The hallway tunneled in front of him, as if it was a hundred feet long. Hollace led him past rooms. Doorways with tiny windows. Beside one was a TV screen that made Ramon stop.
He had to…
Thoughts wouldn’t come together in his mind.
The screen showed a living room, a mother holding a toddler. Bouncing him on her lap. A young teen girl lay on the other couch. Stretched out watching TV.
Hollace tugged on his arm again, and Ramon stumbled forward. “Come on.” He touched a button on a key panel, and a buzzer sounded.
Hollace pulled the door open and shoved Ramon inside, the air stuffy like that lobby he’d been shut in. He stumbled and almost went down, but he managed to catch himself and straightened. The room swam around him, everything rotating.
Expecting a prison cell, or something like it, he was surprised to find the room furnished like a hotel suite with a kitchenette to his right. A brown-haired older woman sat at the table, dealing out a deck of cards. An older man got up from the couch, setting aside his book and standing. “Ramon?”
The door clanged shut behind him, the sound echoing through his head and birthing a dull ache in his skull.
Ramon reached up and touched his forehead, trying to focus and push the headache away. “What?”
His mouth couldn’t form the words. Exhaustion reached up and swallowed him into the oblivion.
They rushed over, and Ramon stared up at Amara and Bruce. Why was he on the floor?
He didn’t have a chance to ask before everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ramon came back to awareness slowly, like pushing up through deep water to breach the surface. He scrubbed both hands down his face, realizing quickly that he wasn’t in a hotel bed. It wasn’t like he had an actual home, per se. So, waking up in an odd location wasn’t unusual. Normally, it wasn’t on a couch. Or in a small room that had been decorated to look like a bland hotel room that should have been renovated ten years ago.
Ramon pushed up onto one elbow, blinking while his eyes adjusted. The door was dark green and looked like a heavy fire door but with a small window in it, crisscrossed with wire. Like the door to a holding cell.
“He’s awake.” Bruce pushed his chair back from the table and left his plate and mug behind, ambling over. “How are you feeling, bud?”
Amara sat opposite Bruce, making Ramon think of someone playing a card game. But she was eating now.
“What’s going on?”
“Take it slow. You were pretty exhausted.”
Ramon pushed himself all the way up and leaned back against the couch. Someone had removed his shoes, and therewas a sharp prick on the inside of his elbow. Looked like he’d been stuck with a needle. “What did?—”
“Right.” Bruce settled in the armchair to his right. “That was us, I’m afraid. You were pretty dehydrated from whatever you’ve been up to. It was the easiest way to make sure you got enough fluids.”
“You have medical supplies in here?”
Bruce said, “We asked for them when you didn’t wake up. Hollace got us what we needed.”
“But he didn’t let you leave.” Because they were being held captive here.
“That’s the deal, bud.”
Ramon shook his head.
“What’s going on outside this base?” Bruce asked.
It wasn’t a good sign if Bruce didn’t know. Amara was usually pretty in charge, or at least the one in the know. Right now, she seemed almost…sad. Subdued. Nothing like her usual self.
Ramon explained about the janitor, the town in Norway, and the guy they’d brought back.
Amara said, “So he’s here.”
