39. Reese
39 REESE
Twenty four hours prior
Rapid gunfire echoes in my mind as I’m dragged into consciousness.
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m not crouched behind a half-blown-out wall with my squadron fanned out around me.
“There he is.”
A scraping noise reverberates around me, bits and pieces of awareness slotting back into place.
The first thing I notice, beyond the noise, is the pain.
My chin is on my chest. I’m seated, but my muscles ache.
My head throbs. I lift it and force my eyes open.
There’s a single bright light directly over me.
I squint until my eyes adjust, and the person who spoke comes closer.
He drags with him a chair, which he drops down into, just out of my reach.
I jerk, quickly realizing my arms are tied behind me.
My legs are bound to the chair.
“Do you know who I am?” His tone is curious.
He wears a bandana over the lower portion of his face.
I focus on his eyes.
Light, sky blue. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a shade.
They’re fringed by dark, thick eyelashes.
His dark hair is buzzed short.
I’ve done that before, when Kade and I were deployed.
It just got to be a hassle with the dust and sweat…
“I don’t.” What’s meant to be a normal voice comes out croaked.
“Should I?”
He makes a noise of disgust. “This town forgets.”
“I’m not from here.”
He eyes me, then drags the bandana down.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t a handsome face.
The world opens up for beauty, and this guy clearly has it.
In the same way Kade uses his broad stature to cut through a crowd, or Artemis bats her eyelashes.
Ha, now I know I have a concussion.
That girl has never batted her eyelashes in her life.
“Did you ever go to the lower levels of Terror?” he asks.
I open and close my mouth.
Lower levels?
“I went where I was told,” I say quietly.
“But I didn’t know there were… lower levels.”
The man in front of me sneers.
“Oh, yes. It’s where they let the deviants do whatever they wanted to us. They used drugs to keep us compliant.”
The room tilts a bit.
He’s getting angry now.
He jumps up from his seat and circles around it.
I hiss out a breath when he fists the front of my shirt.
“You were there,” he says.
“You went to Terror. Consumed product that wasn’t yours to enjoy.”
I look away, because I did.
I was a teenager under my parents’ direction, but I did it anyway.
It’s one of those things that drove me to join the Marines.
I needed to atone for my sins, and I thought protecting our country would do that for me.
It didn’t.
And now, looking into the eyes of someone who was on the other side—and it’s truly a remarkable difference from looking at Artemis, who survived it with her mind intact—the old guilt comes rattling back.
I hate it.
I hate what I did.
He hits me. Hard . I don’t even see it coming, really, his movements brutal and efficient.
He hits me until I fall, the chair coming with me, and I crash into the ground hard.
But he follows, crouching beside me and yanking at my hair.
“You and I are going to have some fun together,” he swears.
“And I’m going to send a little message through you.”
I breathe through the pain.
I think he cracked one of my damn ribs.
“How?”
He smiles. His teeth glint, truly the mark of a fucking madman.
“I’m going to put you to sleep for a long, long while.”
Fear slices through me.
His grip on my hair tightens.
“No, no, easy. This isn’t a euphemism for death… although it might feel like it. I don’t know what will happen to your mind while your body sleeps. Will it be awake and aware? Will you be dreaming? So many options to consider…”
I fight against his hold, while he just laughs in my face.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “There’s still plenty of time between us before I cast you to your fate. After all, they’re still trying to find you.”
He releases me and jumps back, leaving me with my cheek pressed to the floor.
Everything is at an uncomfortable angle.
After a long moment, he cuts me free from the chair and yanks it away.
My hands are still bound behind my back…
“Let me go,” I say. “I’m not who you have an issue with.”
He laughs.
“No? I think you are. But Sterling Falls needs to burn. That’s the only way to remove the rot. Burn it down, start over fresh. But for now, let’s see how you do in my own version of Terror.”
The door slams shut behind him, and silence fills the room.
I wait agonizing seconds, then push myself up to my knees.
