Chapter twenty-five #2
“You’ve got people who care about you? Looking for you?
” Hope lights her eyes in the cellar’s dimness when I nod.
“My — um, boyfriend and my best friend’s brother.
Some other people who have tattoos scheduled…
” I trail off, thinking of my parents, who are waiting and hoping to hear from me.
My throat tightens to the point of pain.
I can barely breathe thinking about how selfish I was to make them wait, and now they probably will never know what happened to me.
And Snake — ohmygoodness, just up and disappearing on him like that again has to be devastating.
“Hey, hey calm down. You’re going to pass out again.” Placing a steadying hand on my shoulder, she tries to comfort me.
Knocking her hand away, I hiss. “Why are you here, Reverie, or is that even your real name?”
Lurching back as if the protect herself from an attack, her mouth quirks with a little defeated lift.
“Fitch told me to lure you here. He found out from folks gossiping at church that you saw Shasta’s tattoo and figured you’d remember one day where you saw others like it.
He wanted to get rid of all loose ends. I told him you didn’t recognize it — and he was good.
He believed me then he saw you on the CCTV sneaking through the woods.
” She shrugs as she finishes, wincing a little.
That’s when I notice her arm is dislocated.
“Did he do that?” I ask, nodding to the misshapen shoulder and arm hanging at an odd angle.
“Kinda, since he knows I have brittle bones. I’m supposed to be careful, but it’s hard with all the kids about.” Looking down, she plucks at the dress she’s wearing. “I’m really sorry. I was hoping you wouldn’t follow me.”
“It’s not your fault. There is only one person who is in the wrong, and that’s Fitch.” Rising, I see that is a window. Going over to it, I see the bars are new.
“What do you think he’s going to do to us?” I ask her, looking over my shoulder where she’s still sitting on the floor.
“You? Kill you if he can’t find anyone to buy you. Me? Leave me down here to starve for about five days until I learn my lesson. He won’t kill me, though. He has to have someone to take care of the kids he brings in.” She talks as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
“Why are you helping him?” I have to know.
Her lips tremble as she gives a little listless shrug.
“I don’t have no one. They sold me to him when I was little.
Said I was too much trouble with my bones breaking all the time.
” A deep sigh rattles her frame. “He didn’t have no use for me, so he said I could cook, clean and take care of the children. Ease the burden for him and the Rev.”
“Reverend Nathaniel Simpson?” I watch her nod astounded.
“They’re cousins,” she says simply, like it’s common knowledge. It very much is not.
“All this time they were working together?” A tumble of locks interrupts my question. Light fills the room with a glow from above.
Pressing her finger to her mouth so I can hush, she folds her hands in her lap, covering the injured arm with the working one.
Down the stairs lumbers the big boy who almost killed me.
Heaving like it takes a lot of effort to descend, he expels a breath.
“Sorry.” He says to me in the voice of a toddler. “Sorry.” He says again, his eyes welling with tears, his fists flexing in agitation.
“I-it’s okay.” Keeping my voice mild, I raise my hands to show him I’m fine. “Everything is fine. Everything is okay.”
“Everything fine? Everything, okay? Rev, okay?” he looks to Reverie for confirmation.
“Yes, Jon-Jon, we are okay.” She says with a forced cheer for his benefit.
Jon-Jon claps in relief before turning to Reverie and says in a clear, calm voice more befitting his age. “I need to fix your arm now.”
Whiplash from the turnabout leaves me stunned as I watch as he slowly rotates her arm until it pops back into the socket. Taking a swatch of long material, he stabilizes her arm.
“Bye, bye now.” He waves frantically again, like a three-year-old, before lumbering up the stairs again.
“He’s got like three people inside his head,” Reverie tells me. “From all the trauma, but he’s a good little lamb.”
I don’t move from my spot, not knowing what to expect next. Instead, I take a visual inventory of what I can use to escape.
“Don’t,” Reverie pleads when she picks up on what I intend to do.
“No one gets out of here. He has hound dogs he keeps hungry for this exact purpose. Then there are the boys. Some of them are just as feral as those puppies. On top of that, you have to get past the cameras. Shasta did all of that and still drowned in the river. Can you swim? She couldn’t.
” She doesn’t mince words, just lays out the facts with calm, cold clarity, like it’s all been tried.
“Yeah, I can swim.” Not liking the way she seems so resigned but not really blaming her either. This is all she knows.
“The boys you mentioned — why are they here?” She doesn’t answer for a long time. Then, ducks her head as if ashamed.
“They his.” All the polished elocution falls from her voice as she refuses to raise her head. “He won’t leave’em alone. Every time I try something bad happens, just like with Shasta. Her dying is my fault.” Her face crumbles as she uses one hand to cover her face as sobs rack her frame.
Going back over to her. I sit beside her. Unlike me, she lets me comfort her, even going so far as to rest her head on my shoulder.
