The silence weighed on Sarah's ears, the lack of noise feeling unexpectedly loud. She could hear her heart beating. Her breath was raspy and too fast. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself.
It didn't work. It was too dark. It was too quiet. It was too small.
Her breathing sped up again, and Sarah could feel her heart racing. She knew she needed to calm down, but it was much easier said than done. What would her mother tell her to do?
"Raindrops on roses..." she began, her voice barely a whisper. "Whiskers on kittens..."
The room was still tiny and dark. The bonds on her wrists still dug into her flesh. But at least it wasn't so damned quiet.
"Bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens..." Sarah's voice wavered, but it was marginally louder than she had started. "Warm woolen mittens... Mittens... Shit." What were the words? Why couldn't she remember the song?
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut against the darkness, trying to keep from crying. "Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl." Somehow, these words flowed better. Barry Manilow was easing her panic. "With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there."
Ignoring the dark, the silence, Sarah pretended that she was on stage, her voice growing stronger with each line, until she was belting out the chorus. "At the Copa! Copacabana!"
"Shut up!" The shout, and accompanying thump on the door, startled Sarah into silence. Her eyes opened in the dark, and she felt the fear creeping in once more. If she couldn't stop it...
"Her name was Lola..." Sarah began again, her voice low, hoping that whoever it was outside the door wouldn't hear her.