Chapter 50. Jade
Jade
The thirst is killing me.
It’s like the worst itch imaginable, one you can’t scratch.
There’s not a drop of moisture in my mouth.
My tongue feels thick and swollen, as if it barely fits between my teeth.
Every breath scrapes my throat, which is raw, gritty as sandpaper.
A headache pounds behind my eyes. I can’t tell whether I’m thirsty or if I have a concussion.
A welt has appeared on the side of my head where I hit the doorframe of Conrad’s office as he was carrying me down to this prison.
Dehydration makes my thoughts cloudy. Every move I make feels slow, as if I’m moving through molasses. I try to swallow, but there’s nothing—just my dry scratchy throat, a deep ache in my bones, and the urgent need for water.
Nobody has answered my screams, but that doesn’t keep me from trying.
“Help, somebody. Please … I’m so thirsty,” I say, in what has to be one of the lamest pleas ever uttered. It has all the force of a chirping baby chick. I suck down a breath, letting the fear ratchet up, hoping it’ll fuel my resolve.
I try again, this time with far more authority. “Help! Somebody, please help! I’m locked inside.”
My words echo back to me strangely, low and hollow, bouncing off the stone and the glass bottles, lingering briefly before fading into silence.
I don’t know how far the sound travels down here, or if it can reach the main house where Old Sid or Maeve might hear it.
Regardless, they may be too old and hard of hearing to notice my desperate cries.
I wait and listen. Silence never sounded so loud.
Conrad. This is all because I found out what he’s been doing to Elizabeth. She’s his prisoner and the police would have arrested him if I had made that call.
I need to sit down. The room is spinning, and so are my thoughts.
Would Maeve even help me if she could? There’s no sure answer.
It’s quite possible she’s involved in this house of horrors.
She must know about Elizabeth, too. Is she protecting her son?
That seems likely. Maybe she has been protecting him all along.
Does she realize he probably killed Anna?
Will she do anything to keep her perfect boy, her great legacy, out of prison, even if it means killing me?
When the answer hits me, I stop calling for help.
Tears fill my eyes. If only I could drink them.
I coach myself like I did in Baby Jail when some of the girls threatened to gut me like a fish, or when my father went into one of his drunken rages that sent my mother cowering in the closet.
You are Jade Jensen. You take no shit. You are a fighter. You are a survivor.
No. You are a crier.
Because that’s what I’m doing, down on the floor, head between my knees—sobbing uncontrollably.
I’ve realized something. There’s a reason nobody has brought me any food, water, or even a blanket to ward off the constant chill.
It’s because I’m just like Elizabeth—she’s up there, and I’m down here.
Her words and mine could be the same: I don’t matter.
And like her, I probably won’t be an inconvenience for much longer.
My ragged breathing comes to a sputtering stop. I will myself to not think about water. Sure enough, the ache in my throat lessens some. I have to get the fuck out of here. No one is coming for me, so I have to rescue myself. But how?
I look up at the grate. If I can dislodge it from the wall, I could break the glass and wiggle my way through.
But first, I have to reach the damn thing. It’s far over my head. I try jumping, but my legs don’t have much spring. If I stretch my arms as high as I can, I still can’t reach above the bottom spikes.
There’s no way to tell if I can pull it off unless I can climb up there.
Before I can plot my next move, I’m caught off guard by a loud and powerful sneeze. The force scratches my raw, parched throat, but it also makes me think of Holly—how we first met because of my dust allergy.
I want to get back to her. Not just to warn her that Conrad is dangerous, but because … well, I guess because she’s the closest thing to family that I have.
I’m struck with a deep feeling of sorrow. I don’t open up easily. I don’t let anyone in. Closeness is pain. Caring is an illusion. That’s what I’ve learned about life. That’s the greatest lesson my parents taught me. But then … there’s Holly.
I guess you don’t realize how alone you’ve been until someone comes along and treats you with kindness.