Untethered

39 | Revelations

Emma screamed.

Despite Danny's warning a few moments ago, self-preservation kicked in, and all notions of thinking the problem through, talking her way out of this, and remaining rational and logical, vaporized in the cloud of dust that puffed up in her face from the filthy comforter. She wriggled and kicked, her muffled screams drowned out by the mattress beneath her. One of her legs connected with something hard and unbendable, followed by a dangerous roar.

Her body stilled, cold reason making its way to the forefront, before she was jerked upright by her hair. It was so forceful, she was on her feet again, and she felt the roots loosening in her skull, as Danny reefed her around to glare into her watering eyes.

"SHUT UP AND HOLD STILL!"

A small, soundless cry made its way out of her throat, her eyes wide in terror. He threw her back against the bed, leaving her to shiver, tremors of shock coursing through her.

Julie stood against the wall, watching—silent tears, making tracks down her cheeks. The sound of Emma's scream was gut-wrenching, but she remained immobile. Dangerous eyes dared either of them to make a sound. Emma remained silent, only tiny whimpers wheezing out with her breaths. Her eyes widened as he stalked back toward the bed, limping slightly from where she'd kicked him in the thigh.

"Now," he growled, "Roll over so I can cut your arms free. If you try to fight me, I will slit your throat. Do you want your arms free?"

Emma nodded jerkily, warily turning her body over so that her bound arms were facing up. He gripped her forearm, the blade of his knife snapping through the thin plastic. She breathed a sigh of relief, as her dead arms came loose, but it was short-lived. Blood rushed back into the limbs and she turned her head into the mattress, garbling her cries as her nerves reawakened. The sensation was something akin to being consumed by a legion of fire ants, armed with needles, dipped in flesh-eating acid.

"Sit up," Danny commanded, waiting impatiently for her to comply.

She tried, but putting weight on her arms in order to push herself up, was the equivalent of trying to use jelly in place of concrete. Her arms refused to respond to the signals from her brain, much less hold her weight, cramping with the slightest exertion.

"I can't... I can't move my arms," she gasped out.

He growled and grabbed her hair again, tugging her into a sitting position. Emma bit her cheek hard, refusing to cry out again lest she provoke his temper, which was on a hair-trigger.

"Time to get down to business," he grunted, when he saw she could hold herself upright. "I have some questions for you, and it would be in your best interest to have the answers I want. Do you understand?"

She nodded shakily.

"Good girl. Now, you're probably going to need some background in order to understand things a little better." His eyes swiveled to Julie's frozen form, still by the door. "Come on in, Jules, have a seat. Why don't you start by explaining to your daughter how it's your fault I've had to take her like this?"

She cautiously moved toward the corner of the bed nearest the door, without making eye contact with Emma, but remained mute.

"C'mon, Jules, don't be shy now. Don't want to expose what a nasty, little viper you are?" he laughed softly—menacingly. "I mean; I don't blame you. I wouldn't want anyone to know what a backstabbing bitch I was, if I were you, either." She kept her eyes averted from either of them, and he turned, facing Emma again. "I guess we'll have to go with my version of events, then."

He was greeted with silence. Emma's still fearful and suspicious, and Julie's, fearful and resigned.

"No objections? Good. Saves time." He smirked as he glanced between them, his gaze finally settling on Emma, "I suppose you know that Jules and I were screwing while she was married to your dad?"