“My parents.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
SORROW
I don’t know if it’s the cold or the headache, but either way, all I want to do is roll over and pull the blankets back over me.
Only, as I come fully awake, I realize I’m not at home. I don’t have a clue where I am. It’s so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face.
I scramble up into a sitting position, my head throbbing in protest as I try to find my bearings. The cold and dark do nothing to calm me. I take a few deep breaths to center myself so I don’t have a panic attack and pass out. That’s the last thing I need right now. Once I have my breathing under control, I run my shaking hands over my body, relieved to find myself still fully clothed. A dress and panties might not be doing anything to keep me warm, but it brings me a small amount of comfort to know I haven’t been violated.
I get to my hands and knees, feeling cold stone beneath my fingertips. I ease myself to my feet and I sway a little. The throbbing is at its worst toward the back of my head. I feel around until I find a lump about the size of a golf ball, andmy fingers come away damp. I don’t need light to determine its blood.
I swallow, feeling vomit threatening to rush up the back of my throat. I need to get a grip. I can’t just curl up in a ball and wait for someone to save me. If I have no idea where I am, how is anyone else going to? Okay, first things first. I need to figure out the lay of the land. With my arms out in front of me, I shuffle forward slowly. I keep going until my hip bumps into something hard, making me curse.
I reach out to feel it and frown. “Is that a table?” I murmur, my voice sounding overly loud.
I smooth my hands over it. It’s not wood, but stone. I walk, dragging my fingers across it until I reach the end before turning and doing the same with the next side. I repeat it until I have a rough idea of how big the object is.
“Okay, so it’s a rectangle. Table-like but no chairs.” I rub my temples for a minute, hoping to ease some of the pain and clear the fog. In the end, I ignore it and start walking with my arms out in front of me again, doing my best zombie impression?—
Zombie impression?
I freeze, choking on my fear. I move my hand slowly back to the table-like object. With my hand on the edge of the top, I push. I whimper when the lid moves slightly.
It’s a fucking tomb. Someone has thrown me into one of the mausoleums. I scurry away, bumping into something else, which spins me around. I trip over my own feet and fall. I throw my hands out to catch myself and scream when I feel my left wrist snap.
My knees and hands sting where I’ve scraped the skin off them, but the pain in my wrist overshadows everything else.
The walls seem to close in on me now, the space shrinking to the size of a postage stamp, taking the air with it.
Holding my wrist to my chest, I crawl until I find a wall and collapse against it. I need to find a door, but I need a second first. I take in a deep, shaky breath, trying to convince myself I’m having a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut and start humming the tune to a commercial that’s forever getting stuck in my head, willing everything to return to normal. But when I open my eyes, all I see is darkness.
My breath comes out in short, sharp pants, but this time I can’t stop it. Colors flash behind my eyes as I curl up in a ball. I’m struggling to get air into my lungs.
I’m gonna die here. I’m going to die, surrounded by dead bodies, and no one will think to look for me here. Rational thought evaporates in the wake of my terror. The lack of oxygen makes my head throb worse until I can feel myself on the verge of passing out. Instead of fighting it, I give in. If I don’t, I’ll break.
I slip in and out of consciousness, losing track of time. I don’t know if it’s my claustrophobia or the bump to my head, but this can’t be good. I think of Banner. He’ll be frantic by now. I picture Katy sobbing and finally find some clarity to help push through the darkness. I can’t go out like this. I can’t just give up. They won’t. They won’t stop until they find me. It’s up to me if that means dead or alive.
I swallow, my throat so dry it hurts, making me wonder if I was screaming without realizing it.
Slowly, I get to my feet, my whole body shaking. I don’t know if it’s from the cold or shock. I try to remember what to do if shock sets in, but going to prison at seventeen kinda puts a dent in your education. Maybe I should do a first aid course.
“God, you’re spiraling, Sorrow.”
The sound of my voice pulls me out of my thoughts, so I keep talking out loud. I stifle a giggle, thinking about how many years I was silent, and now the sound of my own voice is the only thing stopping me from losing my mind. My giggle turns into asob, but I shake my head and start singing a Disney song. As I focus on the words, I slowly make my way around the room, my good hand running up and down the walls, looking for a door. I feel the metal of name plates under my fingers and hurry along, imagining bodies lying just beyond me. I don’t stop to dwell on it. The fear will bring me to my knees if I let it.
Eventually, I reach a smooth wall, and I let out a small, relieved breath. The door has to be on this side. My shaking is making it hard to find anything, but I concentrate on feeling for a seam. There likely won’t be a handle on the inside. It’s not like anyone is trying to get out, usually. A hysterical bubble of laughter threatens to break free. I start singing louder, ignoring my tears, until finally I feel what I think is a hinge of some sort. I reach down and feel a second one and gasp.
“Yes.” I trace around the door, looking for a handle. As I suspected, there is nothing, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. Eventually, I give in and throw myself against the door, trying to make it move. It doesn’t budge.
The pain in my wrist becomes more than I can bear. I slide down the wall and bring my knees to my chest and try to breathe through it so I don’t throw up.
The cold is making me feel sluggish and sleepy. That’s not good, but I can’t find it in me to get up and start moving around. Five more minutes, I promise myself. Then I’ll get up and try again. And I won’t stop trying until someone comes for me. And someone will come. They have to, right?
A noise has me cracking my eyes open. Or I think I do, it’s too dark to tell. I’m lying on the ground now. The cold has seeped into my bones, but the shaking has stopped. I’m not sure if that’sa good thing or not. I hear another noise I can’t place and turn my head, my heart ready to jump out of my chest at the thought of a zombie climbing out of the crypt to eat me. The sound of stone grating over stone has me gasping. The door opens, and silvery light pools in the frame of the doorway. My brain registers two things at once. It’s nighttime. That’s moonlight, not sunlight pouring in. Seems like an odd thing to focus on after everything, but maybe my mind has finally fractured. Standing in the doorway is ex-chief Stephenson. I can’t help but think, given everything that’s happened, that I might not make it out of this place alive if he’s the one who’s come for me.
His eyes scan the place. I must make a noise or something because his head whips around to me. When he finds me, his eyes widen in shock. “Fuck me. It’s alright, Sorrow, I’ve got you now.”
