Chapter 4 #2
“Then what do you want?” Fear ripples through me, for them, for myself. Ivan’s presence is weak, distant for now, but when he comes back, I can’t imagine this will end well. “What’s with the secrecy? I’m no one special.”
“Unfortunately for me, you are.” I don’t appreciate or understand the haughtiness in his voice. “You’ll be looped in whenever the time is right. We have some questions first, though.”
“Ask then.” My own confusion grates my nerves, leaving my patience threadbare.
“What were you doing at McWay Falls?”
“Why don’t you ask the asshole who abducted me? I think it was fairly obvious.”
Oddly enough, he laughs at that. “I guess a better question is, do you want to die?”
The obnoxious ticking of the clock rushes me for an answer. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it? I think it’s pretty simple for most people.”
Letting out a long sigh, I debate whether I even bother to answer. I don’t owe him anything.
“Do you want to die?” He presses again.
Who knows if I’m helping myself or biting myself in the ass by cooperating, but if an answer will shut him up, then I guess it has its benefits. “No. I don’t want to die. There. Happy?”
“Good thing H—that asshole—was there to grab you then.” There’s laughter in his voice again. I’d hardly think interrogation is a funny thing, but I have always struggled with knowing the correct responses in situations, so what do I know?
“I’m not a danger to myself, or you, if that’s what this is about.” The half-truth sinks its teeth into me. “You can untie me.”
“Why? So you can just run off? Do you think I was born yesterday?”
I don’t bother answering.
“What were you doing at McWay Falls?”
“What does it matter? I promise, whoever you think I am, whatever information you think I have, you’re mistaken. I’m no one.”
“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
Tension floods the room as the door opens. My interviewer turns to the other person.
“My turn.” I barely make out the distant whisper, but their steps confirm my suspicion that it’s Captor One.
“We were just getting started,” Captor Two argues.
“I’ve got it from here,” Captor One insists, their voice distorted and mechanical.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay for your own good?” A long silence follows, I imagine One glaring at Two. Following another drawn-out silence, sneakers fade in the distance, then the door shuts again.
“So, you have me all to yourself, what now?” I turn to my left, addressing the person standing at my side.
Each step they take is pointed. Their footfalls louder than they were before, their attention directly on me. I’m trapped as they stalk toward me.
Table legs let out a small screech in front of me as they hoist themselves onto it. Then the silence resumes. But even though they don’t say anything, I can nearly hear their thoughts screaming at me. Their questions. Their curiosity. Their anguish?
Something about their energy has shifted. There’s a heaviness to it that presses down, the shadow of expectation reaching for me.
“Come on. Just tell me already, what do you want from me?”
The click of a button finally breaks the stillness. “That’s a complicated question. One I’m not inclined to answer just yet.” The distortion in their voice would be comical if it weren’t for the current that catches in the air, electric and hot.
“I’m not a patient woman.” I prod at it, not caring anymore if I kick a potential hornet’s nest.
I jump at the jarring slap of their shoes on the floor when they slide down from the edge of the table. There’s no hesitation as they walk behind me; their hands grip the back of my chair.
My disdain for being close to strangers, surprisingly, isn’t activated. Instead, I wait on pins and needles as they lean down until I can feel their breath against my hair.
“Believe me, I’m well aware.” The emphasis they put on well sends a chill down my spine.
“What? Are you some kind of creep? Are you a stalker or something?” My heart beats faster. Even if I hadn’t noticed someone following me, surely Ivan would have, wouldn’t he? Speaking of which, his absence is strange, unbelievable. And yet, I can feel him nearby.
“Creep? No. Stalker? I wouldn’t call it that.” Beneath the mechanical tone of the machine creeps the whisper of familiarity.
Second by second, that misty slip of something solidifies enough for me to grab it, but I can’t fully latch onto it.
My stomach drops as it tugs me forward into a well of the past, and suddenly, I’m drowning in nostalgia.
Because that voice, the hint of it, contains an echo of one that once comforted me through the darkest nights, said my name with love, moaned it with desire, promised me the world.
One that should be firmly in my past. But what if…
“Tell me your name.” I’m terrible at names; it shouldn’t even matter. And yet, it does. It matters more than anything.
“You think you know me now?”
The question sows doubt, it claws away at the connections my mind has conjured that all lead to a logical conclusion. My mouth goes dry, my lips buzz with anticipation. “Maybe.”
“Maybe you know me…” He pauses, but instead of tightening the control over his voice, it’s raspier. “Maybe you used to. But based on the last few years, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume you’d forgotten me completely. Can’t say you didn’t try.”
There’s a grit to his words, it’s rough against the hidden tender parts of my calloused heart. But it’s not anger, it’s not entitlement or betrayal; it’s pain. Anguish. Longing.
It’s the brittle timbre of love and loss.
I don’t need sight. I don’t need verbal confirmation. I know who stands in front of me. There’s nobody else who could disarm me so completely with just their mere presence.
I could name this man across lifetimes, but I haven’t allowed myself to utter it in years. Not in private, not in my dreams. Doing so now is like teetering on a ledge, the precipice of a fall into the unknown.
No, that’s not right, I always knew this was waiting for me—the painful descent into my fate.
“I’ll give you one guess.” All pretense drops as the machine clatters to the floor.
With a shaky breath, I step off the edge. “Hawthorne?”