Bad Trip: part one (Steemit original fiction)

Taylor was desperately trying to orient himself. Trying to remember what had occurred prior to waking up. Here in the pitch black. Sitting in what he believed was a small room, smelling terribly of damp. Can't be my own room, he thought. It didn't feel right to him, as he sat and struggled to find a thought, a memory in which to anchor his bearings. 

He slowly stood up, stretching his arms out hoping to feel for a wall, or something familiar. He took an awkward step out. Nothing. Tried a few more. No good. He tried a few ginger steps back in the other direction. Nothing. He could only feel the floor. And air. Cold damp air.

The floor was cold to touch. Quite possibly bare concrete. And not smooth either. It had an industrial feel to it. “Can't be my room,” he thought. Taylor tried to link it with all the floors he had in his memory. He felt groggy still. From drugs, or alcohol, he couldn't remember. But this floor, this smell. No, he didn't recall having been here. And without the aid of sight, could he really be certain?

Taylor could feel his heart start to quicken pace. He still felt calm, but an encroaching sense of panic lay beneath the surface. He got down on his hands and knees and started to crawl. He wanted to find something, anything, in the hope that he could start to build the familiar around him out of the blackness. But the more he thought about it the more confused he became. “How could he build the familiar if there was nothing familiar here,” he thought to himself. This was clearly not a room of which he was familiar. And yet, as much as Taylor tried, he drew a blank every time he tried to remember how he got here.

He crawled out, on all fours, moving slowly. He feared that some hidden trap lay in front of him. And the more he gave that thought, the more he started to panic. His breathing was increasing rapidly now. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. 

“Time to stop,” he said quietly to himself. The rising panic was starting to inhibit his breathing.

He tried to reassure himself that this was all explainable. A practical joke. But who would do such a thing like this? Have they not yet realised he had woken up?

“Come out now who ever you are, you got me. Very funny, but jokes over.” He spoke with a bit more volume, hoping there was someone there, in the darkness. 

Taylor waited, for what seemed an eternity. He was expecting the light to come on. Perhaps a crowd of people, a laugh at his expense, sure, why not. But then he could go and relax. Calm himself down. He truly was feeling worried. His hands had a very slight shake starting to show. He mentally tried to stop it, but it wasn't happening. Not yet.

He kept going, crawling out. He may have covered several meters of floor. He really couldn't tell. The darkness made accurately marking distance impossible. 

He moved some more, counting out in his head what he thought were metre lengths at a time. One, two, three, four, five. It was slow progress. He was too terrified to stand up and move quicker. The room was still pitched black. He had given his eyes time to adjust to the lack of light, but it had made no difference at all. He could barely make out his hand in front of his face.

“God damn it! Where am I?” The volume in his voice had increased from his previous statement. He was feeling exasperated. 

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. He continued to crawl. He continued to count. Taylor could do no more than guess at the distances he was moving. But he believed he had moved about ten metres from where he woke up.

With another couple under his belt he finally felt something. With his hand out in front of him, Taylor had made contact with something solid. He tapped it. It sounded like plaster board, like a wall, he thought to himself. He knew it couldn't have been a house he was in, not having travelled such a distance. Possibly an office, inside a factory. He was starting to build an image in his mind. But it was based on very limited information. 

Slowly he raised himself up from the floor, holding onto the wall for guidance. Standing now, he felt around, the wall seemed to move in both directions further than he could stretch. 

Taylor stopped and considered his options. They weren't many, “but if there was a wall, then surely there would be a door,” he thought. “But which direction?”

He moved out to his left, pacing himself along the wall. Hoping desperately to make no sound. What if there was someone on the other side? But then there had to be someone here somewhere? Who was it that brought him here?

He moved along the wall, until he found what he had hoped he would. A door handle. A door. A room on the other side. 

He opened it slowly. So slowly it creaked. 

“Damn!” he thought, hoping not to alert anyone to his presence.

The door opened fully. He felt along the door frame for a light switch. He could hear his breathing getting louder and quicker again. He wanted to know what was going on. But was this a trap? What choice did he possibly have?

He found the light switch, and paused for what felt an eternity.

Having been in the pitch dark for some time now, Taylor became disoriented from the blinding light. He tried to shield his eyes from the direct source in an attempt to quickly make out what, or who was in this room.

And then he saw him. Sitting on a large swivel chair, behind a big wooden desk. Their eyes seemed to lock at the same time.

“Hello Taylor. I've been expecting you.”

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To Be Continued.