leaving behind her books and purse that had fallen to the ground when she did. Just two steps in, and she feels him behind her. She pushes her chest forward, trying to stay far out of his reach. As loud as she possibly can, Charity lets out an earth-shattering wail. It vibrates through her entire body, rings in her ears, and instantly leaves her throat raw. As soon as the scream leaves her lips, she is tackled onto the pavement; all the breath she had leaves her lungs, and her face hits the concrete with a crack. Blood fills her mouth, along with the metallic taste it brings. But it's out there, and he can’t take it back. Her scream was heard.
The attacker is up and running right when Charity hears the sound of some students worried voices coming to answer her call for help. She lifts her head and sees two boys rushing to her aid through tear-fogged eyes.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” asks the first boy that reaches her. He kneels down and tries to grab her by the shoulder to help her up. A soft whimper is all Charity can manage to let out as a reply. The boy lets go, worried that he may have injured her further. Just then, the second boy arrives. He is winded from his run and takes a moment to catch his breath.
“What happened? Did you fall?” boy number two asks.
Charity slowly brings herself up onto her knees. Cradling her broken left arm, all she can manage to do is cry. Boy number one heads over and starts collecting her belongings that lay a few feet away as boy number two pulls out a cell phone.
“Do you need an ambulance? There is blood all over your face,” he says, cell phone in hand and ready to dial.
When boy number one returns, he sets Charity’s stuff down next to her then takes his shirt off. “Here, use this to wipe your face.” As painful as it is, she lightly pats the cotton around her nose and mouth. She can feel that her nose is broken, so she is careful not to apply too much pressure.
“Thank you,” Charity spits, the taste of blood still thick in her mouth.
“What happened?” boy number two asks, holding the light from his phone out so they can see each other better.
“I was attacked!” Charity manages to get out. The boys start looking around for what might have attacked her but come up empty.
“I’m calling campus security,” boy two announces.
Charity shakes her head and says, “No, call the police; I need the police, not security.” Boy two makes the call, and as he talks to dispatch, boy one stands guard and asks if there is anything he can do. Charity can’t believe her luck. She will be eternally grateful for these boys—her saviors—for the rest of her life.
Questions circle over and over in her mind on repeat. Who was he? What was he planning to do? Where did he come from? Where did he go? The questions continue until two officers arrive. They approach the three students with questions of their own.
Charity finally snaps out of it enough to give a statement. They find the discarded, crushed syringe a few feet away from where Charity sits on the paved walkway. The students are thanked for their assistance, and after giving their own statements, they are free to leave. Charity didn’t even get their names before getting loaded up in an ambulance and taken to the closest hospital. A fractured arm, a broken nose, a chipped tooth, and a busted lip is all she suffered. Her life was still intact—her sanity was all he managed to abduct.
Prologue
“Bye Lilly, I’ll see you at study group tomorrow night,” Charity calls out as she rounds the corner that separates her from her friends. She has just left a local diner where she met up with some other first-year students from her Art History class. It was supposed to be a study session, but they didn’t end up getting much studying done. Charity enters the dark walkway that leads to her dorm building. She hates this part of her nightly walk. Even after eight months of being on campus, she still hasn’t gotten over the fear of walking home alone.
Nothing has ever happened to her to warrant this fear, but stories can dig deep for some people. Mainly stories about young, attractive women who find themselves in a predicament when alone—at night—after they told everyone they were fine to make it home on their own. Only sometimes they do not make it home, sometimes they make it to a hospital or a morgue, and sometimes they are never seen again.
Charity laughs at herself and her own paranoia as she walks under the shade of a large Moreton Bay fig tree. The tree marks the halfway point of her trek home. Nothing has ever happened to her or anyone she personally knows, at least nothing of excitement that is worth retelling. It's always just a story that someone has heard, a friend of a friend, and so on. Charity tsks herself at the thought that something would happen, but then it does.
First, there is a short rustling in the branches beside her. Before she can even turn her head to take a look, she is violently dragged from the concrete path. Charity hits the hard dirt ground with a sickening thud followed by a snap. She hasn’t even managed to let out a scream before pain shoots its way down her left arm, and a gloved hand covers her mouth, muffling her cry for help. It is pitch black, but even in her panicked state, her eyes had already adjusted, and she sees the figure that hovers over her.
“Shhh,” he whispers.
Charity immediately shakes her head and kicks her limbs, trying to get free. She quickly finds out that her efforts are ineffective. The man holds his full weight over her—pinning her down. He reaches a hand up, and through the mouth hole of what she believes is a pink ski mask, she can see his lips form into a tight grimace. With the flick of one gloved thumb, he uncaps a syringe. She doesn’t hesitate, taking this moment of preoccupation to push him off her with all her might. He tumbles to her left. Without thinking, Charity jumps to her feet and takes off, leaving behind her books and purse that had fallen to the ground when she did. Just two steps in, and she feels him behind her. She pushes her chest forward, trying to stay far out of his reach. As loud as she possibly can, Charity lets out an earth-shattering wail. It vibrates through her entire body, rings in her ears, and instantly leaves her throat raw. As soon as the scream leaves her lips, she is tackled onto the pavement; all the breath she had leaves her lungs, and her face hits the concrete with a crack. Blood fills her mouth, along with the metallic taste it brings. But it's out there, and he can’t take it back. Her scream was heard.
The attacker is up and running right when Charity hears the sound of some students worried voices coming to answer her call for help. She lifts her head and sees two boys rushing to her aid through tear-fogged eyes.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” asks the first boy that reaches her. He kneels down and tries to grab her by the shoulder to help her up. A soft whimper is all Charity can manage to let out as a reply. The boy lets go, worried that he may have injured her further. Just then, the second boy arrives. He is winded from his run and takes a moment to catch his breath.
“What happened? Did you fall?” boy number two asks.
Charity slowly brings herself up onto her knees. Cradling her broken left arm, all she can manage to do is cry. Boy number one heads over and starts collecting her belongings that lay a few feet away as boy number two pulls out a cell phone.
“Do you need an ambulance? There is blood all over your face,” he says, cell phone in hand and ready to dial.
When boy number one returns, he sets Charity’s stuff down next to her then takes his shirt off. “Here, use this to wipe your face.” As painful as it is, she lightly pats the cotton around her nose and mouth. She can feel that her nose is broken, so she is careful not to apply too much pressure.
“Thank you,” Charity spits, the taste of blood still thick in her mouth.
“What happened?” boy number two asks, holding the light from his phone out so they can see each other better.
“I was attacked!” Charity manages to get out. The boys start looking around for what might have attacked her but come up empty.
“I’m calling campus security,” boy two announces.
Charity shakes her head and says, “No, call the police; I need the police, not security.” Boy two makes the call, and as he talks to dispatch, boy one stands guard and asks if there is anything he can do. Charity can’t believe her luck. She will be eternally grateful for these boys—her saviors—for the rest of her life.
Questions circle over and over in her mind on repeat. Who was he? What was he planning to do? Where did he come from? Where did he go? The questions continue until two officers arrive. They approach the three students with questions of their own.
Charity finally snaps out of it enough to give a statement. They find the discarded, crushed syringe a few feet away from where Charity sits on the paved walkway. The students are thanked for their assistance, and after giving their own statements, they are free to leave. Charity didn’t even get their names before getting loaded up in an ambulance and taken to the closest hospital. A fractured arm, a broken nose, a chipped tooth, and a busted lip is all she suffered. Her life was still intact—her sanity was all he managed to abduct.