Page 137 of Denial
“No.”
“You’ve never seen me before?”
“No.” My voice grows harsher, almost a growl.
“Do you have any knowledge of my relationship with your brother?” he asks as if he’s a prosecutor, and I’m back on the witness stand at trial.
“No.”
“Interesting.” He leans back in his chair, palm pressed flat on the wooden table. “Very interesting. I was hoping you’d say?—”
Metal screeches across the concrete as Jake launches up from the floor and tackles Ernest to the ground. The men become a blur of tangling limbs, of flesh hitting flesh, their bodies colliding with force. Grunts and the sounds of struggle fill the abandoned space. I shove to my feet, stumbling into the table, my legs weak.
Turning away from the chaos, I move toward the back of the room, feeling as if I’m moving through molasses, every step heavy and slow.
Keep going. Don’t stop. Find Nellie and run.
A gun goes off, followed by the sound of one man’s heavy breathing.
“Stop, or the next bullet is in your skull,” Ernest warns.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Is he dead?” I ask, not daring to speak louder than a whisper.
“Fuck. I didn’t want to kill him. This is your fault, you bitch.”
In the split second before I can decide what to do, his hand wraps around my bicep, and he tows me across the room. I trip over rotting cardboard and damp packaging, slipping on spilled screws.
“I’m not going back to prison, and I sure as fuck am not going back underground. I’ve got to get out of here,” he says with finality.
The hair stands up on the back of my neck, and bile rises in my throat.
Pain explodes across my temple, and I crumple to the ground like a puppet with its strings clipped. A cry echoes around the space. My skin scrapes against the concrete, and blood pools in my mouth from my teeth slicing my tongue.
Metal hinges creak, the only warning of something new before I’m shoved forward into a red metal box. My consciousness swims, and I fight to hold on to it with everything left.
“You’ll finally know what it’s like to have everything taken from you. Stripped away like you’re nothing, and left to rot in a confined space. The difference between you and me, sweetheart?” Ernest yanks the hair at the back of my head, tipping my chin to his face. “You’ll die in here. Slowly. And it won’t be me who kills you. Your body will.”
The metal doors slap shut, a lock clicking into place.
My breath becomes thin, anxiety creeping in like an invisible force. Followed immediately by the sobs.
I wipe my palms over my eyes, finding them dry.
Those aren’t my sobs.
I feel around the metal box and bang against the back. The sound of crying drowns out everything else except my rapid breaths and knocking fists.
“Nellie? Are you there?” I cough, choking over my own panic. “It’s Alice.”
My vision blurs.
I lean my throbbing head against the cold metal corner, eyes drifting closed.
“I love you, kiddo.” Inhale. “Love you like my own.” Exhale.
“I’m here.”
