Chapter 92
Filip tries to force his eyes open, but it’s no good; there is a strange weight pressing on his face; he can’t see. It’s as if he is wearing a hood.
Someone is carrying him in their arms.
Is it Mom?
He remembers the feeling of safety when he was little and afraid of the dark. When he cried and she would fetch him from his nursery and carry him into her room. He would be allowed to snuggle down beside her in the double bed and fall asleep while she lay reading.
Mom always smelled so good, of bergamot, gardenia, and something else. That was the smell of her.
Filip is semiconscious, but this is different—a mixture of sweat and stale booze, unfamiliar and unpleasant body odors.
Mom is dead.
The grief when the memory suddenly returns hits him with full force. She doesn’t exist anymore; she has been murdered.
He will never see her again.
And now he has been abducted.
He becomes aware of the cold penetrating his clothes. He must be outside; he is no longer shut in the narrow, claustrophobic space from before.
Whoever is carrying him is breathing hard with exertion. Gasping and puffing with damp breaths that smell of beer. A vague thought stirs in Filip’s mind. He ought to break free, try to escape.
But he can’t do it; his muscles won’t cooperate; his body is unresponsive. Plus both his arms and his legs are still bound.
He hears a creaking noise, as if a door is being closed. Then it gets warmer; they must be indoors now.
Filip slips into unconsciousness again.
He wishes Mom were here.