Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The sound of something scraping across the floor startles me awake, and I look around quickly, before remembering where I am.
I’m a prisoner, locked away in a room, taken by the Castaways.
Letting out a deep breath, I look down to determine what made the noise, only to find a plate of food on the floor beside me.
A moment later, a panel in the door opens, and a glass bottle of water rolls in behind it before the panel slams shut again.
Whoever delivered the food didn’t speak, but I know someone is still there. The scraping of a chair on the wooden floor just outside the door, followed by mumbling I can’t make out, confirms it.
I didn’t realize I needed a guard in addition to an immovable locked door.
The aroma of roasted meat and vegetables immediately fills the small room, and my stomach gurgles loudly.
I ignore it.
I haven’t eaten since this morning, before I left camp.
The decision to risk angering Dane to take a chance at finding the healing waters feels like days ago now.
After even just a brief rest, the shock of the day is wearing off and Edmond’s lessons flood to the surface of my mind as if only to avoid the thought of hunger.
Observation is the first part, and I already know a good amount of my location. I’m near a beach, in a structure with three levels that seem to be made of wood. There’s a guard at my door, and I am completely closed off to everything except for the slot in the door where they feed me.
And they’re being kind. I can almost hear Edmond’s voice warning me not to fall for kindness, as it is the easiest way to get someone comfortable and trusting enough to get what they want.
The beating I’d take for information is almost preferable, instead of sitting and waiting to see how they are going to act next.
I glance over at the plate and push it away.
Don’t trust the food.
Edmond would repeat the phrase randomly throughout our lesson. I can’t rule out poison, especially since there is no one else in the room eating with me. Even if they do not intend to give me enough to kill me, it could be just enough to make me miserable, and eventually talk.
But I won’t talk.
I ignore both the food and the sinking feeling in my stomach begging me to eat it while I look around at my prison. There are no windows, and the only door is the one I am leaning against.
Know your resources.
The room is barren, but there must be something in here I can use to my advantage, especially after they stripped me of all my weapons.
I stand and circle the room slowly, looking for anything I can use.
A loose floorboard, a nail sticking out from the wall, but otherwise there is nothing.
Even the cot is bolted to the floor, so I can’t try to break it and have a weapon.
I look back at my wooden plate when my eyes snag on the glass bottle. I snatch it off the floor and look around for something to hit it on. The guard would be alerted to the sound of the shatter, but at least I’ll have a weapon to fight.
There’s nothing in the room besides the bed and the wall, so I walk over to it and, with all my strength, slam the bottle into the corner of the bed.
It bounces right off.
“What the…” I mutter to myself and try again, the loud bang echoing through the room.
It’s still not breaking. I freeze when I hear the chair shift and footsteps approach the door.
The bottle is too small to be used as a club.
The only way it would be useful is if it had sharp edges, but at this rate, it won’t.
I wait until the steps retreat again and the chair creaks as the guard sits back down.
Back to square one.
I toss the bottle back onto the floor by the plate and keep looking around the room. The woman was right. A small washroom is directly behind the panel, seemingly for privacy. A small wooden basin with a spout hangs off the wall, and I walk over quickly, placing my hands under it.
Clear water trickles into my cupped hands, and I greedily slurp it.
The cool water slides down my throat, and I instantly feel refreshed.
They can’t poison what is coming out of the wall, especially since it seems like the same magic that runs camp.
I can at least survive for a while with water.
I just need to get past the initial hunger pangs.
After checking the rest of the room and coming up empty, I settle back down on the floor at the foot of the cot, my back pressed against the wall. I refuse to give them any satisfaction from using the comforts they offer, so sleeping on the floor will have to do.
I’m going to need to come up with a different plan, since all I have at my disposal is water. I may not be able to fight my way out, but I can still try to escape. Closing my eyes, I take some deep breaths and focus, hunkering down inside myself and steeling my emotions to the outside world.
I am not alone. I have a family waiting for me back at camp, and Fin somewhere around here.
I have Dane. I will get through this, and I will get out.
I have been overlooked and underestimated for most of my life.
In the throne room, in the training rings, in our kingdom politics, but I am stronger than they think.
Weston will not break me, no matter how hard he tries.
Meals keep sliding through the panel in the door, but I leave them untouched from my spot on the floor. I can feel my body weakening as I lay here, trying to expend as little energy as possible.
The wooden boards are extremely uncomfortable, and my muscles scream at me with every movement, but I refuse to use the cot.
The only time I get up is to take drinks of water and keep myself hydrated.
I mourn for all the strength and endurance I built up over my time on the island as it disintegrates with my lack of food and movement.