From there, it’s easy to get to my feet.
I cross the room and put my back to the door.
My cold, tingling fingers grasp at the handle.
It doesn’t turn. The thing doesn’t budge, even though I yank and yank with all the strength I have left.
This room is small. The chair I was on and the one he used are the only pieces of furniture.
Tape still hangs off of the legs of the tipped one.
And then, the lights go off, plunging me into complete darkness.
I don’t know how long I sit in the darkness before the light comes back on and my captor reappears.
He seems distracted as he moves around the room, ignoring me completely.
Straightens the chair and drags it away, then the other.
He puts them against the wall.
“Do you think about death?”
I straighten.
“Do I…?”
“Death, Reese Avery,” he snaps.
“Do you consider it?”
“No.”
He goes to the door and hauls in a chain.
It’s long and looks heavy, although his movements remain easy.
Loose. There’s more muscle packed on his lean frame than I would’ve originally given him credit for.
His t-shirt is loose and baggy, his pants don’t quite fit right.
But it doesn’t matter.
There’s a hook on one end.
“How about we contemplate it now?” he offers.
“Rather, that in-between.”
When he glances over, his eyes gleam.
“The in-between?” I frown.
“We should discuss it now,” he says.
“Because that’s where you’re going, and I’d very much like to know how it differs when we meet on the other side.”
Pause.
“ If we meet on the other side.”
I stare at him.
My fate doesn’t seem concrete.
At least—I can’t grasp what he’s saying to me.
He gets a loop of the chain and swings the hook around, gaining momentum.
When he releases it, it sails up to the ceiling and over one of the pipes.
It comes down to just over his head.
He grabs at it, drawing it down to chest level, and nods to himself.
“Go on,” he murmurs.
“What did your parents believe? How were you raised?”
I…
“We were agnostic.”
I’m in the corner of the room.
There’s a hollow space at my spine, but both my shoulders touch the walls.
It made me feel a modicum of safety in the darkness, enough to doze, but that haze of sleep has vanished entirely.
My mouth is dry, but I continue, “I never believed in God or anything like that. Just figured the end would be like sleeping. Maybe a dream or two, but… nothing else. Darkness.”
He chuckles.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? Rather than facing the prospect of Heaven or Hell… well, I suppose your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to face such a thing, right? After what they get involved in? The Devil always wins.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest. “My mom’s side is Catholic. My grandmother tried to take me to church, and it just didn’t stick.”
“So the in-between… Tell me about that.” He’s wrapped the excess chain around a cleat bolted to the wall.
“Your Catholic grandma, would she be worried about your soul?”
“She died.” I press back harder against the wall when he stops what he’s doing and comes closer.
My hands, at this point, are completely numb.
I don’t think my legs have much feeling in them either, after spending too long in this position.
He pulls a syringe from his pocket and squats over me.
So close he’s practically sitting on my lap.
“This will just help a little bit with the transition,” he says.
I slam my head forward.
It collides with his, and he very nearly falls away.
But at the last second, he grabs my shoulder.
His fingers dig into my skin.
Stars dance in my eyes, and blood drips from his nose.
He doesn’t even touch it, just shoves me back to the wall and leans in closer.
“This isn’t it,” he promises.
“Not the end of our fun.”
His smile is stained red, and he licks at his lips.
I don’t expect him to jam the needle into my neck.
He aims for the artery, the injection not meant for muscle.
His thumb presses down, injecting who-knows-what into me.
Then it’s gone, and I thrash at the sensation of it sliding free.
The coldness it leaves behind.
“Shh,” he whispers. “Give it a second.”
A second is all it takes.
Euphoria spreads under my skin, a rush that is indescribable.
“That’s it,” he breathes.
“Ride the wave.”
Holy shit.
It’s good.
It’s devastatingly good.
He grips my chin, keeping my face aimed at his.
“Yes. That’s right.” He reaches behind me and cuts the binding on my wrists.
He guides my hands around, leaving them in my lap.
