Illusions (The Missing #1) (16 page)

My mind was becoming my worst enemy.

Worse than my still unknown captor who continued to tease and soothe me with words I felt I should remember.

Bind you.

Deny you.

Wrapped up in chains . . .

The water was long gone. The smell and the incredible heat in the tiny, dark room left me weak and ill. I tried to control the urge to dry heave, but sometimes it was useless and all I could do was lie on my side and shudder as I expelled the acid in my stomach.

I was in constant, agonizing pain. Between the hunger and the nausea, I could barely stand up.

But then I thought about who could have brought me here, and the anger gave me a strength I hadn’t known I possessed. I would slam my fists against the glass of the window trying to break it. I’d hit it until my knuckles were raw and bleeding. But it never cracked.

Then I would despair again. Thoughts of death became prevalent, and I planned a hundred ways I could take my life. It was in those dark moments that it felt like my only means of escape.

I chewed at my wrists, wanting to hit a vein. Blood coated my lips and tongue. But I could never go through with it. I’d stop when my mouth filled with copper, and I’d gag and dry heave again. Then I would panic at the sight of red dripping from the mangled cuts.

I tore strips of cloth from my T-shirt and wrapped my wrists, applying pressure. I loudly berated myself for my stupidity. When the depression faded, I found something so much better.

Resolve.

I was determined to find out who took me. Who had locked me away?

“Maybe your mother was right to lock you away.”

I felt sick again.

Bradley’s words bounced around in my head.

“I’ll always protect you. I promised you years ago that I’d look out for you. And I will. No matter what. Even if you hate me for it.”

Why was I remembering that? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about Bradley’s angry, green eyes?

Flat, expressionless. They were past seeing anything at all . . .

“Stop it!” I groaned. My brain was working in overdrive. Things weren’t making sense. Reality and fantasy were smashing together with the force of a freight train.

“Stop, Nora! You don’t understand!”

“Think, Nora. Think about that night. What happened?” I murmured under my breath, trying to focus myself. I pressed my fingers to my wrist, staunching the flow of blood. That had been a moronic thing to do. I couldn’t let myself get that low again.

I had to think.

I had to
remember!

I could see the tree lined sidewalk. I was in a hurry. My steps were quick and I all but ran. I hadn’t told Maren I was coming. She wasn’t expecting me. I wanted to show her my new tattoo, exactly like the one on her arm.

I hoped she liked it.

She had told me I looked beautiful earlier. I could still hear her laugh as she pushed the hair out of my face.

I loved it when she touched me.

She did it purposefully. Full of intention. There was nothing random or nonchalant about Maren Digby’s caresses.

I had never thought I could love anyone, but I knew that I had been a naïve fool.

Mother would be appalled. Revolted. She would find my affectionate regard for the lovely girl who played music to my words as yet another example of my sinful soul. I could almost feel the kiss of Reverend Miller’s cane on my back.

I should be frightened. I had lived so much of my life in fear. Beaten down. Repressed.

But with Maren, life could be so much
more . . .

And that was it. I couldn’t remember anything else. Did I ever make it to Maren’s? Was she looking for me too?

No.

My subconscious screamed the word.

I felt the truth of it deep inside.

Maren wasn’t looking for me. She would be glad that I was gone.

But why?

I had been excited to see her. I had been so sure of her. Of
us.

What happened?

Bradley’s green eyes.

Maren’s mouth open in a scream.

Flashes of skin.

Lips pressed together.

Sighs of pleasure as limbs intertwined.

My heartbeat quickened, sweat cooled on hot flesh.

Mother’s disapproving face.

Rosie’s hateful laugh that filled every tormented piece of me.

You don’t deserve any of them, Nora. You’ll always be alone.

I gripped my head in my hands and tried to calm my racing thoughts. They jumped all over the place.

Okay. I had gone to see Maren. I had planned to tell her . . .
what?

“I love you!” I cried and cried and cried. Tears fell down my cheeks, soaking my shirt.

I twisted the ring, Rosie’s ring, on my thumb.

I would never have the things I wanted.

Ever!

I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it as hard as I could.

It bounced off Maren’s arm and clattered to the ground. It rolled until it disappeared under the mountain of discarded clothes left forgotten on the floor.

My head felt as though it had split open. The headache came on quick. I groaned and dropped back to my knees, rocking back and forth as I rubbed my temples.

So much pain. So much agony.

Inside and out.

I needed to get out!

The bite of the familiar ring brought me back to the present. I couldn’t afford to forget the important things.

Finding a way out.

Discovering the person responsible for my imprisonment.

