Four days. I’ve been here… four days.
Four days.
Does Annie worry about me? Is Phoenix out of the hospital, looking for me, wondering why I didn’t come to visit him? What if my parents know? Or Sam’s dad? How long do they plan to keep me here in this hell hole?
All these questions rattle in my mind like a baby shaking a container or Skittles.
Bouncing. Clatter. Tattle.
Every bone in your body screams.
“Why am I still here?” I shout to the camera, glaring into its mechanism with fervor. The lens zooms in, studying my face, keeping tabs. The chains are rubbing my skin raw and I wonder if they can see the bone. Is it white or covered in my own blood? Why am I thinking these morbid things? I groan, taken aback by a sudden source of pain from my wrists as I move them. Its then I realize that I haven’t slept in two days. Haven’t dreamt in four. Maybe if I just close my eyes, just for a little bit, I can escape into other world for a few minutes, hours, days. However long it takes. My purple lids gently drift to a close, and unconsciousness never felt so easy.
“Now.”
“Now? But master-”
“You must do it now. Please don’t tell me you still have human feelings towards the boy?” Red orbs glare. I stare. He glares. I wrap the dark cloak tighter around myself, still not used to the cold air that cuts through to your core and resist a violent shiver.
“But the only reason I agreed to do this was to protect him.”
“Eneile,” A clawed and scaly hand rests on my shoulder. He speaks into my ear in a calm but unsympathetic voice. “You are protecting him. From himself. We wouldn’t want him to be in your condition, now would we?”
“No.”
“Good girl. Now do what you have to do.” He reclines back into his chair. We’re in the interviewing room. They always choose to talk to me in here, the most human-looking room, too keep me comfortable, or something of the sort.
I nod curtly, and swiftly leave the room to prepare myself for what’s to come. I’m ready. I can do this. In order to protect Sam-
I have to kill him.
This time I scream. The sound echoes off the cement walls of my cell and rings in my ears, almost disarming my senses with its intensity. I stop screaming, suddenly remembering the camera that stares intently back at me. I won’t give them any emotion. I will not give them the pleasure. Squeezing my eyes shut, I think happier thoughts.
Annie making coffee.
Phoenix laughing.
Waves crashing against a quiet beach.
Annie’s blonde hair.
Aunt Jeane’s ranch.
My room back home.
Sam’s smile.
Shit. Thinking about Sam only makes me hurt more, knowing that he’s suffering somewhere. I just know that they’ve tortured him. They don’t need him right? Sam is only a threat. They would have killed Sam… right?
That might not be the case. My subconscious glares at me through his spectacles.
Well hey there. Haven’t heard from you in a while.
I’ve been hiding.
Is that so?
Shut up, I have something to say. My subconscious heaves a long sigh. Are you listening?
Yes.
They wouldn’t hurt Sam, not now, anyway. I think they’re going to use him as leverage. Use him, to get to you. It’s you that they really want, not him.
You’re lying.
How can I be lying? I am a part of you.
I exhale, and gather my thoughts. It’s not as easy as it seems, considering my thoughts are running around frantically like a chicken without a head. A soft creaking noise drags me back into reality. A door. The metal one leading to my cell. Its open. A dark figure emerges from it.
“It took longer than we thought to collect enough data to know your true powers, Ms. Soole.”
I look up at them in venomous hate.
“We have decided to give you more fitful accommodations for your rank.”
“Where’s Sam?” I shout. I don’t care if they hurt me. I just don’t fucking care anymore. I’m about to spit in its face (does it have one?) before it stops me by coming forward.
“Mr. Reethe is in the building.”
“That’s not good enough, I want to see him. Now.” The word brings back a memory of my previous dream but I tuck that away for later thought. The hooded figure sighs, an almost human sound. I realize then that this hooded figure has rounded finger nails, unlike the others whose nails are sharp as razors.
“You’re the one that drugged me with truth serum, you soulless bastard!” I kick the concrete with my feet, my wrists straining against the metal chains. The figure looks curiously at me, I can tell because it tips its head slightly. “You’re the one that made me give up all that information on my Aunt Jeane!”
It sighs again. “I’ll get those off you.” He slides a steal key out of his robes and unlocks the chain. He keeps a tight grip on my arms so I don’t escape out of the door he just came through. His fingers are as good as any handcuffs.
“It’s almost like you’re acting human,” I spit towards him. “Is it another plan to make me feel comfortable? So I can give up more information? Well tough luck, I’m not letting my guard down around your kind anymore.”
It answers by loosening its grip on my forearm, like it’s challenging me to leave. I stare into the faceless hood of him. I wouldn’t dare leave. I’d be dead before I got out the door.
He swiftly pulls me up from my chair, my knees cracking and popping with the effort. I haven’t stood up in twenty-four hours.
“You’re a faceless cun-” I start to speak, but sojourn.
Just wait. Rewind. He’s taking you to a better room. Maybe you’ll even get fed or have a bed. Save the insults for later when you have the energy.
Right. I’ll keep my mouth shut in case they decide to lock me back up in the concrete cellar. The figure says nothing and leads me down a few hallways. When we reach a flight of stairs, he picks me up in his scaly arms entirely. I do not refuse. I know my legs are too sore for stairs. He doesn’t even flinch with my weight in his arms.
They are strong.
As we reach the peak of the staircase the air grows a few degrees warmer. My skin breaks out in happy goosebumps from the contact, and I relish in the near-warmth. He sets me down on the metal floor that is probably still ice-cold to the touch. I resist the urge to reach down and trace it with my fingertips to see if I’m right.
