If I had no other information, no other insight at all, what would I be able to tell him? What needs to be omitted?
The wheels turn and a sense of control takes over. For the first time since I’ve left that godforsaken interrogation room, a different sensation comes over me. Evan will believe me. He’ll help me even in the face of knowing it would need to be kept quiet. At the very least, I can use him to find out any information that would possibly lead me to Delilah.
Delilah
I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but it must be than twenty four hours that have passed. At least a day, maybe two. The hopelessness is nothing compared to the terror every time I think I hear something. There’s some kind of piping above this room. The sound of water rushes in and out occasionally. The cracked cement floor of this ten-by-ten-foot cell reeks of urine and it’s stained with blood. The brick walls are old and crumbled in places where it appears that others have attempted to escape. Beneath one broken section, stained with what I imagine is blood from the fingers of someone prying the stones apart with their bare hands, is yet another layer of brick.
Without a single window, I have no idea where I am or whether or not my screams can even be heard.
Pain strikes my body and spikes with every small movement, from my puffy and split lips that leave the tang of blood in my mouth every time I try to part it, to my ribs that I think are bruised or broken. If I breathe too deep … it’s excruciating to the point that my body doubles over. It only makes the agony even worse.
The voices of victims have stayed with me, haunting me in the quiet hours that have passed. Their recollections of the madness and panic when they were taken and held in various prisons play over and over again.
Women who confessed their testimonies to me in between sobs with tears streaking down their faces, clinging to the truth they thought they’d die in those cells, whisper their stories to me here. Just as I did in my bed on so many late nights when I heard what they’d gone through, I cry for them and pretended I’m not crying for myself as well.
I’ve barely slept. Given how dry and sore my eyes are, I doubt I’ve blinked more than physically necessary since I woke up last. All I can do is stare at the steel door, dinged and battered with rust covering its surface. Unlike me, it belongs in this place.
If I could bear to sit up, I’d test the hinges and attempt to pry one out … as if I could possibly budge the iron through with just my hands … I huff sarcastically at the thought, and the small movement causes me to wince with pain. As it is, I lie here on the cold hard ground, staring at the door and attempting to recollect what happened, trying to recall if there were any clues at all.
I have none, though. They were silent. They wore masks. Even when they stuck me in what I think was a van or a bus, something large enough for me to nearly stand in when I woke screaming, even then, they were silent. There was no radio, there was no indication of anything. With a bag over my head and my wrists bound, I have no evidence or inkling whatsoever of where I am.
Moreover, the list of those who’d want me dead or ransomed, or simply out of the picture has grown in my mind.
Men I’ve put in prison who may have been released.
Enemies of Special Agent Walsh … rivals of Marcus.
With the reports and articles released months ago that continued to spew lies about my intentions and abilities with the cold cases, even the mourning, innocent family and friends of victims may wish for my death if they believe Jill Brown and the accusations she threw at me.
When my memory isn’t flooded with previous cases, and my mind isn’t examining lists and motives, my subconscious drifts to a more peaceful place. To hope that two men will find me. Marcus and Cody.
Picking at a broken nail, emotions swim up my throat and I force them down with a harsh swallow. My tired eyes drift shut and I see the two of them. A warmth covers my chilled skin and, for a moment, I’m blanketed by the familiar, unmistakable scent of a certain man. His breath on my neck, his lips teasing mine as he lays me down in bed. Marcus’s hand slips lower and he soothes the pain.
My eyes open slowly, the vision fading in front of me as I come to terms with reality.