29. Chapter 26 | Dom
The wagon door slammed shut, metal on metal, final as a grave closing. Dom caught one last glimpse through the wire mesh—CJ's face, tear-streaked and terrified, Elle's hand on his shoulder pulling him back. Then the engine started, the wagon lurched forward, and they were gone.
The cell was freezing. Time had become meaningless the moment that door locked behind her.
The officers moved her through booking like meat being inspected.
Strip search first. She stared at the wall while they circled her and said what they needed to say—every word designed to make her less than human.
She thought about her mama. Don't let them put your light out, baby.
She wouldn't. Let them look. Let them say it. She wasn't going to flinch.
Fingerprints next. Photos. One of them yanked her hair, positioning her for the mugshot, yanked again harder when she didn't react. Her eyes watered, but she made no sound.
They threw her in with two other CORE women.
Charlene Williams—older, graying hair, steady hands.
And Ruth Williams, couldn't have been more than seventeen, thin and shaking in that yellow floral dress.
In the cell next to theirs, Rev. Alexander already led the men in song, his voice steady and clear against the concrete.
We shall overcome, we shall overcome...
Dom's ribs screamed when she sat, healing more slowly than ever after multiple breaks.
"Now this."
"First time?" Dom asked Ruth.
The girl nodded, couldn't speak.
"Then listen to me. Keep your gaze fixed. Breathe slow. Don't give them anything they can use."
She showed them what she'd learned: how to sit without wasting energy, how to breathe when scared, how to make herself small to survive. While she talked, she did the math. Six arrested. CORE's bail treasury had maybe five hundred dollars. For six people, they'd need three thousand at minimum.
Nobody was coming up with three thousand overnight.
She thought about Elle. About the reporter at the protest who had recognized her voice. Elle had to know by now—a smart woman would already be calculating exits. That was the thing about Elle: she understood the cost of visibility better than anyone. She'd been hiding for a reason.
Dom couldn't blame her for running.
And CJ—CJ didn't know where she was. Probably thought she'd vanished. Probably thought everyone abandoned him again, first his father, then Dom, then—
Stop. CJ wasn't arrested. That was what mattered. He was safe. That had to be enough.
"You. Bull dyke. Come with me."
Dom stood. Everyone in the cell knew what that meant.
Rev. Alexander's hand clasped hers through the bars. "Stay strong, sister."
Dom nodded and followed the officer out.
The processing room had no windows. A drain in the floor—she noticed it right away. Knew what it meant.
Two officers waited. One was smoking. He burned his cigarette out on his boot, slow and deliberate, watching her watch him do it.
"Let's see how tough you really are."
The first hit landed on her kidney. Sharp and electric. She gasped.
The second came to the same spot. Her knees buckled. They kept her upright by the collar.
Then they went for her ribs—the ones Lewis broke, still healing, still tender. She heard the crack before she felt it, a sound that lived in her bones, and her breath left her all at once. Couldn't pull air back. Panic rising fast. The officer knew exactly where to hit. They all did.
After that, she lost track.
They worked her body methodically—liver, kidneys, ribs again and again.
Professional. Practiced. A kick to her back drove her into the wall.
They yanked her upright by the collar, her shirt tearing.
A face punch split her lip wide. Another and her cheek crunched.
She was on the floor. Didn't remember falling.
Cold concrete against her face, blood trickling toward the drain in a thin steady stream.
"You think you're a man? You think you can protect people?"
CJ's face surfaced in her mind—the way he'd looked when she taught him to block. Keep your hands up. Protect your face. Don't let them see you're hurt.
Elle's voice: This little light of mine...
Mama: Don't let them put your light out, baby.
I will not break, Dom thought. Will not scream. Will not beg. Have to survive this. CJ needs me to walk out of here. Needs to see it can be done.
They stopped. Dropped her.
"You tell anyone about this, we'll finish the job. We know where you live. We know where that boy lives."
Dom nodded.
When they left, she lay on the floor, taking inventory. Left eye swollen shut. Cheekbone wrong. Ribs broken in at least three places—distinct as mapped points. Each breath a wet rattle, more frightening than the pain. Blood pooled under her face, moving slowly toward the drain.
