by EJ Everette
“Hell if I know! All I know is he is not at the house. I cannot even feel him. Can you?” Mitch’s eyes lock with mine and the anxious feeling I had before intensifies. If Chance is missing, where is Gray? I reach out, struggling to clear my mind, sweat already starting to drip from my forehead at the strain, while I focus to feel my connection with my brother and my mate. Nothing.
“Where is Gray?” Dean says, having just appeared from the back room a few moments ago. His concern is as evident as mine.
“I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.” Mitch refrains from shouting the words, instead he breathes them out with a calm that is even more terrifying than if his anger was still on display. He is scared. We all are. Where is our brother? What has happened to our girl? If even Mitch cannot feel their emotional bonds, how are we meant to find them?
“Well what do you know?!” Dean’s temper is rising with his own fear and if things do not change soon, we will all likely end up unconscious for a few days. Fuck, this is a mess.
“Okay, let us talk about what we know and go from there. There is probably a very easy explanation for this and worst case scenario we end up having to beat the ever loving shit out of Chance for not telling us wherever he had to follow Gray this morning. But, before we can do anything, everyone needs to calm down so we can focus. There are more important things to deal with than our own anger right now. Deal?” I look around at my brothers as they all seem to acknowledge my logical request, each nodding their agreement. We settle into the couches in the living space, though each of us sit on the edge of our seats, legs bouncings, fists tight.
“Tell us what happened when you got to Leanne’s this morning, Mitch.” I turn to him, his usual calm level-headed demeanor anything but. Muscles wound tight with either anger or fear, I am not sure which, he drops his head as he speaks.
“I showed up around five like I always do when it is my morning. Usually we shoot the shit for a few minutes before I am on my own. When I got there, Chance was not sitting in his usual spot beneath the back tree. The grass was a bit damp this morning so I figured maybe he was sitting back in the truck until he knew Gray was up for the day. I checked, but the truck was locked up tight, no sign of him. I felt the slightest bit of a tug down the road, but I walked the whole damn neighborhood and nothing. So, I pushed out to sense who all was in the house. The Sweeten parents were up and moving around, but Leanne and Charlie were still asleep. There was no trace of Gray. I climbed the side of the house to check the room she shares with Leanne, but our girl was absent from the space. I called Chance’s phone repeatedly, but he has not answered. I drove around, hoping maybe she had gone for an early morning walk or something, but still there was no trace. That is when I sped back here, hoping that even though his truck was still back by Leanne's, maybe he had found a way home.” His head is in his hands, his voice trailing off. He knows none of us, not even Chance with his false indifference, would just abandon a post.
“Fuck! Where could she be? I mean I guess we can be hopeful that wherever she is, Chance must have gone with her at least. Can anybody feel anything from either of them?” Reid looks to each of us but, just like me, none of my brothers seem to be able to connect with our missing members.
“Maybe she…”
Dean’s voice trails off as I feel the intense pain of my visions come over me. You would think after so many of these fuckers, the impact their complete control of my mind has on me would at least ease up in the pain department, but that is not my luck. I cry out as my mind closes to my surroundings, my vision turning inward to glimpse whatever fate has chosen to share with me this time.
Cold, dark stone walls stand on either side of me. I am underground. Shrieking sounds echo through the cavernous pits. Some of my visions are flashes of images, but since Gray ignited, the few I have received mirror the detail of how they used to be back home. Here, I can move around, as if I am physically connected to wherever the hell I am. I take a few steps, the sharp sound of metal hitting metal guiding me down a hall to my left. Torches with small dull flames appear sparingly throughout the space, the only light coming from them and causing strange shadows to dance across the stone surfaces. I continue further, the banging sounds getting louder as I go. Just as I am about to turn yet another corner, I hear the metallic snap followed, this time, by a deep grunting sound. Almost human.
“Break, damnit. Break. I have to get to her. I have to fix this.” I know that voice! Speeding my steps, I come around the bend of the tunnel and see my brother, locked inside a cell of some sorts, chains strapped to his arms. He looks worn down, filthy, and exhausted. Still, he pulls the chains hanging around him up, sending them in a wide arch before bringing them down with all of his force onto the metal bars of his cage. The loud clanging sound that lured me to him pulses around us from the impact, but the utter defeat in his face tells me the impact was once again unsuccessful.
Where the hell are we? It pains me to turn away from my brother when I can tell he is hurt and in need, but I am here for a reason and I need to take in as much as I can from this vision before I am pulled out. I walk a few feet farther down the tunnel but everything looks the same. There does not appear to be any other being in sight, no other sounds I can distinguish over the faded shrieking sounds that are impossible to trace with the acoustics of this space. When it looks like I will not find any other clues, I circle back around to Chance.
He continues to push all of this strength into attacking the cell bars. Tears run down his face, a sight so rare in him I feel some of my own begin to form. Who has done this to you? Where are they keeping you? How did they capture you and when? Questions flood through me with no real answers in sight.
