Grey Skies - A Military Romance (Complete)

Grey Skies: Chapter 43

Warning: The following chapter contains a scenario that some readers may find disturbing, especially considering the current violent acts of the past week. I contemplated not publishing this chapter as I do not condone violence. However I wrote this scene months ago and the plot point is important to Max and Sophie's story. 

Darkness had become his companion. Almost as consistent as the throbbing ache in his left shoulder and knee. The lack of light knocked against his head and heart, as if it were the devil whispering encouragement to give up, to give in and let desolation take over.

But Max couldn't stop trying.

Trying to live.

Trying to escape.

Trying to get home.

To her.

At the scrape of a key in a lock, Max's teeth abandoned their attempt to undo the knot, tying his hands together and chaining him to an iron ring attached to the wall. He spit out the frayed shreds of rope and hid his work in his lap.

The blindfold had come loose at some point, Max wasn't sure when, and now hung around his neck like a collar. The gained measure of freedom meant little since the room had stayed a consistent murky grey after the second time he regained consciousness. With no variation in the pale light shining like a beacon under the door, and the chill, Max suspected he was being kept underground, perhaps in a basement. Of course, the cold spreading across his skin could be from an infection. The wound on the back of his head stung, and the rope tied around his wrists chaffed, the skin breaking against the rough abrasions.

"Hope it's lahoh." Max ignored the shake in his voice. The popular local dish, traditionally served at breakfast, helped Max track time in the void. If it was morning, that meant more people in the building. Voices, laughter and footsteps mixing together as men and women filled the place, but at night a grave silence settled in. Of course, he couldn't be sure, given he had no idea how long they had knocked out initially him after the attack on the street. Or the second time when a group of men had beaten him in this room. The swelling in his right eye had begun to recede, but he bet he could win a black eye competition.

For two days now, the man that now entered the room, the lower half of his face hidden by a black-and-white checkered bandana., had been Max's only visitor.

"Ibrahim, did you bring coffee?" Max asked.

A shaft of light from the hallway silhouetted Ibrahim. Max wasn't sure that was his real name but counted earning any name a win. Ibrahim placed a metal plate and a ceramic cup on the packed earth beside Max. "Only water."

"Shame." Max inched forward to drag the food closer, this time remembering to move gingerly. Even so, pain radiated from his left shoulder. "My girlfriend Sophie makes the best coffee in the morning. I'm addicted to waking up to that aroma."

Max hated bringing even Sophie's name into this dank, vile space, like speaking it aloud somehow tainted the woman thousands of miles away, hopefully safe and sound. He liked to think of her snuggled in his bed, surrounded by blankets, warm and comfortable, not sitting at the kitchen table in the lake house, her beautiful face stained with worry because he'd missed more than a few phone calls by this point.

He focused on the present opportunity, picking up his allotment of food for the day. The meager morsel, barely the size of his palm, was cold. Still, he broke the meal into two sections and slowly nibbled on a corner. His tactic was to keep Ibrahim in the room as long as possible, talk to the man about their lives, find common ground, break down the barrier between hostage and kidnapper. Find a crack he could exploit to get him out of this room.