She watched it, considering staying down. How easy it would be.
"CJ needs to see you walk out of here." She forced herself to move, crawling to the wall. Using it to stand, her body shaking. She shuffled to the door and knocked—her throat wouldn't work, no sound came.
The officer opened it. "Done already? Thought you'd last longer."
He walked her back. Behind them, water sprayed against concrete—evidence washing away.
Charlene's hand flew to her mouth when the cell door opened. Rev. Alexander's voice came through the bars: "Sweet Jesus." Ruth started crying.
Dom made it to the bench and collapsed. Each breath rattled.
"I'm okay," she managed.
"You're not—"
"I'm alive. That's okay enough."
Charlene was beside her, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket—still white, still clean. She pressed it carefully against Dom's face. Dom hissed but didn't pull away.
"This isn't right," Charlene said. Not rage. Just fact.
"No," Dom said. "It's not. That's why we're here." She let Charlene work.
Dom's one working eye burned. She blinked hard.
Ruth pulled off her cardigan, folding it into a pillow. Dom settled on her left side, curled around her injuries. The cardigan smelled of lavender soap and fear.
From the next cell, Rev. Alexander began singing—loud enough to carry through the wall, loud enough to give Dom dignity.
Dom moved her lips to the words. Her voice wouldn't come. Just blood and air and pain.
"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine."
Hours crawled. The window went from gray to black.
Ruth stopped crying and started asking questions—how long have you been doing this, how do you keep going, what do you do when you're scared.
Dom told them what she could. Pain is just information.
Small movements to stay warm. How to breathe shallow when your ribs are broken.
Deep in the night Charlene began singing. Not a movement song—something older, something her grandmother probably knew. Rev. Alexander joined in. Dom tried. This time her voice worked—broken, rough, barely recognizable. Blood on her teeth when she opened her mouth.
She sang anyway. The light hadn't gone out.
Morning came gray through the small window. The breakfast cart rattled past. Dom didn't lift her head.
Keys jangling, "Nixon." Sondra Nixon stood, gathered her things, and looked back through the bars. "I'll tell them you're still here." "We know," Rev. Alexander said.
One bailed out. Five still here.
Dom told herself it was nothing—they'd start somewhere, they'd get to everyone, this was just the order of it. But the familiar weight settled in anyway. Being convenient enough to use. Inconvenient enough to leave.
An hour passed. "Castle." Doris Jean Castle stood, met Dom's gaze, and left without speaking.
Another hour passed. "Alexander." The reverend looked back at her.
"You're coming too." "He didn't call my name.
" "He will." But the officer was already walking, and Rev.
Alexander followed, glancing back once before the door closed.
Three left. Dom, Charlene, Ruth.
Then: "Williams." Charlene. She started to say something, stopped, and left.
Just Dom and Ruth.
The girl looked at Dom, terrified. "They left us. They actually left us."
Dom stared at the floor. At her own dried blood still visible in the grout. She thought about Elle—about whether she'd run, whether Dom had finally become too much to stay for. Three years ago Oretha had left her here for two days. Maybe this time nobody was coming at all.
She didn't say that.
"Someone's coming," she told Ruth.
"You don't know that."
No. She didn't.
Minutes stretched. Dom closed her one working eye and tried to find an anchor. Her mama's voice. A song. Anything.
Just: Please. Please.
Footsteps.
"LeJeune."
Her head snapped up.
"You got bail. And you too, kid. Someone paid for both of you."
Dom tried to stand. Her body wouldn't cooperate at first. Ruth helped her—this girl who'd been terrified an hour ago now supporting Dom, hands steady. They walked together toward the door.
"All six?" Dom asked the officer. She had to hear it.
"All six. Someone paid for every last one of you."
Dom's vision blurred. Her whole body was shaking.
All six.
Elle came.
Didn't run. Didn't choose safety. Came. And didn't just come for Dom—came for all of them.
Every step toward the booking area was agony. But her heart was working too hard to stop—hope and fear mixed until she couldn't tell them apart.
Elle came.
And she paid for all of them.