As I observe Chance, I see more details in his features. A slight beard has formed across his face. Is his hair longer? It looks like it is brushing his shoulders more so than I remember. His clothes are torn, angry welts cover his skin. Blood stains are everywhere. How long has he been down here at this point? There is no way this is just in the last few hours. Fuck. I hate not knowing how far out my visions are when I get them. This could be a week from now or months.
Wait.
I inch closer, wishing beyond all hope my brother could see me, feel me even, to know I am here. A more critical look allows me to see the bruise above his right eye. It is yellowed out, almost non-existent, but it is still there. In the same place. When he and Mitch fought the demons who came for Gray the other night, he took a hard hit to that exact spot. Good. However far into the future this is, it is not so far that the bruise has had time to heal completely. Despite being covered in a variety of other wounds, the presence of this one faded bruise gives me hope.
Do not worry, brother. We will find out where you are and come for you.
Gray. Now that I can see Chance is alive, though battered, all I can think about is Gray and that she must be here, too. What was he saying when I found him? That he had to get to her. To fix something. Where is she?
My feet move without my direction, propelling me away from my wounded trapped brother in search of my girl. I am only paces away from his cell when I feel my vision darkening.
No.
I need a few more minutes. I need to know if she is here.
Before I am completely taken, I hear it. At first it is soft, faint even. But the sound grows until it is all I can hear. Overwhelming me entirely, dropping me to my knees in pain.
It is the sound of complete and total anguish. Utter devastation. Torture.
From behind me, Chance’s deep growl of agony joins in and my surroundings go dark with the sound of Gray, my mate, my everything, screaming as if her life is being ripped from her in the most excruciating way possible mixed in with the roar of helplessness from my brother.
Gray…
19
Gray
Cold. It encompasses my entire body. Head to toe, fingertip to fingertip. All I can feel is a deep chill I can’t shake. Where am I? Everything is so dark. Ugh, my eyes are still closed. W
ell that will do it, Gray. I roll my eyes, which are still closed, as I scoff at myself. Must have hit my head on my run.
Forcing my eyes open proves to be a bigger chore than I expected and the second they are able to take in my surroundings, I decide I want to close them tight and seal them shut. I am in some sort of cell, which is made obvious by the tall stone walls, lack of windows, cold, rigged rock floor, and small section of what look like prison bars welded within a stone door. How the hell did I get here? What the fuck happened to me? As I try to recollect everything that happened earlier today, I seek for answers. Charlie and I at the house. The burnt rubble. The breakdown and Rip. The treehouse. Emotional overload. The evening run. THE RUN!
Images appear in my mind of dark shadows, grotesque figures, Chance screaming my name, and then pain and darkness. Chance! At the flash of his face, anguish I have never felt grips me hard in the chest. It feels like something is ripping into me, desperate to pull my heart and lungs from my chest. The pain is everywhere and yet I can’t seem to pinpoint the origin.
I push myself up to take in the rest of the room, my head reeling from where whatever the fuck that thing was hit me. I gain my balance, barely, before proceeding, this time at a much slower pace. A small stone sits up against the wall next to me and I force myself into a seated position, using it to prop me up as I take in the rest of my cage. The extreme discomfort in my chest never relents, so angle is apparently not the problem. I am most definitely alone, no sign of Chance. The room is probably the size of Leanne’s en suite bathroom though I’d pay really good money to be there instead of here right now. Wherever here is, I don’t imagine I am going to like it.
Leaning back onto the small stone, it’s jagged edges pressing into my back, I place my hand to my chest. My heart is racing, pounding a heavy beat of fear beneath my midriff workout tank. Breathe, Gray. Freaking out will get you nowhere right now. Though my brain is telling me we are in serious trouble and I should be queen of anxiety right now, my survival mode kicks in, slow but still present from years ago. I take deep calming breaths like my therapist taught me when I would flip the fuck out during sessions where we discussed some of the more intense moments of my life. Taking stock of my injuries needs to be a priority, so I run my eyes up and down my legs first. Aside from the severe chills the freezing cold floor sends across my exposed legs, they don’t look too worse for wear. Some small scraps here and there but, after testing my motion by bending and extending them, I am pleased to see there are no broken bones. Of course, I’m probably going to freeze to death in this ice rock palace since my dumbass wore super short running shorts and a tank for my jog. Then again, it’s not like I was anticipating being jumped, knocked out, and captured, so maybe I should go a bit easier on myself.
Twisting my torso, slowly because my head is still throbbing and movement makes me see stars, I run my hands across my mid section and everything seems to function and feel normal there, too, not counting the burning and ripping sensations from my chest. After a thorough investigation, I find there are no wounds to explain why I want to tear myself open and remove the offending organ beating blood through my body. A vague recollection of a similar feeling from the night of the fire pushes at the corners of my memory, but the current running through me at shockingly high voltages is too overpowering to focus on what it means.