When her head lolls, and she falls limp across my lap, I look down in alarm. Shaking her gently, remembering how I thought she hit her head pretty hard when Fitch slapped her.
“Hey, hey Reverie?” Nothing.
Easing her head down, I get up and go up the stairs, no longer heeding her warning about making no noise.
“Hey,” I yell. “Jon-Jon.” I’m met with silence.
“Fitch, Fitch! I know you’ve probably got this place wired. Your girl is hurt really bad from what you did to her. She won’t wake up.” I scream at the door. I bang and bang, begging, pleading and threatening — anything so he can come help this sweet girl.
After an interminable amount of time, there is a crackle and hiss as the intercom sounds.
“If she dies, she dies. She’s nothing but a burden now, anyway.
You just better hope you can be of some use.
Your only value is folks wanting a little get back on the el Diablo for interrupting that shipment.
I’m sure they’re gone have a real good time before they ship you back in pieces to ol’ Snake and Angel de le Muerta.
” His sick chuckle sounds loud, full of disgusting glee over the intercom.
“Yeah, well, you are the only one going to be in pieces, you sick fuck.” Rubbing my back, which is now cramping, along with my tummy, I go back down the stairs, worried and watching over Reverie.
Checking her breathing every few seconds to make sure she’s still alive alternates with my checking around the room to see if there is anything I can use to escape.
Fitch obviously uses this space only for punishment.
It’s completely barren. It’s worse than the cell I was thrown in at the county jail.
The floors there were concrete. These are packed, hardened dirt.
But people bury things in dirt. Scuffing my boots every couple of inches, I make little holes in the ground.
Legs burning and my heel smarting from having done it over a dozen times, I try to ignore the way my tummy and back are rebelling against me. Not to mention the fact that my jeans are saturated.
Frustration eats at me. Emotions threaten, and I want nothing more than to wail.
“Ow, fuck.” Leaning down, I pull a long hairpin out of the toe of my boot.
“Thank you, Lord Jesus.” I whisper, holding up the long, two-pronged, thin piece of metal.
Knowing from living down here all my life and being under the constant threat of tornadoes, there has to be a hatch down here that leads outside, I start looking.
It’s gotten darker, but I don’t let that deter me.
Feeling the surface of the low ceiling takes another thirty odd minutes, but then I feel it.
Thankfully, the lock is on the inside. It’s smooth, with a keyhole lock.
I just hope as I maneuver the hairpin that it doesn’t have a padlock on the outside.
Armpits sweating, locs falling in disarray, my body in turmoil, none of that stops me as I work the lock. Failure is not an option. It means death. Not only mine but this girl who’s endured unspeakable horror made to serve a monster. That more than anything spurs me on.
A snick. It sounds too loud. I drop the hairpin. Scrambling to the ground, I try but cannot find it. It doesn’t matter. Going back over to the hatch, I gingerly push it open.
Peeking my head out, I look around, and nothing but darkness greets me.
“Okay,” I say, hoping I don’t end up breaking any more of her bones. I pull Reverie over my shoulder, heaving as I silently thank Oz for teaching me survival skills at his compound.
When I reach the hatch, I spring up like he taught me, just barely able to grip the ledge.
“Fuck,” I grunt, feeling my hand trying to slip, grappling for anything as I fight to reach for purchase on the ground above.
My heart is erratic as I kick my legs, fighting to pull myself up, but the added burden of Reverie is too much. I’m slipping.
Grappling for anything, I try, but I know I can’t make it. My hand slips, and Reverie falls, or at least I think she does, but instead of the crunch of her hitting the cellar, she’s lifted. Then strong, steady hands grip my forearms pulling me up.
Powerful arms encircle me. “I ought to beat your ass,” comes the grumbling rumble of Snake as he pulls me tightly into his embrace. Instead of making good on his threat, he presses a kiss to the crown of my head before setting me aside.
“She okay?” Big Ben ask holding Reverie, looking down at her with a mix of concern and wonder.
“No. She hit her head trying to warn me.” I tell him.
“Take them to the truck. I’m killing every bitch in there.” Wrath fills every word.
The thunderous rumble of el Diablo approaching en force seems to make the very ground shake.
“No, you can’t. All those boys are survivors and hound dogs being starved. It’s Fitch. He knows about the rest of the network Rudy was dealing with trafficking kids. He told me as much. Saying they wanted revenge against y’all for messing up their delivery.
“Alright.” Nodding, he acknowledges my words then speaks into his comm. “Incapacitate the boys and the dogs. Save Fitch for interrogation.” With that, he turns back to me. “Go with Ben. Stay with him until I come for you.”
“Hadrián.” Rushing to him, I can’t help but give in to the need to hug him.
“Te amo.” I whisper into his chest.
Tipping my chin up to meet his hard gaze, he gives me the meanest look. “Say that shit again when I come home to your lil ass, mi pequeno tormento.”