"I want to leave," I tell him again.
"No. No. No!" he shouts. "We need to stay here. We need to wait."
My breaths fall shorter, heavier, harder. I feel like the walls are caving in on me, and the ceiling is falling, falling, falling. I imagine deadly dagger-like spikes in the wall growing closer, threatening to end my fears and struggles. Musty air saturates my lungs, and I wheeze through each breath. Screaming is hard, but I manage wispy cries that reach a soft peak before silent air continues to steal all of my sound. I pull at my hair and scrape my nails against my neck. I need the light. I need light. I need air. "I need—please. Please. Please," I cry senseless, useless words. "Help.Help."
Sin's arms reach around me, embracing me. My head his against his chest and I can hear his erratic heartbeat—like the thundering sound of an earthquake. He squeezes me tighter, and I ignore the pain. His hand grips around the back of my neck and the side of his face brushes against mine—his razor-blade hairs scratching at my skin. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he breathes into my ear. "Forgive me. Please. I need you to forgive me. That's all I need. Then you can go." The warmth of his body allows the images of the closing walls to blur within my mind. I should want him to let go, but I need the comfort.
"Forgive you for what?"
He releases me, and again, he's gone, but this time I hear metal clanking. It's the door—he's opening the door and letting in the light. I just need a little light, and I'll be okay. I'll be okay. The door parts with a crack, but the light doesn't leak in.Where is the light?I clamber up the steps, using my hands and feet, finding Sin's legs at the top of the stairs. "Where is the light?"
"It's night."
"But there should be a moon, stars, something. Right?" I peek out through the crack just enough to see that there are no stars and no moon. Just low bearing clouds and rain locking in the darkness of the night's sky.
"We'll leave in the morning. He could be out there."
"Leave to go where?" I ask.
"I don't know, but I can't be found, Reese. You have to understand something; I can't take the chance on someone seeing me." He closes the door in front of us, locking it back up with the metal rod. "Maybe you should go yourself."
"Right now? You'll let me out?" I ask.
"Yes, but you should understand that my father might be right outside, and I won't be able to control what he does to you." I sit down by Sin's feet, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my head in my hands. I could go, but I'd be alone in the dark.Alone and in the dark. I nod my head, knowing he can't see, but I'm admitting to myself that I'm safer here with Sin in the dark than I am outside in the dark where Snatcher could find me.
"Are you going to hurt me?" I ask.
His hand is around my elbow, and he pulls me up to my feet. "I already have hurt you. Don't you understand this?"
"No, I don't."
"You should think wisely about your decision. And you should know that I lived in the psych ward of a hospital for the past several years, sometimes spending days surrounded by padded walls while suffocated in a straightjacket."
"Before that, who were you? You know, we were both someone before we were taken. Right?" There is a pause within his words and I don't know if he's thinking of what to say or expects me to go first. I suppose it would be easier if I started. "As for me: I was a bookworm who loved sitting outdoors on our front porch with a book until the sun set each night. I also loved to visit the sick children at the hospital and play with them when they were well enough to play. And sometimes I babysat for our neighbors' twins. Then on Sundays, I would volunteer to help watch the town's babies during church. I tried to do as much good as I could, and I wasn't supposed to be taken or tortured for three years. That's not what's supposed to happen to good people."
He's breathing heavily beside me as his feet shuffle against the concrete. "I worked for my father," he says. "We'd cut firewood for the town."
"What else?"
"There is nothing else. I cut wood, I ate my meals, I went to bed, and I'd do it all over again the next day."
"No school?" I ask.
"I'd go sometimes, but my father didn't seem to think I needed an education to cut wood."
"Well, what about your mother. What does she do?" I assume his parents aren't together, but nothing would shock me now, especially since I didn't know Sin existed—or rather, was Snatcher's son until a week ago.
"My mother is buried in the ground behind the shed," he says, sounding as if a breath is caught in his throat.
She's dead. But—"What did she die from?" Please don't confirm my fear. Please, no. Please.
"Next question," he says, anger firing through his voice. He would only be avoiding the question if my assumption were correct. The memory of Snatcher blaming a murder on Sin reels through my head. He must have killed his mother. Who would do that to their mother? This man is a murderer, and I'm locked in a dark basement with him. He could kill me too. Maybe Snatcher was waiting for Sin to do his dirty work. That's why I'm here.
"Sin?"
"Yes?"
"Were you ill before you were locked up?"
"That's up for debate," he says.
"Well, the doctors must have determined that you are now healthy if they let you out. Right?" I ask, knowing I'm only trying to convince myself that I'm going to be okay in here with him.
"Yes, Reese," he says. "That would be true. If the doctors were the ones who let me out."
