Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
Madelyn
The scene around me comes in pieces. First, a room lit only by a single bulb, but even that is enough to make my head throb.
Second, are all the corpses. Some chained. Some, not all, are naked. Men and women. Young and old. This place doesn't seem to discriminate.
Bars circle the space to the ceiling on every side except the exterior wall. There are two boarded-up windows, giving me little hope of leaving this obvious prison.
I try to study the room more, but my eyes hurt just to look at the light. So I close them, hoping everything will go away.
It doesn't work.
A moan causes my eyes to flutter open as I search for the person who made it. A dark shadow moves from behind; his actions are enough to make me gag.
A girl lies on the floor with a man on top of her. Even through the darkness, I can see the evil pouring out of him. His brown eyes almost glow, leaking out the rot from within. No words come from his mouth, only barbaric sounds that send chills down my spine.
I force myself up in hopes of at least getting farther away, but barely make it to a sitting position. Chains trap me, with one end secured to the floor and the other to my wrists and ankles. Pain radiates through my injured leg, forcing me to cry out.
The man shifts his focus to me. "You've only just arrived. Don't you want to play?”
He stands up then, keeping his cock out of his unzipped pants.
I force myself to swallow. Please don't let this happen again. I shake my head.
“You will.” He moves into the light and therefore closer.
That’s when my worst suspicions became clear.
My heart races. I knew this time would come.
But I think nothing could have prepared me for this.
They are identical in every way except for the lack of body modification.
Jackson has his brother beat with scars and tattoos covering much of his upper body.
This man has only one scar. It covers one whole side of his cheek.
“I don't seem to be your type,” I murmur while wondering if he's fucked every single corpse in this room.
He clicks his tongue while snatching the hair on the top of my head. My body lifts from his hold. “For you and my twin. I'd make an exception.”
His tongue licks one side of my face, from jaw to temple. Immediately, panic sets in. I forget to breathe. I should have kept my smart mouth shut.
“I'm Jamison, by the way.” He tugs my hair so hard it feels like my hair is getting ripped from my scalp. “But I figure you already know that.”
A scream gurgles through my throat, but it only makes the pain worse. “Your cunt has gotten my brother distracted,” he whispers into my ear. “Why is that?”
“He's going.. to.. kill youuu for what you are doing to mmeee.” I stutter between breaths.
Jamison laughs while releasing my hair. “I highly doubt that.” His hands snatch the top of my shoulders and my body spins around to face him. The floor is cold on my back, but nothing compares to the frigid look in Jamison's eyes. He is devoid of light, nothing more than a walking shadow.
“Jackson couldn't do it after I killed our parents. And now, my brother delays our meeting, even after constructing a little shrine of our family. Because of you.” The smell of death fills my nostrils as Jamison's body presses into mine. “So again I ask, what makes you so goddamn special?”
Vomit sits at the bottom of my throat. I force it down in order to come up with some sort of answer. I fail at it.
My silence must be what Jamison is really after because I can feel his cock harden against my thigh.
I squirm to get out of his hold and am met with a fist to the cheek. Stars flicker behind my eyes as pain radiates down to the bone. I open my mouth to tell him what a sick motherfucker he is, but am interrupted as the door to the cell flies open.
Perkins knocks against the metal bars before sliding a stumbling woman into view.
She barely makes it through the threshold before dropping to her knees.
Wearing only a sleeveless dress, she does nothing to hide her wounds.
Bruises line her face and upper arms, while cuts cover her legs.
A swollen lip attempts to hide her beauty, but fails miserably.
“It's been close to an hour, boss.” Perkins glances over with eyebrows raised. “Shouldn’t we prepare for his arrival?”
Jamison sighs before patting the side of my injured cheek. “We will have to resume this later. I need you alive so my brother can watch your suffering. Then,” he whispers, lips inches from mine, “Once he's dead, you can join him soon after.”
My stomach turns and I don't hold it in. Projectile vomit sails through the air and lands on Jamison’s face. “That's what I think of you, motherfucker.”
Jamison takes his hand, wipes the vomit off his face, and smiles. “My type of foreplay. You may be worth keeping around after all.” He pushes himself up so that he comes face to face with the girl. “I haven't forgotten about you, Amelia,” he mutters. “But Perkins needed you. Will you forgive me?”
Amelia lets out a sound close to a whimper. For just a moment. I consider Perkins maybe worse.
“Boss?” Perkins motions toward the hallway.
“Relax. I know my brother. He will either go to the bones or the girl. You will be with the memorial and I will ambush him here. Just like we planned.” Jamison walks to the door, lost to strategy. The light shut off as he leaves plunging us into total darkness.
For a moment, I forget to breathe, to even make a noise.
I had finally escaped Oliver and all the horror he brought into my life, only to be trapped again.
By two people that are so much more vile than Jackson.
I sniffle as the cold settles in, causing goosebumps to spread along my arms and legs.
A tear falls down my cheek, ruining my brave charade.
I hate that my body has betrayed me and the fact that I can't wipe it away.
“Don't let them see you cry,” the woman whispers, as if knowing exactly what I am doing. “It just makes them worse,” she lets out a sniffle. “No matter how hard I try, I just can’t stop.”
The pain in her voice is unlike anything I have experienced. It's the story of someone who has lost everything, even themselves.
“Thank you,” I say, while trying to figure out the best way to talk to her. “I… I have a hard time too with crying.”
“If you are lucky, you will die,” she murmurs. I freeze at that statement and at the knowledge that she is most likely right. If I stay here, I’ll be tortured. There's a shift in the air followed by a thud.
“Are you okay?” I ask, hoping that she hadn’t just hit her head against the metal bars.
“No one is ever okay here,” she murmurs.
Relief flows through me. I still have one living person to talk to. “I know, but I can’t see you. I can only hear. It sounded like you hit your head.”
There is shuffling on the floor. “Just trying to get comfortable. It’s impossible when you hurt all over.”
“Yes,” I catch myself nodding even though she can’t see me. As soon as I do, another ache flows down my neck and back. I force myself into a sitting position, only for the nausea to hit me all over again. “Your Amelia?” I ask so to confirm what I thought Jamison called her.
“Yes, Amelia Crawford.”
“My name is Madelyn Thomas.”
“Okay.”
I wait for more, but I am met with silence. “How... long have you been here, Amelia?”
“Too long. Her voice breaks. Weeks? Months? I don't know. Long enough to see that pile of bodies go from two to twelve.”
She rocks, what I can assume is her head, suddenly hits the wall. “My boyfriend traded me…They won’t kill me. I beg for death. They laugh. Her head hits the wall again, and I realize any more talk is too much for such a fragile state. I plead for the old man to stop. He won’t.”
Amelia cries out, the sound shaking me to my core. If Jackson doesn't save me, this is my future. If he dies, all I can hope for is that Jamison keeps his word and kills me.
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts out of my mind. Jackson will save me, and when he does, I’ll save Amelia too