I can’t even move.
My body is floating, all the pain and every worry somehow miles and miles away.
My skin is warm, but the concern isn’t there.
Not in the slightest. My eyes close of their own accord, and I sink into thoughts of a girl with golden skin.
While I drift, I’m aware of shifting shadows around me.
Something cold touches my wrists, and then I’m lifted.
It barely registers until my arms are drawn up over my head.
My body sags, but my wrists catch me.
My shoulders strain, although even that doesn’t hurt.
“How’s this?” he asks.
My lips and tongue and teeth aren’t coordinated enough for words, and he laughs at my attempt.
There’s another prick, this time in my arm, and that rush comes back over me.
My back arches, and every sensation on my skin seems to double.
“What a sight.” He touches my face.
“You sit tight, Reese. I’ll be back when reality returns to you.”
The lights go out.
The door shuts.
The dark holds me close, though, and even that is agonizing on my skin.
Slowly, my mind comes back to me.
The reality of my position—on my knees, with my wrists above my head—filter in.
How long I’ve been like this, I couldn’t say.
Time seems to have stopped moving entirely.
I use the hook my wrists are locked on to stand, but as soon as I get a leg under me, my body fails.
I fall.
My wrists and shoulders catch me, and my joints scream.
I might let out a noise, too.
The door opens, and the man who took me appears.
He’s silhouetted from the hall, and it takes a long moment for the light inside the room to flicker back to life.
“Your friend is going to rescue you,” he says.
“But I need you to promise me something.”
I stare at him.
“We didn’t get to finish our talk. When I come back and revive you, you’ll tell me where you went. Promise me that.” His gaze hardens.
“If you don’t, I’ll just leave you asleep forever. Your muscles will atrophy and your skin will wrinkle, all while you’re caught up in a mental cage…”
I lick my lips.
There’s no saliva in my mouth—I can’t remember the last time I had water or food, don’t know how long I’ve actually been here—but I run through the motion all the same.
“I promise,” I mutter hoarsely.
He smiles.
“This shouldn’t hurt,” he adds.
“But… if I’m wrong, please let me know.”
He brings the chair over and lays out a hard-shell case.
Inside are glass bottles, capped syringes.
“A few injections to make it stick,” he says.
“A paralytic, of course…”
That fear is back, but it’s not as potent.
It’s like the drug he gave me earlier still lingers, even though I can think more clearly.
It holds on to my muscles.
I want to thrash and kick and fight, but I can’t seem to move.
I just stare at him.
“Why are you doing this?”
He sighs and rubs at his eyes.
“We talked about this.”
“We did,” I agree.
“But why me? Why?—”
“No more talking,” he interrupts.
“This one might burn.”
He comes close and injects me.
Straight into my neck.
The liquid is cold. My heartbeat is slow, it has been steadily thumping since the initial rush wore off, but now it drops again.
He watches me, and I watch him.
My anger—hot and bubbling—fizzles as dread takes over.
I’m so cold, but it’s coming from the inside.
Like he put straight ice into my veins.
And with the ice comes the freezing of my body.
I try to move. To ball fists, to shift my weight.
Even blinking, after a long moment of silence, becomes difficult.
It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.
And then… well, is it better to watch him or close them?
“This cocktail was developed by a friend of mine,” he says, filling the next syringe.
He taps at it, pushing the plunger until there’s no air left in it.
A little spurt of liquid comes out and runs down the long, tapered needle.
“It’s similar to how hospitals put patients into comas.”
Similar.
“But with a twist.” He offers me a vicious smile.
“I hope you know that this is just a safeguard. If they try to wake you up…”
He injects me with the next one.
And before that even has time to root, there’s another.
It’s quick. Too quick.
My body and mind separate, which is the strangest thing.
I can only watch his face get closer to mine, until he’s practically nose to nose with me.
He breathes in my shallow exhales, which no longer feel like mine.
He reaches up and drags my eyelids down, and, well, that’s the last I see.