THE BOX: AWAKENING

Drake Parker could barely keep the startled scream from breaking the silence as he opened his brown eyes. Blinking away the remnants of the empty sleep to the waking vision of a nightmarish place he didn't know. He pushed himself up from the hard, filthy mattress and looked down at his hands as they moved to grip his cold arms tightly to assure himself that he was awake. His back was stiff from sleeping on the age worn mattress, the rusted springs poking through the filthy material in scattered places. The scent of old iron and faint copper rose in dusty waves with every movement Drake made, sending further unease through his body as he continued to try and clear his mind enough to really see where he was.

The room was large, empty and spacious with high walls and two small barred windows far out of reach. Murky streams of golden sunlight drifted through the layers of grime and dust on the old window panes. The walls were made of old gray slate stone, just as filthy as the windows. Smears of ash covered old scorch marks like wispy cloaks. At the base of every wall rested oak trim, chipped and rotting with age. The wall farthest from the bed held a door resting lazily in an oak frame. Drake pushed his legs over the bed and onto the cold wood floor, feeling the full force of the empty chill before looking down to realize that his shoes and socks were gone.

"What the..." He stopped, the sound of his voice echoing against the walls. Trying to remember anything hurt, feeding the hungry, painful throbbing in his head. That pain was nothing compared to the growing frustration of not knowing where he was, or why he was there.

Ignoring the feeling of the cold, dirty floor Drake pushed himself to his feet and tried to move towards the door. The first few steps failed, a sudden nausea gripping his stomach as the dizziness coursed through his body. He fell back onto the bed, his hand catching on one of the exposed springs and cutting into the tender flesh. Drake cursed loudly, the harsh sound of his own voice reverberating against his ears as he pressed his bleeding hand against his dark blue jeans to try and stop the bleeding.

Long moments passed before he felt enough in control of himself to try and stand again, this time keeping his footing as he stumbled across the floor towards the door. It stood six feet tall, its thick wood standing firm against the rusted brass hinges. Like those hinges, the small, round door knob was also made of brass, though the filth coating its surface had recently been disturbed. Drake tried to open the door, his hands sliding through the filth as he tried to grip it tightly and turned. First he tried to push it out, and when that failed to open it, he tried to pull it. Neither action gave him the result he wanted. The door had been locked from the outside by whomever had left him there.

"Hello?" He called out as he knocked lightly on the door. While he waited for a response he wiped the grime off of his hand. "Is anyone there?" Still no answer from beyond the door. Annoyed, Drake began pounding on the door, the dull pain creeping through his hand as he yelled out furiously to anyone out there. When there was still no reply he froze, the pain in his hand spreading as he slid down to the floor with his back against the door.

The floor, like the rest of the room was covered in mold and debris. Small pebbles from the walks and chunks of wood from the decomposing ceiling. The light fixture that had once been in its center had been ripped out, its broken cords now hanging lifelessly and without purpose. His hand was bleeding again, the blood oozing over his palm and onto the floor. Knowing hat he needed to stop the bleeding and attempt to keep the cut clean, Drake tugged at the deep violet long sleeved shirt he was wearing under his black band tee shirt, tearing the material around its bottom until he had enough cloth to wrap around his hand.

That was when he first heard it. From somewhere else in the building drifted a light thudding sound, echoing against the walls. It didn't last for long, stopping almost as suddenly as it had began and leaving him again in haunting silence. For long minutes Drake sat against the door, straining to hear any possible sounds of life coming from outside his room. The dead silence bothered him more then the thudding, making him feel utterly alone. Was there someone else there? If there was, why wouldn't they have said anything when he had called out?

Drake sighed heavily before pushing himself up from the floor to inspect the room. Aside from the bed he had woken in, there was a small, wooden table and a single chair in the middle of the room. Against the wall farthest from the windows was a metal bucket surrounded by a mess of crumpled newspapers. A few feet from the bucket was an antique chest in the same state of decomposition as the rest of the room. From the door to the wall across the floor he took thirty steps, repeating the number to himself as he moved to the wall with the windows. From there, he counted the steps it took to get to the wall with the bucket and chest: forty-two. The room felt much to big for him to occupy alone, and knowing just how large it was again left him feeling impossibly alone.

