Make You Beg

I try to lift my head to look around, but I can’t lift it off Scout’s back. I lie helplessly as it bounces.

We begin to walk up what feels like stairs. Once he comes to a stop, I’m placed on my feet, and I sway, and my legs give out on me. Falling to my right, I feel hands grip my hips and steady me. I lean back against a hard body and lift my heavy head, and my entire body stiffens as I get a look at what’s in front of me. It’s darkly lit. But the concrete walls, lack of any windows, and the rows of small beds give it away instantly. Not to mention the coldness and smell of death. It causes panic to rise through the thick fog.

I go to pull away, but the hands on my hips keep me in place. “You know …” Law starts speaking in my ear. His right hand slides along my waist, and his free hand comes up to my hair, brushing it from my shoulder to give him access to my neck. I can’t hold the whimper. The fear rises, and my ears ring. “There are a lot of theories about what happened to Spring Valley. One of the most believable ones is what happened in this room. They call it Hell House.”

“Why are we here?” I manage to get out, trying to calm my breathing.

He doesn’t answer me. “There’s a reason this room doesn’t have any windows.” Law goes on. “It’s obvious this is one of the many rooms where the boys slept. It’s told that one night some of the boys were playing with matches and caught the place on fire.”

“It was an accident,” I whisper, remembering one of the stories that I’ve heard over the years. A boy was playing with matches and set the drapes on fire in the library, and they couldn’t contain it.

“Would you accidentally play with matches?” Law wonders.

My headache pounds behind my eyes, and I try to figure out how we got here. “I … I don’t understand.” Why the history lesson all of a sudden?

My head falls to the side, too heavy to hold it up, and Law chuckles, making his chest shake against my back.

“I don’t think our doll is quite ready to play,” he muses, his free hand gripping my chin and forcing my head back up.

I lick my lips, and drool runs down my chin.

“Just give her a second.” I hear Scout say off somewhere in the shadows.

“For … what?” I ask.

“See, Henley, we want to see just how much fight you have in you,” Law whispers in my ear. Then I feel his lips on my cheek while he holds my chin in place. “Consider this a test.”

“Of what?” I blink, even as a moan escapes my mouth. He’s teasing me while talking, and I don’t understand any of it.

“Survival,” he answers, laughing.

Scout comes into view, walking to the middle of the room. Everything seems to be in slow motion. He grabs one of the single beds from the wall. About fifteen line each side. All have the old-time metal-framed headboards and footboards. Some have dingy mattresses. A few are nothing more than broken pieces on the dirty floor. Others are nothing but scrap metal lying around. They remind me of the old-school hospital beds, but they’re not on wheels. He drags it to the middle of the room, and the screech of the bed across the concrete floor makes me cringe.

“See.” Law lets go of me, and before my body has a chance to crumple to the floor, he grabs my hand and jerks me farther into the cold room, bringing me over to the far wall. “Feel,” he orders, lifting my hand to it.

It’s hard to see it, but I definitely feel the grooves in the concrete. “It feels like … like someone took a knife to it.” Maybe they were counting the days. I’ve seen it in prison movies before. It’s how they keep track of the time that passes.

Law gives a dark laugh. “No, doll. Those are claw marks.”

Even through the haze and dizziness, my mind starts screaming danger, telling me to run. I swallow, taking a step back, and drop my hand.

“They say that these boys in here were locked away the night of the fire. They were burned alive. There are no windows, no escape. They screamed, but no one helped them. They cried, but no one heard them. They prayed”—he leans his lips to my ear—“but God did not spare them.”

My legs tremble, and my headache intensifies. Fear grips my chest, confused as to why we’re here in the first place. “I wanna go.” I manage to get out, then turn to walk back toward the way we came in. “This is …”