Page 107 of Into the Dark, We Go
Time dragged on, and I sat there like a chained dog, alone, no rescue in sight, no hope.
At first, I thought I was imagining things again. I’d done it before—hallucinated sounds between my desperate screams. My brain conjured footsteps, whispers, anything to keep the silence from pulling me under.
But this time, it was different. These were voices, real and growing louder.
I stilled.
It could’ve been anything: Robert, his men, or something worse.
A familiar girl’s timbre seeped through the cracks in the wall. "It’s just weird, is all I’m saying," she said.
"Help!" I croaked, my voice hoarse. "It’s me!"
Fast, heavy steps rushed up to the locked door.
Then Mitchell’s voice, "Nellie?"
"Yes! I’m in here! Let me out!"
Mitchell’s heavy footsteps crunched outside. The lock creaked and jiggled, and Mitchell’s voice, low and authoritative, ordered, "Step back and to the side."
I gladly obeyed, covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. Still, I flinched at the deafening boom as he shot the lock; gunpowder stung my nose with its piercing metallic tang. He kicked the door open and stepped inside, backlit by daylight, rifle in hand, like some movie hero. I stumbled toward them, the chain on my ankle rattling. Mitchell’s face was a picture of horror.
"Jesus," he muttered, taking in my torn, bloodied state. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Are you okay?" June looked like she wanted to reach for me, but didn’t. I guessed I was too beaten to risk touching.
"Can you take it off?" I pointed to the chain.
Mitchell crouched to examine it. "I’ll need a bolt cutter."
"Do you have one?"
"No."
"Can you shoot it off like you did with the door?" June asked.
"Of course not. She’ll lose her foot."
I was about to say I’d take the risk, but Mitch was already rummaging through his backpack.
"I could try picking it. It’s just a padlock."
"Hurry," I said. "I’m scared they’ll come back. They might still be close."
"They?" Mitchell looked up from the lock.
"Robert," I said. "Mister Whitman. Lucas’s dad! He’s the one who made your sister disappear!"
His jaw clenched, muscles flexing under his stubble. "We know," he said grimly. "We checked the sawmill. It’s empty. He doesn’t run it, doesn’t employ anyone. So, he lied. Someone else is paying him to do something else."
"There were other men," the truth tumbled out of me, jumbled and frantic, as if every second counted. "They wore masks. I couldn’t see their faces."
Mitchell didn’t lift his head from the padlock he was trying to pick. "Let’s get out of here first. We’ll sort it out when we’re in a safe place."
I closed my eyes. If only he knew—it was way worse than it looked.
The padlock snapped with a crack, and the chain fell to the floor with a final clank. I was free. I let out a slow, shaky exhale and tried to stand, but dizziness hit me instantly.