The first thing he moved to inspect was the bucket, barely needing to lean over it before the odor assaulted his nostrils and sent him stepping back. Who ever had brought him here expected him to stay for awhile. Shaking off the disgust he moved to the chest, pushing his fingertips under its lid and pushing it open with the full force of his strength. Inside of its decomposing body he found a gallon of water, two apples and a loaf of bread. In the opposite corner of the chest was a smaller chest, wrapped in fraying hemp rope with a folded piece of crisp, fresh paper tucked underneath.

Grabbing one of the apples and the note, Drake slowly walked towards the table, sitting in the creaking chair before taking the first bite. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until then, the taste exploding against his tongue and wetting his dry throat. With his free hand he unfolded the paper, laying it onto the table as he began to read.

Drake Parker, welcome to your new home. By now you've found the food and water we've provided for you, make them last, you won't be getting any more. As you may have noticed, all personal possessions we've deemed unnecessary had been taken, you won't be needing them here. No one is going to find you, and there are no ways out. The small chest with which this note was placed is NOT to be opened for two days. If you open it before then, we will know, and any hope of leaving will be lost. Though you can not see us, we are watching every move you make. Your eventual escape is out of your hands, but your survival here depends entirely on you. Act wisely.

Drake read the note twice more, looking at the carefully written cursive words as he tried to understand what exactly was going on. He had been left here, locked inside of this deteriorating room with very limited supplies and no way of knowing when, or if he would be getting out. But why? What on Earth had he done? The words of the letter played back through his mind in dark voices, sinking in until they were all he could hear. Drake's hands began to shake, the sudden onslaught of fear and anger finally taking over until he could control it no longer. Dropping the apple, its dull thud and steady roll across the dirty floor fading father from his hearing, Drake began to panic.

The trembling in his pale hands moved to the rest of his body an up his throat, simple movements growing into frantic roars as he began to yell unintelligible words at the cold uncaring room. The birds that had made their nests in the empty spaces of the ceiling shook their tired feathers and called out before taking flight out into the late afternoon light. Drake stomped across the floor, back to the locked door and began to pound on it until his knuckles cracked. The blood soaked through his clenched fingers, sliding down his arms as he continued screaming. He didn't care that no one was listening, there was too much anger within him and it needed to be let out.

Twenty minutes passed before Drake fell to the floor, breathing heavily and wiping the tears away from his flushed face. He sniffled, choking back the sobs as he tried to get himself back under control. The panic was fading, allowing him back onto the path to reasonable thinking. Freaking out wasn't going to help, it was only going to leave him dehydrated and hurt. Drake waited until he caught his breath to push himself back off of the floor, towards the chest to grab the gallon of water. Several long drinks later he replaced the lid and set it back into its resting place and looked around the room.

The windows were small, but he was sure that if he could reach them, he could squeeze through. Moving back towards the middle of the room, Drake grabbed the table and began dragging it towards the far walls, setting it against the wall and climbed onto it. It shook under his light weight but held its place. Even on his tip toes, he still couldn't reach the bottom lip of the window, so he tried jumping, a small hop to assure that the table didn't crumble beneath him. The tips of his fingers barely graced the sill, briefly sliding over its uneven surface before loosing it entirely. He tried again, and when his feet hit the table he slid, bracing himself just before hitting the floor.

Black spots exploded across his vision as the pain flared in his left arm, which had taken the force of the fall. At first all he could do was lay on the floor, taking deep breaths as he waited for the pain to go away. Drake rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the rust from the pipes making its once white surface an orangeish brown. Cracks ran like spider webs, bursting from the holes in the ceiling exposing the pipes and wooden beams holding the place together. Those gateways to freedom were further out of reach then the windows he'd failed to reach.

He wasn't sure how long he'd simply laid there, letting the frustration go rather then allowing himself to get worked up again. He wasn't certain, but he must have fallen asleep, because the next time he saw those windows the sky had grown darker. The vibrant pinks and oranges of early twilight glowing warmly against the chill of the coming nightfall. Drake brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing away the remaining slumber and smearing dust across his face. The dying sunlight had left a deathly chill in the room, made worse by the waking realization that it was indeed, very cold.

