Chapter 25
Day Fifty
“In the shadows, we hide,”I murmur to myself as I scratch the same spot on the wall over and over. “Until every star falls.”
A stab of pain shoots up my finger to my wrist and along my forearm, but it’s bearable compared to the countless other afflictions I’ve experienced in this cell.
So I ignore it.
I go back to scraping the wall.
Moisture coats the tip of my finger and I bring it to my lips. I drag my sandpaper tongue over the wetness. Taste something metallic and cringe. Pull the finger from my mouth and go back to my task on the wall.
“In the shadows,” I repeat again and again, the words almost inaudible.
A tug at the tip of my finger, followed by a soft ripping sound and a fresh shock of pain, makes me hiss. I pop my finger back into my mouth and suck, only to realize my fingernail has detached from the nail bed.
The backs of my eyes sting as a shiver rolls throughout my body. Finger still between my lips, I pin my hand to my mouth with the other. I close my eyes and hum the words that have been swirling in my head for days. Familiar yet foreign words. I rock back and forth on the concrete and let the strange melody in my head soothe my pain.
It doesn’t last long, though. It never does.
Music roars to life and I yank my finger from my mouth.
Digging my bony heels into the floor, I shove myself as far into the corner as the chains attached to my cuffs and shackles allow. I draw my legs to my chest and hug them as best I can with my arms. The cuffs hang loosely on my wrists but are not slack enough to slide free. Every bone in my body complains as I fold myself in half and crush my femurs to my rib cage.
“Every star, every star, every star…” I say faster and faster.
I clamp my fingers around the tops of my shins. My long, jagged nails bite the skin with ease. I focus my attention on the pain as I repeat the words over and over.
The door to my prison flies open. A man stands in the doorway. Although he is feet away, his menacing form feels as though it hovers inches above me.
My stomach churns out of habit, but nothing else happens. I haven’t eaten anything for a while. They have given me more food to make me less emaciated and more appealing to the dressy men who come to visit my cell.
For days, I have been force-fed. And for just as long, I have purged all the contents of my stomach shortly after they leave.
I’d rather die in this hell than do a single damn thing to make these assholes happy. If starvation is the answer, then that is how I will end this.
“I’ve got a present for you, Two Sixty-Three.” The man steps into the room and shoves a hand in a cargo pocket.
Yanking on the chain, I try to escape his reach. It’s impossible, I know, yet I still pray a cuff will wiggle loose and I’ll be free.
A wicked voice in my head tells me I will never be free. This is my life now.
In my time here, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. The room and its contents are easier to see when the door is closed. When the door opens, the brightness messes with my vision. It takes me longer to make out finer details.
It’s not until a second before he brings his hand to my neck that I make out the slight shimmer of the needle. As the syringe registers in my mind, it’s too late. The thin metal has already pierced my skin.
I jerk my head away from the sting and reach for my neck.
A moment of déjà vu hits as warmth spreads from my neck to my chest and out to my limbs. The room becomes hazy as my body melts into the floor.
“What…” The word is sludge on my tongue.
“Time to sleep, Two Sixty-Three.”
Within seconds, my eyes close. For the first time since I’ve been in this place, a sense of peace washes over me. I bask in the sensation as my body becomes weightless.
Just before sleep takes me, green eyes and dark hair flash in my mind. In that minor blip of time, it feels as if I’m home again.
My tongue is heavy and dry as my mind slowly wakes up. Exhaustion gnaws at every muscle, bone and cell in my body. It feels as though I’m floating and drowning at the same time.
I lift my hand toward my face but only make it an inch before my arm is jerked back. Confused, I peel my eyes open. The room is blurry, unfamiliar, and a bit brighter than before.
Where am I?
The floor rattles a little before the room teeters.
I slam my eyes shut, inhale several slow, deep breaths, and hum the melody I’ve had in my head for a while. When I exhale the tenth breath, I ease my eyes open again. I take my time glancing around the space as my gaze adjusts to the new setting.
Across from me, just out of reach, a woman sits on the floor. Her legs are folded to her chest, a leather strap wrapped around them and pinning them to her torso. Thick metal cuffs hang loose on her wrists, a clasp on them connected to cuffs on her ankles. Trailing up her legs, I pause at her throat. A wide, worn leather collar encircles her neck, a metal ring at the front.
For several breaths, I stare at the strip of material. The simple piece of animal flesh is also a symbol. A representation of what we have become to the world in these people’s eyes.
Property.
As I think the word, the band of leather around my own neck chafes my skin.
Slowly, I lift my gaze to the woman’s face. Her eyes are on mine, but she doesn’t see me. There is no life in her eyes, in her expression, in her soul. She is just a body—frail, inanimate, praying for death.
I turn my head to survey the rest of the room and it sways. I close my eyes again and wait for the feeling to pass. Whatever they stuck me with must still be wearing off.
When the ground steadies and stills, I open my eyes and scan the room. What I’m met with is unexpected and unsurprising at the same time.
As far as I can see, other captives sit pinned to the wall. Many are unconscious, their head slumped and close to their knees. But quite a few are awake. One by one, we meet each other’s gazes. Some are lifeless while others are riddled with panic.
Not a soul speaks. We know better.
Without a doubt, especially with so many of us in the same space, guards are in the room. Trying to talk to another prisoner is an open invitation for punishment.
Are we being moved?
Did we all get the same injection? Did they knock us out so they could move us without resistance?
I have no idea where we were before, but if they are moving us… this can’t be good.
Closing my eyes, I sift through my mind. Search for thoughts from before. Try to remember something. Anything. A clue as to what this might mean.
The past is foggy. Like a dream I can’t quite grasp. A part of my life just out of reach.
But if ever there is a good time to remember before, it’s now.
Think.
A glint of something lingers in the periphery. Something important.
But what?
And then a memory drifts in.
Before here, I was working on a project. A big project. Something massive and life-changing.
What was it?
Think, think, think.
I pinch my eyes tighter as I dig deeper. I latch on to the memory and try to bring it into focus.
Images of screens flash behind my eyelids. Colorful lines of code on them. Research. A stack of file folders and pictures are scattered everywhere, but the details are hazy.
You can do this. You have to do this. Think.
What was I researching? What was I looking for?
One breath at a time, the details sharpen. The lines on the screen become legible. The scattered pictures become clearer. The cover of the file folder comes into view.
I was looking for… missing people.
My eyes fly open. I glance left then right. Take in the countless others pinned in place.
I was looking for these people.
But where the hell are we? I never learned where the abductees were taken. Had I, none of us would be here right now. And if I didn’t figure out their location, how would anyone else sort it out? How the hell will anyone find me?
Simple answer… they won’t. No one will find me. Or these people.
And if this rocking motion means what I think it does, we are no longer in the same place. So even if they figure out where we were, it’s too late. We are already gone.
“In the shadows, we hide,” I whisper as the backs of my eyes burn. “Until every star falls.”
I don’t know why those words bring me comfort. I don’t know why those words make me want to live when every cell in my body begs for the end. Whatever the reason, these words are all I have left. So, I hold on to them with every ounce of mental strength I have left.
If anyone can hear me, please hurry. I won’t last much longer.