CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEA
The acrid chemical smell hits the back of my throat first. It’s unnatural, manmade and alive with poison. I cough, but nothing comes out. Air claws at my lungs as the floor tilts under me, slick with something that also has a bleach-like smell.
Maybe that was where they cleaned up her body in the bathroom. Her bruised, marred body carried out on a stretcher with no decorum or dignity. They hauled her off, covered with a sack, and then soaked the room in rancid chemicals.
My skin stings, but then there’s a sound, a sharp hiss, and for some reason I know it. A valve turns the moment before the air turns toxic and?—
I can’t breathe.
“No …” The word dissolves in my mouth as it goes dry and my vision tunnels. An odd smoke curls around me, yet through it—hands. Gloved, dark, and … closing the door? I stumble after him. For some reason, I know the hands belong to a male.
My bare foot thuds into something, and I trip, lurching forward before I can catch myself. My palms scrape against the concrete ground while the air in my lungs punches out. I push up, to chase the hands seemingly still moving through the thick smoke, but I freeze. It wasn’t debris I’ve tripped over; it’s … abody. My ankle is hooked through her arm, and I scream as Beth’s eyes stare up at me, unseeing.
I choke and crawl on my knees toward the metal door. I pound my fists, the sound of each whack bouncing back, mocking. My head swims, but just as the smoke drowns me, it thins into a mist.
The concrete becomes carpet, and the hurling of my cries fades into angry shouts.
I know that agitation. It crawls down my spine.
“You used the last of the money!” His voice rips through the room. A living room.
“She needed new shoes.” My mother’s soft, delicate voice pleads.Mom? My mom is gone.
I look up from my hands and knees, and there he is. Phil. He stares at my mother sitting on the edge of the couch while spewing his venom.
I whimper, and his head whips toward me, eyes bloodshot. My mother’s form poofs away as he prowls forward.
“Perhaps you’ll be the only thing worth something in this house.”
My stomach turns. “No?—”
He ignores me.
His face grows larger until the room disappears entirely. “Someone might actually pay for that face.”
I try to back away, but the carpet shifts beneath me like water. My feet sink into it. His hand reaches out, and for a heartbeat, I’m too frozen to move.
The words hit harder than the smoke. I can’t breathe—not from poison this time, but from shame. Behind him, shadowed figures move, faceless and waiting. Their hands open like they’re ready to take what he’s selling. The smoke rushes back in, pouring from their mouths and filling my own lungs. I claw at my throat, tasting the chemicals mixed with rotten betrayal.
Then somewhere in the haze, someone is screaming—maybe me?
Hands grab my shoulders. A voice—low, yet real. “Wake up.”
The dream shatters.
I jolt upright, flailing, then scream when the tangled sheets won’t free my ankle. Chained. I’m chained.
Slade’s grip is stern. He reaches out to grab my wrist as I fight with the bedding strangling me. His touch grounds me. Real. He’s real, and I’m really here. Back in the safety of the lake house guest room and utterly free from any chains.
“She was dead. Beth … And then the smoke. Phil. He sold me, he …” Tears patter on the crisp linens as Phil’s taunting words and Beth’s unseeing eyes color my memories.
“It was a dream,” Slade grunts. When I finally look at him, he’s still dressed in the same suit he carted me off stage in, despite that having been hours and hours ago. He backpedals.
“No. It was a nightmare, and I’m living it. I can’t do this. I can’t be here. Why am I here?” I huff out through the tears.
He stalls out before he turns. “Sleep,” he grumbles.
