Page 70 of Bones
“Can you hear me, Mist?” Madame demanded.
Mist spit a mouthful of blood at her, and I jumped as Madame plunged her knife through the palm of Mist’s hand. Mist screamed and out of pure desperation and panic, I looked at Mac.
I can’t do this.I screamed inside my head.
He met my frantic gaze with his steady one. I didn’t know him well enough to know his tells. Did he hate this as much as I did? Did he not mind watching Madame torture people? I was near tears, but his face stayed expressionless.
I gave up and looked away. Madame tortured Mist for several hours. She just kept asking the same question, and Mist refused to answer. I didn't know what the question meant, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna ask. I healed Mist when Madame instructed, avoided eye contact, and tried to pretend I was somewhere far, far away. Finally, Madame signaled to the guards to take Mist back to her cell.
“Bones, you go and make sure she lives to see another day,” Madame commanded me. “I’m not done with her yet.”
Mac and I followed as the two guards dragged Mist’s limp body down the hallway. There were more cells down here than I’d thought. And most of them were occupied. Scrawny faces pressed themselves against the bars, watching us walk past. I kept my eyes down, trying to avoid looking at them.
The guards threw Mist into her cell and then stepped out, gesturing at me with a sneer. I slipped through the open door and knelt at her side to place my shaking hands on her bloody arm. She wasn’t conscious, but I healed her injuries and took away the pain. I couldn’t make her ears grow back, but at least she could still hear. Hot tears fell on my hands as I leaned over her.
“I’m sorry, Mist,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t wake up, but her breathing had evened out. I got to my feet, wiping my dirty, bloodied sleeve across my face before I turned around. Mac stood outside the bars a few steps away from the guards, watching me, his face still expressionless. The guards locked the door after I stepped out and led the way back down the hall. I followed them numbly, Mac at my side. As we walked past the cells a sudden voice rang out, startling all of us.
“Hey, you!”
I looked up with Mac and the guards to see a man hanging on the bars of his cell. Unlike the others I'd seen, he didn't look gaunt and sick. He wore simple clothes, but he was muscled in a way that would make most people steer clear of him. His unkempt black hair hung down in his face. I met his sharp almond-shaped eyes and my heart stopped. He was staring straight at me as though herecognizedme.
“Shuddup,” one of the guards said, smacking the cell bars with the butt of his gun.
The man fell back, his arms raised, but he didn’t look away from me. I ducked my head and hurried after the guards, but I could still feel his eyes on me until we went up the stairs and out of sight. My heart pounded in my throat, but the guards didn’t seem to have noticed so I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t recognize him at all. He wasn’t a Reaper. If he’d met me before, I had no idea how or when.
I hated the way the bright sunlight outside highlighted all the blood coating my hands and clothes, revealing the horrible things I’d done in that room. I didn’t wait for Mac, I just made a beeline for the clinic. I desperately wanted to get out of these bloody clothes and wash off the blood and grime coating my hands. I caught a glimpse of Mac following behind me as I threw the clinic door open and stormed inside. Anger crackled under my skin.
I went right to the sink, scrubbing my hands with more force than I needed. The lavender soap did nothing to calm down my raging emotions and made me feel more guilty for what I’d done to the person who so carefully crafted it. Tears welled in my eyes, but the door opened behind me and I knew Mac had followed me inside, and I sure as hell was not gonna cry in front of him.
“Did you know that guy?” Mac asked.
“What guy?” I asked through my teeth, playing dumb.
“The one in the cell.”
“No.”
It wasn't a lie, but in the silence, I could tell Mac didn't believe me.
“He looked like he knew you.”
“I don’t know him, Mac.”
I finished scrubbing my skin raw and turned around. Mac leaned with his back against the table, arms crossed over his chest, watching me. I had the sudden urge to scream at him.
“What?” I snapped instead.
Mac stared at me like I was a riddle he wanted to solve. I glared back at him, waiting.
“I’m not ok with it,” he said in a low voice.
“Ok with what?”
“The torture,” he clarified.
“Congrats on not being a monster,” I spit out.