I must have been staring blankly into space because the thing cleared its throat and pushed me along. He grabbed my arm again to make escape impossible. He leads me down another large hallway with no decorations. The walls were painted a dull gray to match the monotonous floor.
“Here.” We stop next to a plain door set in the gray wall. He unlocks the doorknob with a key he keeps in the sleeves of his cloak. “You will be living here from now on.”
“And if I refuse?” I raise my brows as he turns the knob.
“You’ll be dead by morning.”
I clear my throat nervously as he opens the door wide and pushes me through roughly. I stumble into the room and listen as he locks the door. I sigh, and take a look at my new living conditions. It’s slightly less cold, probably nearing sixty degrees, and quite spacey. To my immediate left, there is a closet full of dark cloaks.
That unsettles me as I remember my dream.
To my right, a nice bathroom complete with shower, tub, duel sinks, and body-length mirror. I grunt in surprise and leave the bathroom. A small hallway leads to a master bedroom with gray sheets, complete with bedside table with a lamp and a strange little white box on it. My room isn’t really a room; it’s more like a small apartment, or hotel room. Minus the bolted down lamps and the bed actually looks comfy. There’s no clock, so I can’t tell the time. It must be near nightfall, because he --it-- told me I’d be “dead by morning” if I tried to escape.
A shiver racks my body as I recall the cold threat and continue on my lonely tour. Through an arched doorway is a kitchenette with a fridge stocked with food. My mouth waters and I dig into anything I can find and eat for ten minutes straight. I’ve never been this hungry. As I munch on a loaf of bread I slowly stop chewing, wondering if Sam has had any food since we’ve been here. The piece of bread immediately disgusts me and I toss it aside onto the cold metal floor. I’ve completely trashed the kitchen with my antics.
I sulk to my bedroom and sit down on the bed. I feel the sheets with my fingers. They’re silk. Why are they suddenly being so nice and accommodating to my human needs? I mean, I’ve got a bed, food, bathroom… all the essentials to live here—
Full time.
You don’t think my dream could actually be… real?
It’s highly improbable. But always a possibility.
I put my face in my hands, and lay back down in the bed. A static noise comes from my bedside table beside me. I jump up, and face the table. The hell…
“Rest. Someone will come by to talk to you when you awaken.”
Them. There is a small speaker hidden in the little white box on the bedside table. They can hear me, and I can hear them. A tingle goes up my spine at the thought of them still watching me, listening to me. I’m too tired to look for the camera hidden in my room. And the gray silk sheets are so inviting. I might even get warm and go to sleep. With the food in my belly and empty thoughts, I settle in the sheets and close my eyes.
Sam’s bloody eyes stare back at me. I’m crying, my tears cleaning the muck off his cheeks as I lean over him, his head in my lap.
“Sam, I’m sorry, I’m so-”
“Don’t.” Sam heaves up a heavy arm to touch the side of my face. He’s coated in his own blood, the aftermath of my insanity. Why. Why did I lose control? Why do they make me lose control?
“Not… your fault.” His eyelids flutter. He’s struggling to keep them open.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sam. Promise.”
He manages to choke out a chuckle. The gaping wound in his stomach convulses. He gasps in pain.
“Shh, don’t move, Sam.” I say, “You’re going to be fine.”
“We both know I won’t make it.” He slurs. Sam’s fading. Oh God, he’s fading.
“No!” I resist the urge to shake him. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m proud of you, Eneenie.” His hand slips from my face and falls to his side. His arm splatters against the mud and a few raindrops touch his lips.
Why does it have to rain?
“I swear I’ll kill every single one.” I grip him tighter. I pull the hood of my cloak back so I can see him better. The rain falls faster now and drenches my black hair, turning it impossibly dark against my skin. I trace two fingers of his lips slowly, wiping away blood. He blinks with the rain drops hitting his eyelids. “Every single one.”
“So does this mean you like me?” He smiles and blinks.
I smile, with no humor. “Yes, I like you.” It’s an old joke of ours. Leave it to Sam.
Sam dies, and I’m holding him with nothing but the rain to comfort my heavy shoulders. I hear the last breath exit his lungs as I pull him tighter.
This will never happen again.
The fucking alarm! For a moment I’m in my room, fast asleep in my own bed. My alarm blares in my ears. But I open my eyes to different surroundings. I don’t see my pale green walls, or my pictures and posters. I see gray. Gray, gray gray. I’m so tired of gray. Closing my eyes, I let out a breath and close my eyelids. All I see is the life in Sam’s silver eyes disappearing.
“Shit!” I scratch my eyes, getting the morning crud and a few eyelashes out of them.
“We’re sending one to visit you now.” comes a voice from the little white box. I knock the little white box of the bedside table and I watch it clatter to the floor, a piece breaking off. The piece catapults under the bed. All I hear is static from the annoying little white box. I smirk slightly, and get up from bed. I pace to room, waiting for one of them to knock on my door. What do they have to talk to me about, anyway? Probably the details of some gruesome execution. Maybe the only reason they gave me a nice room and bed to sleep in was for me to get a hint of a normal life, and then have it taken away.
That truly is cruel.
Tell me about it.
A knock at the door. I stop pacing and stand there. I wait. The door unlocks and a standard one of them emerges. It doesn’t have rounded fingernails—thank God. I’m getting tired of that guy. This one’s fingernails are razor sharp and equipped to brutalize.
I smirk. “You wanted to speak with me?”
End of Chapter Twelve.
I'll be sure not to party TOO hard, then.
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