Those were the things that mattered. Not ghosts and illusions.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound grew louder and louder. But it didn’t seem connected to anything tangible. I didn’t have my cell phone. I wasn’t wearing a watch. I couldn’t identify any other source for the noise.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Floating on the air it assaulted my eardrums. I wanted to scream but my throat was too dry. The effort too much.

Memories came and went too fast to hold on to.

“Dad, can I help wipe down the leather?” I asked, picking up a cloth.

Dad’s smile seemed more distracted than usual. I wasn’t sure he heard my question at all. He had been quiet. Very quiet.

I didn’t think that he wanted me in his workshop at all. But I had begged and pleaded to come, and he had finally given in.

Rosie had wanted to come too, but Dad told her not this time. It had been a small victory. She was angry when we left. I could feel her rage on my back as we walked to the car.

It felt good.

Dad didn’t answer me so I started wiping the leather. I loved being in his workshop. It was the only place I felt some sense of peace. I could tie my hair back and feel air on my face.

Dad never looked at me the way Mother did.

He really never looked at me at all.

But being invisible with him didn’t hurt as much.

“Do you smell that?” I asked a while later. Dad had been working silently, and I had been keeping myself busy with tidying up.

Dad didn’t answer.

I continued straightening the tools into nice, neat lines.

“How’s this, Dad? Does it look okay?” I asked, feeling proud. I hoped that he appreciated the time I took to make his workspace clean.

Dad frowned, irritation on his face. “Don’t talk to me when I’m working, Nora,” he snapped. “I knew it was a bad idea to let you come when I had so much to do.”

His anger stung. His rejection was unexpected. I swallowed my tears and disappointment and sat down in the corner, not touching anything else. Waiting . . .

Then I saw them. The blue eyes.

She was there even when she shouldn’t be. I glared into the shadows. She was always there to see me at my lowest.

I sensed her sadistic glee.

Or was it mine?

Then I smelled it.

Stronger this time.

The smoke.

I heard it again.

The thump against the wall.

“I knew you were there,” I whispered. It was all I could do.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Who are you?”

Thump.

“Can you help me?

Silence.

Nothing.

I stumbled towards the wall and pressed myself against it. Listening. Waiting.

Thump. Thump.

I began to laugh uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop. I sounded cracked and torn. My laugh was breathy and became lost in the oppressive heat and lurking gloom.

“I knew I wasn’t alone,” I declared, though it was a lie.

I was used to being adrift in my solitude.

But I had hoped.

My god, I had hoped.

I leaned my shoulder against the wall, cradling my still roughly bandaged wrist to my chest. It throbbed, but I didn’t look at the mutilated skin underneath.

It was then that I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. A two-inch gouge in the wall five inches up from the floor. Hazy light filtered through, and I knew that it led into whatever lay beyond the room I was in.

Where the noise had come from.

I dropped down onto my haunches and looked through the hole.

At first it was blurry. Non-descript. But I could tell that the room beside mine was brightly lit.

Was that a table in the middle of the room? And it seemed there were objects lining the walls. I couldn’t make out what they were, but some were larger than others.

I squinted. I pulled the skin at the corner of my eye taut to try to clear my vision. I tried to see as much as I could with what little eyesight I had.

And then I saw something that made me pause. Made my heart flutter madly in my chest.

There was someone lying on the floor only five feet or so from the hole I was looking through. I could tell it was a person by the shape and length of it. The body was still. So very still. And even though I couldn’t make out much, it was close enough to the wall that I could see some details.

And what I saw made me lurch backwards in shock. I stumbled and fell over.

“Oh god,” I keened through my ruined throat.

“Oh god!”

I didn’t want to look through the hole again. But I couldn’t stop myself. I had to make sure. I had to
know.

I pressed my face against the wall.

Tears fell down my cheeks.

Cutting through the dirt with thin slices of anguish.

They fell and fell.

Because now I knew that I wasn’t alone in this hell.

I had company . . .

The Past

or

The Present

Somewhere in between

T
he smoke filled my nostrils. I was watching it burn.

Burn to the ground.

Smoldering ash lifted into the sky, and my eyes blurred with tears.

I pressed my fist to my mouth willing myself not to cry.

Crying was useless. What would be the point?

Life as I knew it was over.

“You don’t deserve any of them, you know.”

I didn’t turn at the sound of the voice. I didn’t need to. I could see her face without having to look at it. Beautiful. Wicked. Hateful.

A face I could have loved, but my cold, warped heart hadn’t been able to. She hadn’t let me. And I hadn’t wanted to.

She was my reminder that I had never been capable of affection.

“I know,” I said, agreeing with her statement, because it was the truth.

Rosie came up and stood beside me. We both stared off into nothing. Smoke. Fire. Ash.

It all burned.