Page 55 of Pulling Strings

Beyond the heavy, metal door, the men were awake, and arguing—all they did was argue—about me.

“He oughtn’t be here,” someone said. The British guy, I’d heard him before. Always cranky and speaking in a low voice like he’d rather not talk at all. “It’s noplace for children, Grimm. It’s no life for a boy—”

“He earned his admittance fair and square,” another man, probably Grimm, replied. “You know the rules, Vaughn.”

My eyelids dragged open and closed like sandpaper. Everything hurt. My arms and shoulders, my feet and legs. My hands were the worst at the beginning—puffy and aching with building pressure. I’d worried my fingers might split open like overcooked hot dogs. Now they didn’t feel anything at all.

“To hell with the rules. And all this nonsense.” The British guy snorted. “Are you going to leave him to bake in that hot box? It’s been two days. Whatever you’re about to do, get bloody on with it.”

Two days? It felt like forever. I wanted to go home, but what would I find there? I’d been dragged away kicking and screaming, but I’d seen enough to know that my family was gone. There was no one to go home to.

Approaching feet scraped the cold, concrete floor. The door opened and light poured in, blurring my vision with black and bright sparks. I pressed against the wall, crushing my dead hands.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway, standing over me. Before I could make out his face, I saw another man hanging back. Not a man at all. A scrawny high schooler in black clothes, only a few years older than me. He watched with wary eyes, one dark and the other solid white, staring until the shadow before me spoke again.

“Make yourself scarce, Ripley. I’d like to speak with our newest member alone.”

I tried to shout, but my voice made no sound as the teen sauntered off.

I was left with Grimm, whose features gained definition as he crouched before me. Shoulder-lengthhair framed his bearded face. He smiled.

“Fitch Farrow, is it?” he asked. “We weren’t introduced.”

My lips quivered, wordless. I didn’t want to make him angry. Didn’t want the door to close and trap me in the hot, sweaty darkness with dirty clothes and bad memories. So, I nodded.

Grimm’s smile broadened, flashing teeth. “You’re a killer, you know that? Murdered one of my best men.”

He leaned in as I cringed away.

“I don’t blame you.” Grimm chuckled. “I’m not even mad. I’m impressed. And I’d like to see if you can do it again.”

“What?” The word croaked out. I shook my head, slumping into the wall when dizziness struck with force.

The man’s chuckle swelled into a laugh as he stood. I stayed on the floor, squinting at his shadowy face.

“You want me to… kill people?” The whisper clawed up my throat, followed by a cough that stung sharp. I tasted blood and my eyes pulsed with heat.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Grimm said in a sing-song voice. “You take a life; I’ll give you one back.”

I gaped up at him, silent.

“How would you like to see your brother again?” he asked.

It could have been a lie. Bad men were known to lie, and I knew for a fact these were bad men. But, if my brother had somehow survived, I would do anything to keep him with me.

My eyes flew open to the brick wall that now defined my existence. A box made of stone and mortar,six by six feet, steeped in dirt like a coffin. I wasn’t dead, but I was beginning to wish I was.

The lights never turned off. No one came or went. The only way to measure the passage of time was by the arrival of meal trays, I assumed three times daily. It felt foolish to think food had been my biggest complaint a few days ago. Now, withdrawal was my worst enemy. I hadn’t realized a prison stint would double as forced rehab. I didn’t want to quit drinking or smoking, but patches weren’t offered to isolation inmates, and it was hard to bum a cigarette from the cockroaches that occasionally scurried by. I’d tried.

I stood, staggered by the nightmare hanging on. I could thank Ripley Vaughn for that. In my younger years, my entry into the Bloody Hex had been the cause of many sleepless nights. I’d outgrown it, or thought I had until the unexpected reunion with the former Hex member brought the past to my present mind.

I remembered him in very brief flashes. Enough to believe everything he’d told me. Enough to worry about Grimm’s plans for him and Maggie because the line between the fate of Vinton’s new zombie and my kid brother was far too thin.

But there was nothing I could do about any of that because I’d counted five days’ worth of meal deliveries so far, and all signs indicated they planned to leave me in this hellhole until the trial. No telling Donovan the good news or waiting for the Bloody Hex to raise Cain in this place. Mine was a slow march to the guillotine. Marionette would be put down in his prime, and the press would make bank selling pictures of my decapitated corpse lying bloody on the Capitol’s stage.

Bile surged in my throat, but I choked it back down. I’d been doing that a lot lately.

Rubbing a hand across my eyes, I surveyed my too-familiar surroundings. The cell was bare save for a slab of wood hanging from the wall and a toilet I’d considered as an escape route more than once.

---