I spiralled into craziness.
My world reduced to blackness. Hawksridge Hall, with its sweeping porticos and acres of land, condensed into one tiny silver mask. Condensation rapidly formed from my breath. I gagged again and again.
I lost everything that made me human.
My screams turned to whimpers.
I’m going to die.
Each breath was worse than the one before. I fell to my side as vertigo got worse.
Nausea crawled up my gullet.
Do not throw up.
If I did, I’d drown. There was no way out, no mouth piece. Only two tiny nose holes that didn’t provide enough oxygen.
Images of the ducking stool came back.
This was just as bad. Just as heinous.
Claustrophobia gathered thicker, heavier, chewing holes in my soul.
I can’t stand it.
“Let me out!” The words were clear in my head, but the paddle pressing on my tongue made it garbled and broken.
The faint sounds of laughter overrode the hiss and gallop of my frantic breathing.
My hands shot to the fastenings, fighting, tugging. I ripped hair and scratched the side of my neck, doing my best to get free. I broke a nail, scrambling at the padlock. Screams and moans and animal caterwauls continued to escape.
I couldn’t form words, but it didn’t stop me from vocalizing my terror.
Bonnie kicked me, laughing harder. “I think an hour or two in the Scold’s Bridle will do you a world of good. Now be a good girl, and endure your punishment.”
The tiny bell saved me.
My heart asphyxiated all over again, remembering the dense heat, the overwhelming panic of the bridle. I never wanted to relive that again. Ever.
You’re free. It’s over.
I didn’t think it was possible, but the bridle was worse than the chair. Even remembering it caused the walls to warp, squeezing me uncomfortably tight.
I had a new affliction: claustrophobia.
Unknown Number: I sense you’re not telling me something. Remember what I used to call you? My naughty nun? God, I was such an arse. I fell for you even then. I think I was in love with you even before I set eyes on you.
All residual fear and ailments from the past week vanished. Fear was a strong emotion, but it had nothing on love.
Fresh tears cascaded over my cheeks.
You have no idea how much I wish to return to such innocence.
To only suffer worries of fashion lines and unpaid custom orders or whether Vaughn had ordered enough taupe buttons. Such frivolous problems—such easily solved concerns.
Not like what I deal with now.
My heart broke all over again. The punishment of abuse slowly turned my mind and body into rubble, fit only for sleep or death.
Needle&Thread: I love you so much.
Unknown Number: I love you more. I love you with every breath I take and every heartbeat I live. I love you more every day.
Tingles shot from my scalp to my toes.
Needle&Thread: I wish you were here. I’d kiss you and touch you and fall asleep in your arms.
Unknown Number: If you fell asleep in my arms, I’d hold you all night and keep you safe. I’d trespass on your dreams and make sure you know you belong to me and give you a future you deserve.
Needle&Thread: What do I deserve? What sort of future do you envision?
Unknown Number: You deserve everything that I am and more. You deserve happiness on top of happiness. You deserve protection and adoration and the knowledge that we will never be apart. You deserve so fucking much, and I mean to give you all of it.
I sighed, feeling the warmest, softest blanket covering me. Jethro might not be here physically, but spiritually he was. His unwhispered words were hugs, and his concern the sweetest of kisses.
Needle&Thread: Just tell me we’ll get through this. Tell me that we’ll be together and grow old together and build a life that no one can take from us ever again.
His reply took a moment, but when my phone chimed, he somehow gave me everything his family had stripped from me. He deleted the appalling events and gave me hope.
Unknown Number: Not only do I plan on having you by my side forever, but I want you as my wife. I want you as the mother of my children. I want you as my lover and best friend. We’ll get through this. It will all be over soon. And when it is, things will change for the better. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Nila, and proving that you took a coward and made him want to be a hero. Your hero.
My lips wobbled with happy tears. I whispered, “I love you, Kite.”
Staring at my phone, I read and reread his messages. As much as I wanted to print them off and sleep wrapped up in his words, I had to delete them.
I couldn’t run the risk of Cut finding them.
I had no choice.
Die or kill.
