Chapter 1 #2
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A watery laugh escaped me before I could bite it back, but coincidences like that didn’t happen, least of all to me.
It spurred me on, giving me the confidence I needed to execute the second part of the plan.
Over the years, Veritas had somehow managed to acquire signal jammers, but their reach didn’t cover the entirety of the compound.
After several close calls, a merciful opening finally came in the form of Tobias being called away unexpectedly, leaving me a small window of opportunity, during which my whereabouts would go unmonitored.
I’d snagged one of the many ancient flip phones Tobias kept in the bottom drawer of his nightstand and ran as fast as my feet would carry me to the eastern corner of the property.
I was doubtful that Detective Cortés would even remember me, but much to my relief, he’d not only remembered me; he’d also been awaiting my call.
I’m sure the rushed twenty-minute chat we had was nothing more than an info-dump that left him reeling, likely questioning my sanity in the process.
But the fact that he didn’t immediately write me off, thinking me nothing more than a bored housewife with too much time on her hands, did wonders for the incredibly depleted reservoir of faith I had.
It didn’t take long for his superiors to get involved.
Once they understood the enormity of the situation, they wasted no time contacting the FBI, who eventually took the lead, with local authorities agreeing to assist on an as-needed basis.
After a brief back-and-forth regarding logistics, I agreed to be the inside man and pass along any pertinent, time-sensitive information as quickly as possible.
To gather as much evidence as I could without raising any alarms, so when Veritas’ day of reckoning came, there’d be no weaseling their way out of the multitude of charges they’d be facing.
My only caveat was that Cortés remained the liaison between the other parties involved and me.
We coordinated with a local officer so I could retrieve a burner phone from a specified drop point during my next outing to the Farmer’s Market.
Trying to swipe one of Tobias’ every time I needed to make contact was far too risky, and though it terrified me to bring something so damning back to the compound, I knew it was essential to have a way of communicating.
It was too risky for Detective Cortés to be involved, seeing as we’d already engaged publicly with far too many witnesses, so we agreed that any further contact would need to be through telephonic means.
One conversation led to another, until somehow, I found myself reaching out just because I wanted to.
Sometimes, we didn’t even talk about the hell I was experiencing or the case they were building to bring this place to its proverbial knees.
I was eager to hear about his day, for the reminder that life existed beyond the walls I’d been confined to for the better part of a decade.
He’d tell me silly stories about his co-workers and the shenanigans his neighbors, Colsen and Dayton, had gotten up to.
I could tell he was loath to share the scarce few minutes I was able to steal away and chat.
Still, he never once forbade the men next door from speaking with me as well, which inevitably turned into the three of them bickering.
At the same time, I tried my hardest to muffle the laughter their lighthearted bantering elicited.
And for the first time in far too long, my smiles were genuine.
Dayton seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to my poorly restrained anger.
He’d purposely rile me up, giving me an outlet to vent my rage at.
He’d take everything I gave him without holding it against me.
Col, on the other hand, would keep things light and upbeat.
He’d spend countless hours regaling me with stories from his and Dayton’s childhood, happily divulging their most embarrassing moments, as long as it kept my thoughts a million miles from my current reality.
Between the three of them, I began to believe that hope actually existed.
Detective Cortés, however, became so much more than just my point of contact.
He became Raiden, the friend I didn’t know I needed and a lifeline that kept me going when the weight I was shouldering felt too heavy to carry.
Logically, I knew that behind the scenes there was a whole team of people working around the clock, but it didn’t feel that way when none of them were actually there with me, enduring every painstaking day.
I was one person trying to do the impossible, and whenever I’d start to doubt my ability to see things through, Raiden would bring me back from the brink of a spiral with his unwavering reassurance.
I’d only seen him in person once, but I could detail every inch of his face with perfect recollection.
The way a faint scar bisected his left eyebrow.
How his bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, or the nearly onyx color of his five o’clock shadow.
The image was so vivid because I’d recall it every time I was desperate to feel a sense of safety.
When Tobias would force me to The Pit as penance for a crime I didn’t commit, my body wracked with shivers from the freezing rain as I tried to dissociate from the fact I was lying at the base of a trench amongst the butchered carcasses of Veritas’ livestock, it was the memory of him I clung to.
Just knowing Raiden existed was enough to keep me sane in a place where sanity was a rare commodity.
He made me eager for the life I’d have once this was all over, and through him, I got to experience a small portion of the world I’d been deprived of.
And I knew, wholeheartedly, if I would’ve changed my mind at any point and confessed I couldn’t take a second more of being their go-between, Raiden would’ve led the charge and made certain I was granted my freedom.
A part of me thinks he’d eagerly throw the entire investigation down the drain if it meant I could finally put this chapter to rest. But I’m fully aware that the intel I’m feeding them is far more beneficial than what they could learn on their own.
So I stay the course. For seven excruciating months, I do my part and pretend a piece of me doesn’t die every time I’m forced to bend to Tobias’ whims. The disgust I feel from his touch is repressed to the point of making me physically ill, but I’ll be damned if my inability to compartmentalize is the reason our cover is blown.
Despite knowing it’s a dead-end path to send my thoughts down, I still reminisce about the years Tobias meant the world to me.
How he’d once pilfered a deck of Uno cards while being away on an outreach mission, just to sate my boredom.
We’d spent hours playing hand after hand, lost in our own little world that didn’t have space for anyone else.
If you’d have told me then what our future entailed, I wouldn’t have believed for a second that the boy I’d come to love would lift a finger towards me in anger.
And the pain of how wrong I was still feels like a lightning strike some days.
If only I had the ability to see the destruction that awaited me.
Even the smallest bit of insight would have been advantageous.
I should have run when I had the chance, when the eyes of the Elders and Tobias weren’t scrutinizing my every move.
Whatever misgivings I had before, they’ve grown tenfold since then.
I often think back to that day in The Atrium, when I first questioned who Tobias truly was–a complacent sheep or the hapless son of a monster with no authority to change the status quo.
Turns out, he’s neither; he’s simply a parasitic leech who robs the weak-minded of their autonomy and excels at breeding doubt, making you question if your intuition is faulty and not to be trusted.
The foreshadowing couldn’t have been any more blatant, but when you deprive a person of basic human connections throughout their entire existence, eventually, they’ll start to accept the scraps they’re being fed, while somehow convincing themselves it’s a sustainable way of life.
But they’re actually starving, desperate for a modicum of intimacy, and that degree of forlorn desire leads to a vulnerability so acute it easily allows those with wicked intentions to seep inside the cracks bred by loneliness, rearranging the person you are into whatever they want you to be.
I led with my heart, confident it was in the best hands possible, only to have it shredded, the battered ribbons flailing in the wind like a white flag.
This place brutalizes your psyche, wearing you down until there’s nothing left worth fighting for.
Eventually, you succumb to the torment, accepting the fate you’ve been force-fed–be that death or submission.
But for people like me, who’ve fought their entire lives for the right to exist in a world that’s intent on extinguishing them, we don’t go quietly.
We rattle the cages we’ve been confined to, constantly searching for a point of weakness we can exploit to our benefit.
Whatever it takes–any manner of torture–will be well worth the psychological damage I’ll be sorting through for years to come, so long as I’m freed of this hellscape when it inevitably burns to the ground.