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The catharsis Abel experienced as he tore apart the toy was short lived. In no time at all, the platypus had been reduced to a bundle of stuffing and threads, and in the silence that followed, Abel found nothing but shame. His violent outburst had brought him no closer to saving his daughter. 

Abel's eyes met the dark beads of the platypus just as the latter [i]spoke.[/i] He'd yet to internalize that impossible fact, when the whole room was plunged into darkness.

Whatever remained of the toy slipped from Abel's hands as he stood up in alarm. It was only then that he saw them; eyes, illuminating a disturbing smile. Something was moving up in the ceiling, and it was calling out to him.

There was a hissing growl, a giggle. And then, [i]"Perhaps, it's time for you to die, Mr. Wyatt."[/i]

[color=#7C5A49][i]Who the fuck?[/i][/color] The words rose up to Abel's throat, nearly spilling out, but he bit them back desperately. He didn't know what was going on exactly, but survival instinct alone warned him not to make a sound when someone — [i]something [/i]— was so clearly out for his blood.

He couldn't see a damn thing, and while his lighter [i]could [/i]remedy that, it'd also pinpoint his exact location in an instant. He had to get out of the room without being noticed. But... how? The slides he'd seen felt like an eternity away — but the pole he'd spotted a moment before did [i]not[/i]. It went from floor to ceiling; if he could just find it and climb up, then—

Wordlessly, Abel exited the pit as silently as he could, heading in the direction he remembered the pole to be in. As he did, he slipped a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, near his keys. If it seemed like the monster lurking above was about to spot him, all he had to do was toss it as far as he could in the [i]other [/i]direction and hope it served to distract it.

He could not fall prey to whatever fucked thing they had stalking this room. He had to save Isabella. 
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