*****
Sam hurdled back into consciousness, looking around for her fellow prisoners. Her eyes felt crusty. One opened enough to see. She went to call for Amy and abandoned the action when pain streaked across her jaw.
What had happened?
She concentrated on the sounds of the room. It was quiet, even quieter than she was used to—no hushed breathing, no rustle of clothes from shifting on the uncomfortable ground. She was alone.
Where had they taken everyone? Why had they left her?
She took stock of the situation. She was on the ground. Her jaw and shoulder throbbed. She rolled over and winced: her side was injured too. She fingered her ribs, noting the tender spots. None seemed broken or bruised—breathing didn’t hurt, just twisting her body. Small comfort when she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten the injuries.
She drew a few shallow breaths before continuing. Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. A thin strip of yellow so pale it was nearly colorless stretched through the room until it faded into darkness.
It was light. Light that came from underneath a door.
This wasn’t her original holding cell. Hers had a dim bulb swinging overhead, allowing her to see. A small window that let in the fluorescent hallway lights. Which meant she had been moved. What reason did they have to move her? She paused, a memory flitting past, almost gone before she grabbed it. The socks. She’d stolen the socks. She’d gotten caught.
That had to be it. They’d discovered the socks. This was her punishment. Why couldn’t she remember the details? Sam remembered the man with the blue eyes, as though they’d shared a moment so strong he was permanently fixed in her memory. But who was he?
Her head pounded. Memories. This was why she couldn’t remember anything before this place. Why she couldn’t even remember what happened in this place. They were stealing her memories—but not as effectively as before. Her memory felt less blank and more fuzzy. If she could just remember more—she winced as the headache intensified and stopped trying to recover her memories. She focused on the door.
The space between it and the floor looked big enough to see under. See what was beyond this room. She had nothing but time.
Getting herself into a sitting position proved to be the most agonizing. Everything above her waist ached. She examined her arms in the dim light and wondered whether she wanted to know how she injured her wrists.
Probably not.
She stood, careful not to push up with her arms. The movement jostled her side, but she welcomed the pain over the alternative. She swayed on her feet, throwing her arms out to catch her balance, and whimpered when the pain in her shoulders flared. Moving cautiously so she wouldn’t stumble, Sam slid one foot toward the door, followed by the other, giving herself time to get steady on her feet again.
Another step forward had her foot connecting with something solid. It bounced and rattled as it fell over. She grunted as liquid seeped under her foot. Carefully, she squatted and tried sniffing. It didn’t smell like anything. She reached down and swiped her finger through the liquid, holding it up to her nose. Still nothing. She closed her eyes and forced her mouth open, touching her finger to her tongue. Water.
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
She’d knocked over water. When would she get more? There was no way of knowing. And now that she’d had a taste, she realized how thirsty she was. How dry and nearly split her lips were.
She dropped to her knees, ignoring her body’s protests, and felt for the container she’d knocked over. Hooking her fingers over the side, she pulled it to her, lifting up the bowl-like container to drink. Few drops remained.
Despair hit her hard, bowing her forward. She splashed her hands in the water, trying to collect what was on the floor. The water slid through her fingers. But she licked her hands anyway, desperate.
She wouldn’t cry. She would not cry. Crying meant wasting more precious water. But a tear rolled down her cheek anyway. And then another one.
Dammit.
The light flickered through her tears. She had to focus. Find out where she was and what was going on. But she sat for a moment, letting the tears roll down her face.
Her grandma had always told her that sometimes you had to acknowledge the pain and wallow before moving on.
…Her grandma?
She examined the thought, the firm belief. It felt real, even though no matter how much she concentrated, she couldn’t picture her grandma, or any other relative. How could she know this, yet not know anything at all? She shook balled fists at the darkened room.
Moving closer to the light, she could see well enough to avoid knocking over anything important. If there was something left to discover. The water surprised her. That was something they gave up begrudgingly. And she was being punished.
But if this was punishment, why did she have water? She had to stop spinning herself in circles with questions before she went crazy.
At the door, she sat down and considered her next move. She needed to lie down to see under the door. She rolled her shoulders, testing how they felt. One hurt more than the other. She scooted to the left and lay down on her least injured shoulder, rolling it back and sliding up to the door.
The side she’d lay down on was the same side with the eye that wouldn’t open. She sighed and readjusted herself, cringing as she lay down.