Drake pushed himself up from the floor, taking groggy steps towards the chest and the few provisions he'd been left. Half of one of the apples had all ready been wasted, how long could the rest of this possibly last? Right now, he didn't want to think about it, no matter how much he knew he ought to. Staring at the bread and water with empty eyes, Drake considered how best to make it last. Hopefully, it wouldn't have to last. The note had said that his escape was out of his hands, so he could only hope that whoever was in control would do whatever they had to soon. Looking at the three slices of bread he'd taken from the bag, hope seemed like a distant ideal.

Drake ate slowly, attempting to make the small meal last and giving himself the illusion that he'd eaten more then he really had. Following the bread he took one more gulp of water, savoring the brief relief it offered his dry, dust coated throat before returning the cap and moving back towards the bed. He didn't really want to sleep here, but if he was asleep the time would pass faster. In that empty slumber he didn't have to think about what was happening or attempt to understand. There was no chance of being comfortable on the broken in mattress, but Drake did what he could, shifting his body to avoid the exposed springs and curling against himself to try and retain heat.

When he closed his brown eyes he thought of home. His mother, the caring but strong woman who had spent her life looking after him to keep him out of trouble. His step father, who had accepted him and tried to get to know him. And then there was his younger sister, an utter pain, but smarter then just about anyone he'd ever known. Mostly, his thoughts were of Josh, the step brother who had become his best friend. Josh would know what to do, he told himself. About the limited food, about everything. So much of him wanted Josh to be there with him, so that he wouldn't feel so alone and afraid.

He tried to imagine what they were doing right now. Where they laying in bed thinking about him like he was them? Maybe they were getting upset, trying to call his cellular, waiting for him to answer. Perhaps Josh had called off from work, and they were all looking for him right now? The thought was as comforting as it was saddening. He wanted to be found, to go home and forget all of this, but he didn't want to imagine just how distraught his family might be. Instead of thinking of them as he knew them, Drake tried to just focus on the light hearten memories he had, letting their distant comfort take him away from where he was as he slowly fell back into oblivious sleep.

~.~

Before Drake opened his eyes, he heard the thudding sound from the day before and he knew where he was. It wasn't too hard to remember given the feelings of cold and discomfort pulsing through his slowly waking body. The cut on his hand was throbbing, its dull pain forcing him to finally open his eyes to look at the wound. He carefully removed the make shift bandage he'd crafted from his shirt, peeling it away from the red, swollen wound. It would definitely get infected here, and he didn't know what he could do to stop that.

It had crossed his mind that he could use some of his water to at least rinse out the wound, clean out whatever firth the rusted spring had allowed in. But all he had was that one gallon, and he'd already drank a forth of what he had. Without that water, he wouldn't survive long, and there was no way of knowing when he'd be freed. If he'd be freed. Looking at his hand, Drake considered how much it would take for that infection to get beyond repair. He didn't want to loose it, if he did he'd never be able to play guitar again. Drake walked over to the chest, his hand held against his own chest as he pulled the water out. He supposed, he could spare some of it. He told himself that it was what Josh would do, making the choice easier.

Carefully, he set his hand down on the table palm up, staring into the wound as he tipped the gallon. It hurt to watch those brief currents fall over his hand, oozing over the now stinging wound and dripping onto the floor. Drake waited until all of the poured water had run through the wound before tearing off another length of his under shirt and wrapping the wound again, praying that it would work. Long minutes passed as Drake sat in the wooden chair, his hand held against his chest until the pain finally faded from his thoughts.

Just barely in his vision was the box, its frayed rope poking out like frizzled hair. Without thinking Drake pushed himself out of the chair, going to the chest and collecting the small box before returning to the table and setting it down. Until tomorrow, he wasn't supposed to open it. They said that they would know if he did, and despite not knowing who they were or how they would know, he was afraid of going against their orders. If he opened it before tomorrow, would they hurt him? Leave him here to die a slow, agonizing death? Drake shuddered, pushing the box farther from himself. His fingers lingered over its rough surface, tracing over the old wood and ropes holding it shut. More then fearful, he was curious. Whatever was in there might help him, might give him some kind of answer to the questions he had.

The temptations were too great with the box still in his sight and under his fingertips. Drake pushed himself out of the chair, nearly knocking it over as he scrambled to get away from the box. His hands went from his sides to his hair, his fingers tangling themselves into the chin length black hair and pulling. He hated feeling this unsure and frustrated. He'd never been able to handle stress very well, and right now it was all he could feel. Hesitantly releasing the tight grip on his hair, Drake began to pace the room, anything to help clear his mind. Thirty steps from front to back, forty-two from side to side. Again and again he walked around the room, counting the steps out loud to keep the silence from agitating himself.

