Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie’s broad shoulders blot out what little light infiltrates the space and I keep close to his heels, arms tightening over my chest. Something feels . . . off.
Darting my gaze left and right, my brow furrows.
This doesn’t look like how I imagined the warden’s office to look.
No desk. No cabinetry. There isn’t even enough open space to fit a desk, if one had ever been here.
It’s cramped and damp and chills crawl up my spine the longer we stay here.
Heaviness settles in my chest unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—not the usual heaviness of a restless spirit, and not as menacing as what attacked me in the cell block.
This weight is desperate. Pained. A rotted board goes flying when Charlie stumbles over it and I nearly leap from my skin.
“Charlie . . . are you sure this is right?” My teeth worry my bottom lip.
“The map said . . .” A narrow hallway branches off to our right and Charlie pivots but stops short, sucking in a long breath.
“What? What is it?”
Wordlessly, he inches to the side, making space between his frame and the stone walls large enough for me to peek around.
There are four metal doors, bright red paint chipping off in rolled sheets.
The hinges holding them to the wall are as long as my forearm—massive bolts pinning them in place.
There are no bars on these doors, only a square pattern of holes, which remind me of when I was a girl and used to catch frogs after a heavy rain.
I plopped them in a shoebox; Patrick told me I had to poke holes in it so they could breathe.
When I woke up the next morning, they were dead anyway.
My stomach churns as the realization washes over me.
This is a cell block.
I can’t bring myself to go further than the doorway as bile creeps up the back of my throat. The reaction is too intense. I do not trust this room.
“Charlie . . .” I whisper.
Ghastly shadows distort the filthy walls, bounce from all four corners, as he crosses to the first holding pen. Like a scream from beyond, the metal hinge whines as he opens it more fully and peers inside.
In the shadowy darkness, his throat rolls as his mouth parts. “It’s so small. There’s not even a window. Must be the solitary confinement unit.”
My eyes flutter closed as I swallow back the saliva pooling beneath my tongue and stagger backward. The darkness tucked in the corner suddenly looks infinite, the air thicker than lead as I fight to suck in a breath. Sharp pain twists in my chest.
I know the hollow ache of feeling like you’re nothing, feeling like you’re all alone in this world. But this cell block? This damp, dark place without even a drop of sunlight? This is the physical manifestation of that reality.
Was James Dewhurst ever confined in these cells, caged like a wild animal? For a crime he didn’t even commit? In his journal he wrote of not wanting to lose himself, but a place like this would destroy even the strongest of people.
It’s obvious now—this isn’t the warden’s office.
But something brought us here. Call it coincidence, human error on Charlie’s part, or something else entirely.
But maybe it was James. His spirit. He wrote in his journal about how the warden, the guards, thought him strange—didn’t like him.
Is that why they locked him in here? Maybe he wanted us to see this place.
To see how they tortured him and so many others. He suffered here. All alone.
Dark, dirt-slicked walls twirl around me as I sway. Charlie appears at my side, steadying me with a hand at the small of my back.
“Winnie. You okay?” His voice is so soft, so soothing. It doesn’t fit here. In this vile place.
“I need to get out.”
I don’t wait for his reply and bolt for the exit.
As if it weighs nothing, I throw the door back open.
My heart rattles the bars of my ribcage, hammering itself in my chest, as I finally find solid ground again on the front porch and come to a panting stop, a fresh ache budding in my hip.
Folding at the waist, I brace my hands on my knees and wait for my head to stop spinning.
“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? What happened in there?” Soothing pressure moves along my spine as Charlie rubs my back, no “sorry” hanging off the tip of his tongue.
“Couldn’t be in there.” I wick the sweat off my forehead as I straighten. “That energy was . . . Do you know what they did to people in there?”
“Sure, Win, I—”
“And he was innocent!” I cry as I pace away from him, fat raindrops plonking on the metal awning above us. “He didn’t do anything wrong. And they—they tortured him, Charlie. That’s what that is.” I point to the door. “Psychological torture.”
“I know, it’s—”
“I can’t even let myself think about it.” I tighten my arms around my body. “I—I just, I don’t—”
How does an innocent man find himself in a place like this? Because no one was looking out for him, that’s how. No one fought hard enough for him. Someone let him down. Left him here to suffer, to die—alone.
Alone. Alone. Alone. Like River had been alone, for all those years. Without me. No one looked out for him. Every damn person in his life let him down. That place was a prison for him. If only I hadn’t left him there—
“Winona.” It’s solid and strong and even and the stability of those three syllables in his low, assuring voice cuts through the panic rising in my chest. “Breathe. Okay? Breathe.”
Warmth washes over me as he wraps his arms around me from behind. I let out a shaky breath and turn around, burying my face in his chest as he holds me.
In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.
“Just like that,” he murmurs to the top of my head as he strokes my hair. “Just like that, Winnie.”
It feels like erosion, the way a river cuts its banks into the jagged earth over a millennia, thinking about what James Dewhurst and so many others suffered inside this place—the fear, the rage, the missing of partners and babies and mothers, the endless yearning to taste free air again knowing you never will.
To think about human suffering in general—how vast it is.
How wide it stretches. How deep it sinks its claws.
To think about how River suffered for years—all alone.
The weight of every stone I’ve placed around my heart doesn’t stand a chance against the sheer force of it all.
Even my carefully-curated strength crumbles in the face of something so heavy.
But it’s been so long since I let Charlie hold my broken pieces.
He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear as he asks, “You still have panic attacks?”
And it’s so tender, so knowing, it almost sends me back into a spiral. Because I’m not sure how long I’ll get to hold onto this from him, and I know how much I’ll miss it when it’s gone.
“Sometimes.” I swallow back the metallic twang in my throat and take a steeling breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened up there. It was just . . . too much. I don’t know why I—”
He shakes his head, one corner of his mouth ticking up infinitesimally. “You care, Winnie. You always have. Big hearts are heavy to carry sometimes.”
I stare at him like he’s talking in code. Me? A big heart? He’s got the wrong girl. Right? I’m not warm. Not easy to talk to. Too private. I swallow back the thick knot of questions building in my throat.
“I’m going to take a wild guess this isn’t the warden’s office,” I huff as I extricate myself from his arms.
“No,” he agrees, running his hands down the front of his pants as he looks around.
“But I think I saw another building behind this one through the window inside.” He jogs to the end of the porch, leans his weight on the railing to look back behind the solitary confinement building, and shoots a thumbs up back at me.
“Yup. Definitely another one back there. Bet that’s it. ”
His long legs seemingly lope two steps to close the distance between us again and his gaze steadies on me, brows pulling taut.“Are you all right? After—”
“Fine. I’m fine.” I pop my first knuckle with my thumb.
His mouth presses into a line. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, Charlie. I’m sure. I promise. I’m okay. Just got a little shaken up. But, uhm—thanks. For, you know, giving a shit.”
A small smile tips up. “Sure. Of course.”
His wrist twitches and the intuitive knowing in my gut must be fraying at the wires because it swears he’s trying to hold my hand. It makes me ache to consider that he’s been missing me as much as I’ve been missing him.
Facing the way I broke his heart would be easier if he hated me.
I jut my chin in the direction of the other building. “Second time’s the charm?”
His eyes flick down. “Let’s hope so.”