Fight or defeat.
It killed me to drag the entire conversation to the trash and remove it.
Come save me soon.
Come end this before it's too late.
My happiness suddenly squashed as the walls squeezed in on all sides. My mind ricocheted backward, probing old memories.
I couldn’t move from the floor in the alcove. I didn’t know which way was up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. All I could do was hold onto the slate tiles and ride wave after wave of vertigo and claustrophobia.
My racing heart deleted years off my lifespan with undiluted panic.
I passed out.
It was a blessing.
By the time Bonnie returned to undo the padlock, I was no longer coherent.
Shaking my head, I rubbed my face.
How many tortures had Elisa suffered before she’d been ‘purified’?
Unknown Number: Goddammit, Nila. I need you so much. I need to show you how much I love you. How much I miss you.
My heart was in pieces without him.
Needle&Thread: I need you, too. So much. Too much. When we’re together again, I’m going to—
A noise wrenched my head up.
No!
My eyes fell on the unprotected door.
Please no!
The one awful thing about being so sick was I’d had no strength to push aside the dresser to keep me safe.
The phone came alive in my hands, claiming my attention.
Incoming call from Unknown Number. Answer?
The device vibrated urgently, begging me to accept its challenge.
Jethro…
My soul wept. I wanted so, so, so much to answer.
But I can’t.
Locking the phone screen, I shoved it under my pillow.
You didn’t delete the last message.
The door swung open.
Too late.
Daniel appeared, gloating and cocky. “It’s time for another game, Nila. And we can’t be late.”
I LEANED OVER my brother.
The tubes and heart monitor made him look like some Frankenstein monster—pieced together with scraps from the man I once called friend, held together by sorcery and sheer luck.
His skin held a slightly yellow hue; his lips cracked and dry, parted to allow the tube down his throat.
The doctors had done all they could—patched him up and kept his heart pumping. It was up to him now.
A week and a half had passed. Ten excruciatingly long days. If it wasn’t for regular messages with Nila, I would’ve gone out of my mind with worry.
Her texts kept me sane.
Every hour, I grew stronger. I pushed myself until pain bellowed and my endurance improved. Every minute, I plotted my game plan, and every second, I thought of Nila.
She replied at night. Both of us under the same sky, writing by starlight, sending forbidden messages. She was in the world I used to inhabit; I was in a grave sent there by my father.
Yet nothing could keep us apart.
Soon, we’d both be free.
However¸ her messages weren’t like before. When Nila was still at home with her father and brother, she’d been timid and easily embarrassed. She’d been sweet and so damn tempting in her innocence. But now her texts were shaded with what she didn’t say. She kept so much back, only telling me what I wanted to hear.
It was fucking frustrating.
Why don’t you answer my calls, Nila?
Every time I’d dialled in-between our messages, she’d always ignored me and disappeared. Almost as if lying to me by innate characters was all she was capable of.
I needed to talk to her. I needed to find out the truth.
What I really need is to get out of this fucking place.
My side twinged, reminding me that I might be going out of my mind with impatience but I still wasn’t fight worthy.
Goddammit.
Kes’s heart rate monitor never stopped its incessant monotone beeping. I willed it to spike, to show some sign of him waking up.
Clasping his hand, I squeezed. “I’m here, man. Don’t give up.”
My other hand drifted to my torso, prodding the tender rib. Louille said I was lucky the bullet had passed so cleanly. He couldn’t explain the trajectory to miss such vital organs, but I could. Flying through the air, twisting into position to save my sister had kept me alive.
The bullet hadn’t found a perfect target.
Tracing the puckered skin through the thin cotton of a t-shirt I’d been given, I gritted my teeth. This morning, they’d removed my stitches. They’d discontinued my antibiotics and announced the good news.
I was healing quickly.
I’d agreed that was good news. I’d demanded to leave early.
But Louille just laughed as if I should be moved to the psych ward rather than recovery. His emotions shouted he was pleased with my irritation—it proved he’d excelled in his profession as healer—but his mouth said it wouldn’t kill me to wait another few days.