He continued until his legs were sore and his voice had been reduced to a dry mumble before falling back into the wooden chair and resting his head in his hands. With his eyes covered, he didn't have to look at the taunting box, but he could still feel it there. Just knowing that it was in the room, that whatever was inside he couldn't know about until tomorrow was picking at the edges of his sanity. Before he could stop his hands from moving, Drake once again found himself staring at the box, counting how many times the hemp rope was wrapped around it, the small nails holding it together. Once again his hands were reaching forward, his fingers brushing over its lid...

Then he heard it again, the thudding from the other day. It echoed faintly against the door, coming in slow, hard bursts from somewhere else in the building. Drake turned away from the box, following the sound to the door. Once again he tried the knob, and once again he found it locked. His fingers traced over the oak door, leaving a smear of disturbed filth before he pressed his ear against it and just listened. There were no voices, no sighs that anything living was out there. Just the steady, continuous thudding that stopped as suddenly as it started. As it had the previous two times he had heard it.

The sudden silence was broken by the unpleasant moaning of his stomach. Drake turned around, leaning against the door as he looked at the metal bucket against the wall. No part of him wanted to be near the foul thing, but he couldn't stop his body from functioning. Taking slow, dreading steps Drake made his way over to the bucket. Right now, he was glad to be alone, knowing that no one else would see what he was about to do was oddly comforting. Biting his lower lip, he undid the belt and let his jeans fall to the floor, stirring the dust into a small cloud around him. The bucket was cold, the act embarrassing, and the moment he had finished he moved away from it as fast s he could. He wasn't sure what about the act had made it so shameful, but shame was the only thing he could feel at the moment. Perhaps it had just been using the bucket, or the knowledge that they had said they were watching him. Either way, he was glad that it was over.

Drake spent the rest of the day pacing the room, thirty steps then forty two, thirty and forty two. All the while he looked over every inch of wall and floor to try and find some kind of weakness in it. Despite its appearance, it was sturdy and inescapable. The hours passed slowly as Drake walked around the room, making note of every crack in the walls and scuff buried under the dust on the floor. Kneeling down on the floor, he watched the ants eat away at the apple he had dropped the day before, taking it piece by piece through holes he couldn't fit through. He'd never been so bored in his life, not even at school. There was nothing he could do to pass the time any quicker, and with no one to talk to, it grew even worse.

Soon enough the silence and boredom began drilling at him mind, leaving an empty need where his thoughts had been. His feet took him back towards the chest, his hands grabbed for the remaining apple and water jug. After devouring the apple, Drake took two small drinks of the water and returned it to the chest. It didn't matter how thirsty he was, it had to last. Once again the thudding sound echoed through the building, and Drake returned to the door, his ear pressed against it as he listened for any clues as to what was making it. As anticipated, no such clue came. Drake continued this way for the rest of the night, continuously searching the room and waiting for the thudding sound to return until he was finally exhausted enough to sleep.

Laying on the mattress, Drake shifted his vision from the window to the box. Outside the stars were shining distant and mocking in their freedom. Inside, the box and its secrets called to him, urging him to peer inside and take whatever it held. Tomorrow, tomorrow he could open it and finally see what they'd hidden from him. He could only hope that whatever was waiting for him would help. Just as he was nodding off the thudding started again. He counted those sounds like a normal person might count sheep, until he was lost in dreams and the silence again fell over the building.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Disclaimer: I do not own Drake and Josh.

A/N: Hello once again readers, and welcome to the box! This story is taken from one of my original stories, like Reverie was, something I've been considering reusing for Fanfiction for a while now. It will also be my last Fanfic for a while, as I really want to focus on original stories for a while. It will only be about three or four chapters long, and, as if has appeared thus far, is a bit dark. I was once asked if I ever wrote stories without a 'happy' ending, and this is definitely one of them. It took a while to convince myself to make the changes needed for it to be used as Fanfiction, I was worried about what would be lost in the transformation, but I wanted to give the readers who have followed my work one last story, a bit of everything I do mixed together. As it is so much an original piece, reviews and thoughts would be very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.