With every mile I drive to Jarrod’s place, my enthusiasm begins to wane. I realize my plan is shit. What the fuck am I doing? Jack will kill me, and I could do exactly what Ghost is worried about and make things worse for Camile. By the time I walk into the kitchen at Jarrod’s, I’m having major second thoughts. The place looks kind of shitty compared to where he used to live, and none of the muscle cars he likes are in the driveway.
He greets me at the front door and ushers me inside. He glances left and right before shutting the door behind us, and I wonder who he’s looking for. But then he offers me a big grin and smacks me on the shoulder.
“Let’s go through to the kitchen. Grab a beer.”
I want to argue that I don’t have time to drink, but I sense I might be on rocky ground here. Jarrod seems to relax a little, though, as he heads through to the kitchen and stops at the large refrigerator to grab a couple of cold cans. He hands me one, and my worry eases a little, until he speaks.
“Well, Ryan. Finally, you bother to get in touch, but I guess it’s only when you want something, huh?”
That sinking, worried feeling intensifies, and I set the can of beer down on the counter without so much as taking a sip. “Listen, Jarrod. You’re right. I mean, let’s just leave this. It was a crazy idea, anyway. I’ll arrange to visit Clay and see you soon.”
I take a step backward, just as he steps forward, keeping the distance between us the same.
“Oh, no, no, no. You want to see your girl? You’re going to see your girl.”
What the fuck?
I grit my teeth and flex and unflex my hands. “Jarrod, what did you do?”
“Only what you asked. I called the friends I have in the Revenants, except right now… they’re on a side quest. One I think you’d be very interested in.”
This feels like it’s disintegrating fast. I need to leave.
“I should go.”
I turn and slap into a massive wall of a man who I hadn’t even heard enter the space. I’m tall, and the fact I have to look up to see the face of the man in front of me has me swallowing hard. He’s built like a tank. There’s a second man standing close behind him who isn’t much smaller.
“What the?—”
I don’t finish my sentence. A massive fist slams into the side of my head, and I see stars. At first, there’s no pain, just the dizzying awareness that I’ve been hit, then the blow comes again, sending me staggering back. Somehow, I manage to stay on my feet, but the room is spinning. I clutch the kitchen counter to steady myself and try to get my bearings. A part of me wants to run, while the other screams to fight back. I can barely see straight. All I’m aware of is the big guy moving a metal pipe, which he must have entered the house with, from his left hand to his right, and, with a dark grin, he advances on me.
6
CAMILE
I regainconsciousness to find myself curled in a corner and no longer tied to the chair, which I’m grateful for. However, the floor is cold and hard against my aching bones, and I have nothing covering me, except for my freezing wet cami and sleep shorts. I’m on my side in the recovery position, and as my last memory was of fading into blackness as the exhaustion from the torture took its toll, I wonder if they did this to try to save my life.
The fact that they didn’t call a doctor or seem to care beyond putting me in a position to let any water out of my lungs is hardly reassuring. They left me alone in this dingy room, to come around under my own steam.
Had I been wrong to believe that Ledger wanted me alive enough to ensure my safety? Shivering and shaking so badly that I can barely use my arms to push myself up, I struggle until I’m sitting. I wrap my arms around my knees, which I draw to my chest and hug tight, trying to warm up. Waves of sickness wash over me, so sharp andintense that I know any moment now I’m going to throw up everywhere. A soft, pathetic moan escapes me at the idea of having to stay in this space, with my own vomit on the floor, stinking and making me feel even worse.
Another intense wave of sickness washes over me, and I just manage to lurch forward onto my hands and knees and crawl a little before I throw up. I haven’t eaten in some time, or had anything to drink, but somehow my stomach still finds something to eject. Eventually, there’s nothing but bile left, and my stomach is so sore tears stream down my face. By the time I sit back, my throat is raw.
No matter how terrible I feel, though, I have to try the door. The chances of them leaving me here, untied and with the door unlocked, is minimal, but still, I must try.
They clearly didn’t think I was much of an escape risk. As well as the bonds being gone, they also didn’t gag me again. Is it possible that they left me here for dead? It’s a crazy thing to wish for, but I do. If they thought I was dead, or about to die, perhaps they wouldn’t have bothered to lock the door either.
Still on my hands and knees, I crawl toward the slat of light peeping beneath the door. The floor seems to tilt beneath me and my head is spinning. I have to stop and breathe deep, fighting against the possibility of blacking out again, and the moment passes.
It feels like it takes forever, but finally, I’m in front of the door. I sit back on my haunches and reach for the handle. With what little strength I have, I yank on it, first pulling it toward me, and then putting all my body weight into pushing it away. Nothing happens. I might not have heard them lock it before, but they have now.
A sob barrels up inside me, and I bite it back down.Crying isn’t going to help me now, and I need to conserve my energy.
My throat still burns, and there’s a terrible taste coating my tongue. Despite almost drowning, I’m dehydrated, and I need water.
In the dark shadows of the room, I can just make out the shape of the tub they used to half drown me, the hose, and beside it, a few rags. Once more, on shaky arms and legs, I crawl toward the tub. There’s still water in it, so I scoop handfuls into my mouth and do my best to fight the sensation of drowning. Intrusive thoughts of plunging my face back beneath the water enter my head, and I battle the panic threatening to overwhelm me. I manage a couple more gulps before falling back, shaking all over.
When the worst of the panic fades, I pick up one of the rags sitting beside the tub. I give it a sniff. It doesn’t stink of anything too horrific, so, even though I doubt it’s clean, I use it to wipe my face.