Page 47 of Debt of My Soul

Thoughts of Liam flash in my mind, and my eyes flick around to each man as they load themselves on their bikes, looking for him. He isn’t here. Why would he allow this to happen to his brother?

The car door opens, and I’m turned around, glimpsing one last look across the hayfields rustling in the night wind. A faint light moving down the old service road flickers through the field. It’s a single light, and I narrow my eyes watching a lone motorcycle barreling down the field before it stops abruptly. Too far away for the men to see as they try to load themselves and their supplies back into the car.

A hulking figure jumps off the bike, letting it fall to the dirt, and whips off his helmet. Liam’s blond hair falls around his face, and I make out his hand swipe back through his hair.

Asshole. Who lets this happen?

Someone shoves at the back of my head, and I’m pushed into the car. My nose smacks into the other door, and with a crunch, blood gushes over my lips. I fight the urge to throw up as the warm metallic liquid seeps into my mouth. I move, huddling to one side of the car, and I reach for the other door handle before a sharp searing pain stabs into my leg.

The cool window cradles my lulled head. My cheek smooshes against the side of the window. My eyes are heavy, slowly closing with each heartbeat. I find the strength to shift my head, looking at the hayfield once more. Liam turns, the shadows of the night engulfing him. Away. He turns away.

I slowly drift and my body sways. The high of the drugs lifts and drops me like the swell of the waves on the ocean.

My mind flicks to the unread letter with my camera Chris sent. The words I’ll never read from him. Was he sorry or didhe only want to wish me well? Images of flames ravaging the envelope, ash replacing where my name was scrawled across the paper scroll in my mind.

I will never know.

Sweat drips on the concrete, and each drop speckles the dust-coated floor.Two, four, six,I count each one as it rolls off my face.

Pain was the first thing I felt waking in the cell. I must’ve been tossed in. Right onto the concrete floor covered in dirt and grime because with each breath, I grimace. My ribs are bruised.

When I first opened my eyes, I couldn’t see anything but a white haze. But slowly, as I blinked and squinted through the cloudy blur, my surroundings became clear. Panic surged at first, especially when I saw I was alone. My thoughts immediately went to Adam lying unmoving on the grass outside my burning home—did they kill him? Is he okay? Please be okay.

I cried for what had to be an hour before I couldn’t anymore. Emotionally, I’m drained, but more than that, physically, I’m struggling.

A rickety cot is tucked into the corner. One pillow and a thin blanket bunched in a ball sit on top. Both are so dirty that I’m here on the floor, tucked into myself.

I face the back wall, three of which are solid gray concrete, while the fourth is all bars. For a minute, I thought this was a bad dream or I had awakened onto a movie set about pirates.

Rust decorates the iron bars, the lock is the only section that doesn’t seem to be withering away. Like it’s been well oiled and cleaned for easy, quiet access.

I shudder.

I’m in shock. At least I have the wherewithal to understand that. Right?

The dull ache in my thigh has gotten worse. With each shiver, each jerk of movement, I wince at the throbbing from the needle puncture. Luckily, it seems whatever they injected me with is almost out of my system.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. There isn’t any water in here, no food either, but I’m dehydrated. A headache rages behind my eyes, which are now swollen from my endless tears.

However, crying won’t help me get out of here. And I’ve realized it won’t do me any good to kick and scream. I’m locked in a jail cell—I’m not going anywhere.

So I take advantage of the fact I’m alone in a darkened cell. No one is here with me or interrogating me.Rest, I tell myself. Gather strength. It does no good to risk further injury trying to break out of iron bars.

Remaining in a fetal position on the floor, I work the problem in my head.

Clearly, it’s them. Darrin and his crew. What will they do with me? Is it because of Adam?

A slick oil pools in my gut, coating my stomach with an acid burn that churns the more I dwell on what their plans may be. Memories from the night on the Trace, their faces and remarks, replay vividly in my mind. All of them except for Liam.

Ugh. Him.

The image of Liam rolling in on his motorcycle but choosing not to intervene flashes through my mind and I scowl. Who lets this happen to their brother? Or me, for that matter.

Granted, he doesn’t know me, but we’ve talked. He helped me change my tire on the side of the road, for goodness’ sake. He and those men could’ve taken me then if they wanted to. So I go back to, what has changed now?

The cell is quiet, save for the loud drumming rain overhead. I’m not sure how I can hear a rainstorm below ground, most likely in a basement, but I do. The rich, damp scent of fresh rain mixes with the mildew stench I’m breathing so close to the concrete floor.

Between the myriad of smells and my pounding headache, I want to throw up. I huddle together, despite the wicked heat in here. The humidity plasters my shirt against my skin, and I’m keenly aware of how gross I am.

---