Page 4 of Whispers of the Dead

Clink.

Clink.

“Hard to do when you’re over there playing the world’s saddest drum solo,” he shoots back. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up again. It’s depressing.”

I don’t answer. Benji always talks like he has something left to fight for. Maybe he thinks he does. I used to think I did too, but that was before. Before we learned, in excruciating detail, that there’s no way out. Every attempt ends the same: with pain, humiliation, and tighter restraints.

The hardest truth I’ve had to accept is the fact that I got us into this mess, and I’ll never be able to get us out of it.

The tapping stops when I clench my fist, and the ring bites into my skin. Benji sighs. “Cole, tell him he’s being dramatic.”

Cole grunts from across the hall. It’s the only response he ever gives, but it’s enough. Typical.

Silence stretches between us. It’s thick and heavy and I hope it will swallow the conversation. Then the sound of a key scraping in the lock at the far end of the hall snaps me back to reality. My body tenses and my instincts kick in. It’s never good when they come at night. The dregs like to take their time in the dark when no one else is watching. Benji is their favorite, because he’s the only one of us who still has hope to break, so I’ve gotten pretty good at making myself the target, instead.

The door groans open, and the sound of heavy boots echoes off the walls. I brace myself, ready to take whatever they dish out. Better me than Benji or Cole.

But the footsteps don’t stop at my cell. Instead, there’s a commotion. A muffled struggle. The scuff of boots against concrete. Then?—

A woman’s strained voice breaks through the silence. “Get off me! Let me go.”

My cot creaks beneath me when I sit up. There hasn’t been another prisoner in here since they locked us up months ago.

The dregs laugh when they shove her into the empty cell between mine and Benji’s. The barred door slams shut with a metallic clang, and their footsteps fade back down the hall. There’s the telltale click of the lock, followed by silence. There’s nothing but the woman’s heavy breathing and the scratching of the rotters outside.

Then, the sound of metal rattling. The woman shakes the bars, testing them. A sharp exhale. The scrape of fabric against stone. The slow, heavy breathing of someone trying not to break.

The moonlight from the barred window behind her barely reaches where she sits, but I can make out her dark outline, with her fingers still curled around the bars. The dirty sole of her single boot catches the faint glow where I can see how scuffed and over-worn they are. She’s been out there for a long time. She’s a fighter. It’s a shame she ended up in a place like this that grinds people down until they’re nothing but broken ghosts of who they used to be.

When it becomes clear she’s not getting anywhere, she lets out a shaky breath and slumps against the door. A sniffle escapes her, followed by a soft curse.

I should stay quiet. Keep my head down, like always. Yet, there’s something about her, about the way she’s already unraveling, that makes my chest tighten.

“There’s no way out.” My voice bounces off the stone walls, surprising even me. “Not unless they let you out.”

She freezes. Then she raises her head and turns toward my voice. Her breath catches when she speaks. “Who’s there?”

“Name’s Damon.” The name sounds foreign on my tongue, like I haven’t spoken it in years when it’s only been months. “And no, I’m not a hallucination.”

She’s silent for a long moment. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Then she finally speaks again, and her voice is like a sad melody. “How long have you been here, Damon?”

“A while.”

She lets out a hard breath and her voice wavers. “I’m going to die in here.”

The raw honesty in her tone makes me pause. I slide off the cot and crouch in front of the bars that separate our cells, and rest my elbows on my knees. “Not if you don’t give up.”

A humorless laugh escapes her. “Says the guy who sounds like he already has.”

Benji snorts from his cell on the other side of hers. “She’s got you there, Damon.”

“Shut up, Benji,” I growl out, but my lips twitch despite myself. I can’t help the flicker of amusement I have when she lifts her head into the moonlight, and I can see the ghost of a smile when the corner of her mouth lifts. Leave it to Benji to make the saddest girl in the world smile.

Then the moonlight catches the faintest curve of her cheek, and it’s enough for me to wonder what she looks like in the light. My gaze locks in on her mouth when she speaks. “How many of you are there?”

“Including you? Four.” Benji answers first.

She leans her head back against the bars, and I can no longer see her mouth. “I’ll get out,” she whispers. Then, more firmly, “All of us will.”

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