Condemned

19 | Sam

After about a zillion stairs, I'm rolled off a familiar shoulder and dumped to the floor like I'm a sack of dry goods. The floor shrieks beneath me like I weigh a ton. In truth, it's probably so old and neglected that it's about to give way.

The tape around my wrists is cut indelicately with a blade. I remove the patch over my eyes and mouth with my own hands.

I can see why I was allowed to do so. There's nothing to see. No one to hear me scream except for the monsters who kidnapped me. The shadow of a "man" who brought me here is about to close and lock the door. Only because of some far-off flicker of candlelight can I see anything at all.

He's wearing a ski mask, but he has a certain build, a recognizable scent, a dark leer I'm pretty sure I've been the object of before.

"Please, Rollin," I guess correctly. While he's shutting the door in my face, there's the tiniest flinch. "Tell me what this is about. If there's anything I can do..."

I crawl closer to him, stopping on my knees in a begging stance just shy of the doorway. The towel around me—all I was given to wear—tugs out of the fold. It slips to my stomach. He's not above looking as I readjust it over my chest.

What's a glimpse worth to him when he's already seen me naked? It isn't much, but it's something. There's a note of pity and desire in his sigh. It won't get me out of here, but it may, at least, provide a penny for his thoughts.

He doesn't seem to have any, though. Not any he's willing to share without careful consideration. Half of his attention is consumed by the stairwell.

I force myself to keep rambling, while he's still here and undecided. "If you can't tell me, could you do me one small favor? Tell Jay. . ."

I bite my lip, not knowing where I was going with that. I'm confused. At a loss for words. I'm not okay.

Does Jael know I'm here? Is he even alive? Will I be for long?

Rollin's disdainful grunt makes his opinion of "us"—whatever it was Jael and I had for like five minutes—perfectly clear.

"What could you possibly have to say to him?" he snarls. "He didn't carry you up here, but he's more to blame for this than I am."

He's right. I have no response for that. Nothing to say to either of them.

Still, the tears speak for themselves. I've held it together this long, but that smidgeon of hope just shattered. It was the only thing keeping them contained.

"That's what I thought," Rollin answers in my place, his sympathy pretty much nil. If he hadn't been so handsy on the couch at Bryony's Halloween party, I might have the capacity to accept that.

"Get some sleep," he barks again, like it's an order. "Take care of yourself. Do as you're told. That's the only advice I can offer."

In other words, be the perfect little prisoner and fulfill my "purpose" with as little effort on their end as possible.

"What . . . am . . . I going . . . to be told . . . to do?" Through violent sobs, I can barely piece the sentence together. If he understands me at all, I'd be very surprised.

I have no money, skill, or information. There's really only one thing left...

"I have to go." He glances warily in the direction of the stairwell again. "I've been here too long already."

His fear is telling. And terrifying. I am so screwed.

The door slams in my face. I thought it was dark before, and now I realize how wrong I was. It's pure black, except for the dim sliver of light coming from beneath the door and the blue-black square behind me. There's one window, but the sky doesn't have much to offer. The surrounding trees are tall and dense, and it's a cloudy night. The room itself feels small, enclosed, like a closet, but I can't get a good sense of the actual size. Just the age. It creaks with every movement, and I can feel the dust in my eyes and sinuses already.