The last year and a half had been hardest on Woodrow. His mind wasn’t ready for the stress a baby brought, and more often than not, I was caring for two children. The oldest of the two, feeling left out whenever attention was shown to the baby.
But, today had been good.
He’d dressed our baby and carried her to the park, placing our checkered picnic blanket on the grassiest tuft he could find. The pushchair that she hated spending any time in was parked at my side.
Clouds rolled in the bright sky.
A dark shadow cast upon us that stole me from my reverie.
I woke to the sound of my stomach rumbling, echoing loudly in the stone room, which seemed smaller and smaller each day.
Something wrapped around my ankle and dragged me through the mess I’d made.
The shadow.
My face hit the door of the cage as I was pulled through it with a violent tug, taking the focus from my pained broken knee.
An ulcered scab ripped on my cheek, and a scream rushed from inside me. My lungs hurt, my stomach hurt, and the baby, tiny and vulnerable, stressed inside it.
My fingers rushed to protect my stomach, my broken nails tickling my skin.
I tried to crawl away from whatever entity was filling the room, but it was near impossible when my leg was so swollen.
“She won’t make it much longer.” I’d know Ville’s voice anywhere; I recognized it from every nightmare. “Probably best to take the organs now, before they start shutting down.”
“What happened to your plan?”
“I’ve given him time. He’s still acting like a fucking child.”
“Okay. It’s your decision.”
Sylvia stood in the coldness of Ville’s shadow. He was a stupid man, ruled by greed and any other men who claimed they’d feed him with the meat off brittle bones and the wealth brought by what lived beneath.
He had no idea what Ville was planning.
This was his plan.
And Sylvia was bait.
Nothing had worked to draw Woodrow out, or even Hell, and another week had passed where Ville had to deal with Woody. He was fed-up and fucked off. . . but he knew my screams would wake the beast.
I used my good leg and kicked away as Sylvia’s dirty, calloused fingers scraped my ankles. My foot caught him in the ear, my unfiled toenails scratching through his skin.
I pushed myself back with my hands, narrowly avoiding what was left of Ville’s sausage fingers, reaching for my hair.
I couldn’t stand, the vigor to do so had simply gone. Weeks without a crumb to eat had stolen the last of my energy.
I stared up at them—the men who’d end my life—through my lifeless hair. Tears blurred their appearance in my right eye; acid damage had stolen the vision from my left, making everything constantly dark and scary.
I crouched, hiding from a fist, unsure who it belonged to. The blow hit my arms as they covered my head.
I heard a voice, muffled by my own arms as they shielded my ears.
If I had removed my arms, I’d have heard Sylvia say he was about to pull my legs open, wanting to taste me before he chewed later on.
I kicked and shrieked, panic taking over me as the shadows closed in.
I couldn’t see much. The ajar door from the kitchen above let in little light. And then the light vanished as Sylvia tossed his leather jacket over my head.