She blinked as something came into her peripheral vision. Feet. They disappeared just as fast. Either she’d managed to catch one of the few sweeps the guards made or she’d been imprisoned somewhere that got more foot traffic. She scooted closer to the door, trying to see if anything else lay beyond. Like the lab outside the other holding cell.
She shuddered.
But all she saw was gray tile. Tiny cracks in the tile. Dirt was strewn across the floor, only visible because of her angle. Sam waited.
What she was waiting for, she didn’t know. But there were an alarming number of things she didn’t know.
Two more pairs of feet passed by. Or maybe it was the same two? All the shoes were black and polished. The black shone in the light. She heard a squeak, like someone had pivoted sharply on toes, and the murmur of raised voices. Three pairs of shoes appeared and paused. They stopped talking, but the jingling of keys was unmistakable.
She scrambled away from the door, accidentally rolling into the spilled water, and curled up protectively. The water seeped into her clothes. She ignored it and shut her eyes. Light flooded the room as the door swung open.
“You think she’s alive?”
“Yeah. Control room said they’d seen movement in the room. And boss man wanted us to come here once she’d woken up.”
“Well, she don’t look very awake.”
A third man spoke. “Oh, she’s awake. She’s just faking. Come on, memory-bringer. Get up.”
Fear flooded her body at the voice, and a foot pushed on her side, rocking her further back into the water. Him. She needed to be careful. She sputtered and pushed herself up.
“See?” the man continued. “She’s fine.” He got in her face and smiled. It sent another flush of fear through her body. “Don’t remember me, do you? How sad. But you fear me. It’s about time.”
He held out his hand. “Allow me to assist you.”
Sam leaned to the side and looked at the other two men. They were a study in opposites: a balding man with a stomach that was attempting to escape his uniform and a younger man so thin she was afraid one small bump from baldy would be enough to knock him over.
She recognized neither. But that meant nothing. She turned back to the man in front of her with the smile that was all wrong.
Against her better judgment, she placed her hand in his. He squeezed it—hard enough to crush her fingers—and tugged. She regretted the oily touch instantly. A voice within her demanded she reclaim her arm, but he continued smiling at her, tucking her hand on his arm as if he were escorting her somewhere.
She kept as much space
between them as he’d allow. He nodded at the other two men. “Sanders. Jennings. Let’s get her to the infirmary, shall we?”
The two nodded. The younger one said, “Yes, Captain Reed.”
Reed pulled her along, leading the way. She flinched when the door slammed shut behind her.
“A little jumpy, are we?”
She glared. He escorted her down the hallway as if it were an everyday occurrence. Even without her memories, the wrongness of the situation hit her hard. His hold, a little too tight. The lights, a little too bright. The other guards they passed, staring a little too long. He shrugged at her silence and smirked. “You’re right to be jumpy, you know. Shows you’re learning who’s in charge.”
Sam thought of the socks and looked at her feet. Mud streaked from where the water had met dirt. Her toes looked nearly bloodless. She missed her socks. Reed jerked her forward, capturing her attention as another pair of shiny black shoes entered her line of sight.
“Cooper.”
Bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. She pulled her gaze up, her good eye wide as everything began to make sense. It’d been him. He’d caught her stealing. Taken her loot. Fed her. Let her sleep. Her ears started ringing and she closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness.
“Sir.” Yes, his voice. She remembered him. Coop. She remembered this. She remembered.
“Take Sanders and Jennings and report to testing room one. I’ll be taking the memory-bringer to the infirmary.”
“Yes, sir.” She opened her eyes again. He was looking at her now, but not in a way that spoke of a common secret between them. It spoke of nothing at all.
“And Cooper?” Reed put his hand over hers, still resting on the crook of his arm.
“Sir?”
“Do you know how water got into the hole? She was positively covered in it when we arrived.” He sighed. “We’ll have to scrounge for something in the infirmary. You know how low we are on extra clothing.”
“No, sir. But I’ll keep an eye on that hallway during my shift tonight.”
Cameras are everywhere. We are always watching.
“Good man. Dismissed.”
I know you’re wondering why I’m telling you this.
Coop nodded. “Sir.” And he turned, walking in the opposite direction.
But you’ll just have to wait to find out.
She didn’t want to wait.
Chapter Four
Elusive Memories (The Hunted #1) Page 6