Time passes, but I can’t quantify it because I sleep most of it away. It’s the best way to ignore the hunger, to preserve what little energy I have, and ignore anyone who might come in here.
They must know I am not eating. My plates get pulled back through the panel completely untouched.
They are either trying to see who will break first, or weakening me as much as they can so that when the torture comes, I will break.
Because there’s no more kindness. There’s no more contact, just complete isolation in this room.
At least I’m used to being alone.
But I always had Edmond and Brynne. I was extremely lonely, but never as overtly alone as I am now, except for the guard constantly stationed outside my door.
I lay on the floor in the dark, eyes closed but awake, with no way of knowing what time of day it is, whether it is day or night, or how many it has been. I could have counted the meals, but I don’t know how many were brought and taken away while I slept. The number of days doesn’t matter.
Remaining unwavering matters. My strength matters.
Noise outside my door catches my attention. I perk my head up, straining to listen, but I can’t make anything out. Crawling closer and doing my best not to make a sound, I rest my head on the door, positioning my ear so it is on the seam, and try to hear through it.
Someone is talking. No, not talking. Arguing. But they are doing their best to stay hushed. I move to the other side of the door, pressing my ear against the other seam, hoping it is closer so the sound travels through it.
The low voice that I have become all too familiar with grumbles through the door.
“There is no reason for you to be concerned.”
“Bullshit there isn’t. You need a break.” It’s the woman who brought me here.
I stifle a gasp. Has Weston been the one on guard? Has he been the one sitting outside my door at all hours? Surely there’s a rotation, or he’s filling in. There is no reason the leader of the Castaways would guard a prisoner.
Unless he’s waiting for the right time to break me.
“I’m fine,” he snaps.
“You are not fine. I know what it’s like when you are fine. This isn’t it.”
“I suggest you follow your orders, Sig.”
“To hell with my orders. I’ll take over, and you go do it. They need you up there.”
“She hasn’t eaten. At all,” he grumbles, his voice rising slightly with anger so I can hear him better.
If I ever needed reassurance that I was doing the right thing, this is it. He wants me to eat, wants me to give in to my hunger, and he’s sitting outside the door waiting for me to do it. Edmond was right. I can’t trust the food.
“Sitting in this chair all day and all night isn’t going to make her. Go. You need to take care of everyone else out there. Yourself, too.”
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says finally, before his heavy footsteps trail away.
I slowly let out the breath I was holding, and my head spins with the lack of sustenance and air.
A small shred of relief settles in my chest knowing he’s gone, at least for now, but I know I need to hold out even longer.
He could grow impatient at any time and burst through the door demanding answers.
I need to prepare myself for that moment.
The chair scrapes on the floor again, followed by the squeak of weight settling into it. I am startled by her voice speaking again, breaking the silence of the room after I thought the conversation was over.
“You can stop listening to us now.”
I freeze. I’d been silent. There is no way she could have known I was here listening.
As if she can read my thoughts, she calls out, “I saw you move under the door.”
I scramble back to my spot, the movement and commotion giving me up, but it doesn’t matter. I already heard their argument, and she already knows I did.
“You know, it would be better for everyone if you just ate something,” she says, her voice raised so it easily carries through the door to where I rest back against the wall. “It’s making him an asshole.”
“He’s always an asshole,” I say without thinking, and am surprised to hear a chuckle from the other side of the door.
I can’t help but smile slightly, even though I know I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t feel any sort of camaraderie or affection toward any of the Castaways, especially one who clearly has a great deal of sway with him.
The first step of developing a connection to my captors is having something in common, and that is exactly what just happened.
It’s exactly what they want.
I let myself have this one moment before shutting down again, turning off my emotions. His goal is to manipulate me, and he’s clearly trying in different ways, but I won’t give in.
My refusal of the meals is getting to him, and it gives me satisfaction that his plan isn’t working. He probably thought I would be easy to break, a stupid young girl that would crack under a little pressure. Little does he know, I’ve been trained for this. I expected it, and I won’t let him win.
My back aches as I curl onto my side and lay my head down. Thoughts drift through my mind as I let go and start to slip into sleep again. What is happening back at camp? Is Dane out looking for me? Will he ever find me?
The Castaways have stayed hidden for years, despite Dane searching for them every day.
I know now how they’ve stayed hidden for so long, traveling through the island, not on it.
Worry fills me as I think about being stranded here, the newest victim to the Castaway mind games, with no one to help me but myself.
Years of unsuccessful searching have proven the Castaways are invisible, so I can’t sit around waiting to be saved. There are only three things that need to happen now.
I need to endure whatever torture, physical or mental, that Weston is about to inflict on me.
I need to find Fin.
And we need to escape.