Chapter 60. Jade
Jade
My head lolls forward, straining my neck.
Every sensation and sound feels distant, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.
The gas generator hums along, but it could be in another state for all I can tell.
My senses aren’t completely dulled; I’m acutely aware of the foul smell of wine, urine, gasoline, and mildew all mixed together.
My vision dims, but the broken bottle I’m wielding as a weapon remains sharp and clear.
My busted wrist burns as if I had put it on the stove.
Waiting is the hardest part. It’s a different kind of torture than physical pain—a strain in my gut that won’t let go, twisting my insides every which way.
And what am I waiting for? A chance at freedom, not knowing if I’ll die before I get my shot.
What I can’t do is cry. The tears are gone, all dried up. But a bottomless pool of regret swims inside me. I’ve spent so much of my life angry, pissed at my parents, my misfortune. Now all I want is to live. To be part of a family.
Holly. Her name gives me hope. She’s the first person to make me feel like I belong, like I matter. I’m gutted at the prospect of exiting this world like Elizabeth Ward—helpless, alone, irrelevant.
I don’t matter anymore. Funny how this happens just when I start to believe I could be important to someone else. But that’s how things always go for me.
Do I pray? I don’t think I know how. Still, I send up a plea to the heavens. God, give me one chance, one last shot. I envision using the broken bottle to kill my would-be murderer. My lips move, whispering the words: One shot … one shot … please.
I’m leaning against the door when I hear it—a prayer answered. A click in the lock. Is it just my imagination? No, the door shifts, pressing into my back. I’m so weak, so exhausted, but this is my only chance.
I slide to my left. Whoever enters will see an empty room until they turn in my direction—then I’ll be there, ready to pounce.
But I can’t stand up. I try, but it’s no use.
My muscles have no strength left. I’m running out of time.
The door swings open. The room blurs into a haze.
My eyes aren’t ready for the low light from the hallway that fills my cell.
I’m still on the ground as a shadowy figure enters. It’s Conrad, I’m sure, but with my blurry vision, he looks smaller and weaker. Am I just giving myself false hope?
Fear saws into my bones. The figure halts abruptly, facing the window. Conrad looks confused; he glances around but doesn’t see me hidden in the shadows. I summon a burst of strength, pushing my feet into the ground as I ready my weapon.
One shot. One chance. Live … I want to live.
The figure turns, finally seeing me. I focus on the eyes of my target, wide with surprise, the whites expanding like an explosion.
I don’t hesitate—not for a second. Spitting out a disjointed war cry, uttered from a place of deep fear, I hurl myself forward, the glass bottle aiming for the throat.
I imagine the bottle is glued to my hand.
I won’t let go. It’s sharp as a razor blade, good enough to maim and, hopefully, to kill.
I must be quite the sight—wild, frantic, radiating fury.
Nothing is scarier than someone out of her mind with desperation.
I feel it immediately, the horrifying sensation of my weapon sinking deep into flesh.
A wave of nausea roils through me, but I stab again and again.
I don’t know what part of his body I’ve struck.
Throat? Shoulder? Arm? I’m blind from the rush of adrenaline.
Warm blood oozes onto my hand and down my arm.
The figure grabs hold of me, a bloody arm wraps tightly around my chest, knocking the air out of me. I feel my attacker’s strength and determination, just as I fear mine is fading away.
“I’ve got you now,” a voice says before everything goes black.