Trial and Error: Unchained

This is my third short story that I have posted guys and the first one I have posted that is my own brain-child. Please do keep in mind, that this story is very dark, and may be uncomfortable for some people to read. That being said, please let me know what you guys think, and I will see you guys tomorrow, with at least another three new articles!! Peace.

              The room smelled of death. No no, it reeked of death. Wading through the ankle high water, the detective shone his flash-light into the darkest corners of the basement, hoping to find at least a part of a body that wasn't rotten. It seemed hopeless. This hell hole had been sealed up and flooded for who knows how long. The deeper he went into the darkness the stronger the stench became.

           The detective had seen a lot of macabre things in his life. Bloated bodies? Yup. Burnt? Sure. Mutilated? Frequently. But then they had been just that. Bodies. What was chained to the wall wasn't a body. It was alive. He just didn't know how. He heard the moans before he saw it. He wasn't even sure he could call it a girl. He knew that she had been 13 when she had been kidnapped. Given the time frame she should be now fourteen. But he was sure she wouldn't remember that she had suffered for a year. It must have felt like eternity. Finally steeling his mind he shone the flash light on what had once been a truly treasured young girl. He could still remember her parents rushing to meet him at the station, and begging him to find their daughter.

             When the light hit her she whimpered weekly. But in the state she was in he was surprised sounds came from her. Being as small as she was, the water came up to her calf. He couldn't bear to look at her face. What had once been the epitome if innocence was now gaunt and sunken. Her right eye was swollen shut and was covered in what was dried blood. The girl had been stripped and her stomach was full of infected cuts. Clumps of her lush blonde hair had fallen out of her head. Her skin was deathly pale and looked as if it had been draped on her bones.

              Her body was covered in purple bruises and where the skin did show, it was pale as a ghost. The water near her feet was browner and murkier than the water in the rest of the basement. He couldn't bear to look at her any longer. Steeling himself he walked towards her and hearing the footsteps the girl started whimpering and struggling. But the attempt was weak. It was as if she knew she couldn't break free. Holding back tears he said in the most caring voice he could muster.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Trust me. I'm here to help you." he said.

              He took out his gun and shot the chains tying her to the wall. He stepped forward and lifted her into his hands. She wailed lightly as his hands made contact with the bruises on her body, but it was barely above a whisper. He couldn't help it. He kept whispering "I'm sorry" over and over again as he carried her out of the basement. 

             Getting out of the basement he wrapped her in a blanket and gently placed her in the back seat of his car. He drove as fast as he could, running two lights and got to the hospital. He immediately rushed into the hospital carrying the girl. He must have looked crazed because the other patients gave him a wide breath. Looking at the girl in his hands, nurses rushed to him. He gently laid her on the bed, which the nurses had rolled up, and she was taken to the ICU. He refused to answer the doctor and shouted at him to start the treatment, flashing his badge.

             He rushed outside and his hands trembled as he lit his first cigarette in months. He placed it in his mouth and took a long ragged breath. The fresh tobacco sent him into a coughing fit and he spit his cigarette out and stomped it out.

             He walked like a demented man to his car and his hands shook as he retrieved his cellphone from the dash board. Unlocking his phone he was greeted with a picture of him and his daughter sharing an ice cream. He knew that the girl in the ICU could have easily been his daughter. Hate and revulsion filled his eyes and he brought the phone crashing on the hood of the car, effectively denting the hood and shattering the phone. He threw the phone at the wall near his car and slid down the door his head in his hands sobbing.

             He didn't know who was demented and sick enough to do something like this to a little girl.

Wiping his tears and steadying his hands he got into the car. He was going to find the lowlife who did this. He was going to show him what the girl, he had inflicted pain upon, had felt.