Over and over and over again.
“Olivia, they’re talking about using you,” he explained, walking up with his tray.
I opened my mouth on instinct, my eyes still trained on that hole. He had to come out at some point.
“Using you for nefarious purposes.”
I stuck my tongue out, waiting. I wondered if the mouse was able to get food. I wondered if he got fed like I did. No, that couldn’t be it. Nobody here was kind enough to feed a little mouse.
Phil stepped in front of me, his kind eyes stern, like a father scolding his daughter. “Listen to me, it’s serious now. You’re of no use to them if you can’t talk, but a cousin of Isaak’s is involved with people who will take an interest in you once they see you.”
And? My toes were purple, and my fingers were purple, and I couldn’t feel anything at all in my arms or legs, not unless they let me sit for a while, which they did but only when they were going to drown me or punch me over and over and over and over and over—
“Olivia.”
I sucked my tongue back in and found his eyes, frowning. I knew it was my name because I had been saying it over and over again for a long time. For forever.“I am Olivia Rose, I am a writer, I am unbreakable, I am Claimed.”
I wasn’t sure why I said it, but I knew I had to. I had to keep saying it for as long as I could.
Phil released a breath and picked up a piece of bologna. “If Everett is still looking for you, he will never find you once these people take you, I can promise you that.”
Everett.
He was the one who called me ‘pup’ and sometimes ‘little writer’. He only called me ‘little writer’ now when he was trying to create some distance between us, but it never lasted long. A sentence or two before he was back to calling me ‘pup’. I loved that name. More than I loved my own, more than I loved my food. Everett Kingsmen was fierce and kind and unforgiving.
And he would find me, I knew he would, he gave me his word. He promised.
I opened my mouth and waited.
Phil watched me for a long time before stepping forward and feeding me my bologna and carrot.
While he was feeding me, the door opened again, a hose repelling down, splooshing into the water, a loud noise filling the area.
The water started to disappear, and I felt an idea form in my head. Maybe Merlin would come out once it was all dried up.
I finished eating my delicious meal, the water all but gone save for a few little puddles. The hose went back up the stairs and a few minutes later, Isaak and a few men came down to join Phil.
Every time I ate, I felt my mind clear of the strange film that fell over it. It was as if I had taken off sunglasses. As if my brain had been filled with goo, and now it wasn’t for a few minutes.
“Careful,”I wanted to tell them.“The mud is slick, you don’t want to fall and crack your head.”
I hoped they would.
I prayed they would all fall and crack their heads. All of them except for Phil.
One of them took out my chair, while another one brought in an old wire frame and an old stained bed.
My eyes narrowed as I watched them bring it in. They wouldn’t be giving me a roommate, would they? Why? Did they think I would talk to them? Because I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t say a word.
Another one brought down a machine on a table and a box that made a loud noise.
“Do you know what that is?” Isaak asked, standing by my side as the men set it up next to the bed.
I shook my head. I knew exactly what it was, and I felt my heart thud for the first time in a long time.
“It’s called a defibrillator,” he explained coldly. “We brought in a good one with a generator, rather than a portable one. Stronger, more reliable.” He lifted his chin. “Do you know what it does?”
I wrote a scene just like this once. Between my main serial killer and one of his victims. Not the love interest, but some poor bastard he ended up dismembering a few pages later because he got too excited and couldn’t bring him back to life.
