Chapter 9 #2
The smell of mold and damp stones and that subtle hint of salt wafted through the air.
Regret was her new companion as she milled through her thoughts.
She should have left instead of saving his ungrateful ass.
She curled on her side, the cold, dirt floor sending a shiver through her chilled body.
Her eyes flashed to the bedroom when Derek had smacked her across the face.
It was as if she could still feel the sting of his backhand.
Did he feel guilty? Did he even miss her?
Her gut tightened. She couldn’t tunnel herself into despair, not now. Scanning the cell, she looked for the makings of an escape plan attempting to form in her exhausted brain. A pile of hay sat in the corner and a pot resided by the door.
She managed to get to her feet, feeling the gritty stones disintegrate between her fingers.
Pain burned in her hand, causing her vision to narrow.
She leaned into the wall, fighting the darkness as she let out a few long breaths to clear her vision.
She might have dug out all the shards of glass, but it’d done nothing for the pain.
The river had likely increased her risk for an infection, and having Theodoric dig his grubby hands into her skin to fish out a few pieces hadn’t helped either.
Tearing a strip at the end of her shirt, she fashioned a bandage.
She slid her other hand through the bars of the small window set in the door and felt for the lock. The metal hole and locking mechanism seemed simple. As a firefighter, she’d broken into her own fair share of buildings, but sometimes the simplest-looking locks were the absolute worst.
She didn’t have lock picks or any of her other tools, but she had her knife.
She dug into her boot, her chest fluttering as she grasped the hilt.
It wasn’t retractable like a pocketknife, but it was one of the few possessions from her parents she’d kept.
Her hand tightened around the ribbed hilt.
The black blade practically glowed in the candlelight, begging to be used.
She sent a silent prayer to her parents and an apology to hopefully not mess up the knife they’d left her. She wedged it in and began her work.
Learning how to pick locks had been a dreadful experience, but she couldn’t bust down every door.
The department used to have an old locksmith who volunteered with them.
He found amusement in locking them in his homemade-lock-breaking-training contraption.
Amaris may have cursed each time she’d been locked in there, but she was thankful now.
After another minute or two, the mechanism turned, and the door shifted. A single push swung it open.
With her knife in hand, she approached the steps, prepared to battle her way out.
The moon’s light was her guide, allowing her vision to adjust to the darkness as she crept up the stairs and through the gate.
The wind bristled through her hair, the clouds moving at a rapid speed, guarding and revealing the moon in bursts, but her eyes caught above.
What should’ve been a dark sky with only a few stars was a beautiful arrangement of constellations and a vividly bright moon.
She rubbed her eyes. Not a single crater marked its surface.
Her heart sped up. She leaned against the wall, digging her nails into the stone to fend off the panic. Nothing about the last twenty-four hours made a lick of sense, but she couldn’t stay and attempt to decipher the shit fest.
With her back to the wall, she moved around the corner. The wind continued to blow a scent she hadn’t experienced in years. It brought a swarm of memories to light—her father standing her on a surfboard and her mother in the light of a campfire.
Propelling herself forward, she lunged into a full sprint.
Her breaths were loud, coming in short bursts as her legs burned and a coppery taste seeped into her mouth.
She was exhausted but couldn’t let it stop her.
A force drove her forward, whether it be adrenaline or fear, but she kept running.
She sprinted through the arch. No one chased after her, but she careened forward and toppled into the sand.
She brushed the particles from her face, rubbing the grit between her fingertips.
It wasn’t the same arch. With the castle to her back, she peered out into the vast darkness.
A wide expanse of long grass grew in the sand around her.
She went to turn back, but the rolling of the surf was a chorus in her ears.
It couldn’t be. The distinct crashing of waves was no stranger to her. It pulled at her chest, calling her to the beach. The next wave hit. The warm pull within her chest grew, and it was as if the sand latched onto her feet and tugged her closer.
She returned her knife to the confines of her boot and squished her fingers through the granules. A single breath held back her hesitation. Amaris hadn’t stepped foot in the ocean since she’d been rescued on a nearby shore the night of the shipwreck.
She didn’t know how it was possible, but the ocean was here.
A louder crash erupted, and a force had her stepping toward the powerful and turbulent current rolling up the shore.
She dragged her hand down her face. What if she wasn’t in a hospital bed?
What would that mean? She sucked in a breath and dared a step closer to the powerful body of water before her.
She needed to see it with her own eyes, to feel that it wasn’t an anomaly.
A wave misted her face. She paused but licked the salt from her lips. It was real.
Amaris took one more step, but before another wave could send its droplets over her, arms wrapped around her neck. Her nails dug into her assailant’s leather coat, but they only brought her to the ground and strengthened their grip.
Pinned in the sand, breathless, and on the verge of losing consciousness, Amaris took one more look at the ocean coming up to meet her before she passed out.