My left arm has a pretty nasty slice from just above my wrist to my elbow, but it isn’t deep enough for me to worry too much about it and the bleeding has already stopped. Hurts like hell but I have had far worse than this before, and truth is I barely feel it with the competing pains of my head and chest at the moment. Finally, no longer able to avoid it, I move my hands over my face and head. Instantly I am aware of the thick sticky sensation along my hairline on the left side of my face. Pulling my hand back, I notice there is fresh blood still coming from that wound. It will have to be a priority since at least I have a source for this one. That fucker knocked the shit out of me and I have a feeling it is going to scar. The rest of my head, though matted with crazy hair since my high pony has loosened greatly, seems to be fine. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Okay, I can deal with this. I’ve had to clean myself up from many wounds, an experience I never thought I’d be thankful for until now.
Since my tank barely covers more than my thick sports bra underneath it, and I need some material, I slowly raise it off my body and over my head. Monkey speckled ass cheeks, that shit hurts! Note to self, movement just amplifies the onslaught against my heart. Oof. I try to rip the tank in half to create one long piece, but my strength is far from it’s max since the fire, and my present pain plus exhaustion are making me weaker than normal. Shifting in my spot on the floor, I feel another sharp dig in my now exposed back from the rock I am leaning against. I scoot to the side, revealing the offending edge that undoubtedly broke skin just a moment ago. Using it to cut through the shirt material seems like the best option, so I wiggle the material across it until it tears, the thin jersey knitting ripping far more easily after. Once I have the shirt split, I reposition myself against the rock, this time avoiding the pointy parts the best I can.
With another check to verify that my head is, for sure, still bleeding, I pull my banded pony tail holder the rest of the way from my hair, my waves more a rats nest of chaos than anything else at this point. I do my best to braid one loose, tangled mess of a braid down my right side, away from the oozing wound on my head, and secure the holder at the end. Then I raise the torn shirt up and wrap it around my head. Hard breaths push between my tightly clenched teeth, escaping my mouth in almost a whistling sound. When I am finished, the shirt fits almost two complete times around now that it is torn in half. I use the ends to tie it off, much like the headbands Le loves to wear that remind of a pinup style house wife. Pulling with all my waning strength, I secure it as tightly as I can to staunch the flow of blood from the wound.
Once the headwrap is securely in place, I can feel the pressure against my scalp. Hoping the shirt does the intended job, I allow myself to lean to my right, eventually laying down on my side altogether and curling up into a ball in an attempt to provide some semblance of warmth to my even colder body. Nothing seems to alleviate the sharpness in my chest, and I momentarily wonder if somehow I am having a heart attack, despite being so young. Exhausted from my patch up job and the way the rippling currents are draining the last of my energy, I am too tired to work through any more thoughts at the moment. My body is spent and I fall back into a deep sleep, my last thought being of Chance and whether or not he is wherever this is, trapped, just like me and, if so, how the hell we are going to get out of here.
I’m not sure how long I lay on the floor, in and out of consciousness, but a loud clanging sound wakes me up as movement continues right outside of my cell door. Using the darkness to my advantage, I shove my tired body flush up against the wall, hiding the best I can behind the rock I used to lean on before. Not like they’ll fall for the whole “where did she go” trick but it might give me some time to figure out who my captures are and prepare myself for whatever their plans may be. The solid mineral door with the small opening covered in bars slowly shifts until it opens. For a moment nothing happens, and my worn down brain begins to hope I have miraculously been granted an escape route, but before I can act on the opening, a dark figure enters the space. Immediately the door slams shut behind it, the darkness somehow even more pitch than before.
If possible, the temperature in the cell drops even lower as the figure approaches me in my not-so-hidden spot against the wall.
“So… this is the one, is it? She looks nothing like what I expected. Weak. Small. Are you sure?” The voice is rough, almost like the thing speaking is coughing more than speaking. I hadn’t noticed anyone or anything else enter the room so I jump a bit when the response comes from somewhere beneath the cloak of the original creature.
“Yes, master. She is the one. The forge found her in the realm of deeter, just like
we were told.” This creature speaks at octaves higher than its master. A strange gurgling sound comes from the back of its throat as it finishes.
“And it is true. She has ignited? You have seen this?” The taller dark one speaks again, the words difficult to make out with the coarseness of its speech.
“The being said she had, master. It must be true. I can feel her connection to them, can you not?”
“Of course I can!” The smaller creature ducks, but is too late to dodge the angry swing of the taller being’s hand and when the little thing hits the wall, the sound echoes through the small cell. I cringe at the familiar abuse but remain quiet. I learned years ago bringing attention to myself will only make things worse and add to whatever punishment is to come. Now that the small one is no longer covered, I am forced to swallow the bile that gushes up my throat at the sight of it. Where I remember my attackers being more shadows and rough edges, this being is beyond slimy. It moves to stand after recovering from the flight into the stone. At full height it appears to be no more than maybe four feet tall. Its face, if that is what I’m seeing, is layered in fat wrinkles, almost like a pug though nowhere near as cute. Sores protrude from the wrinkles, each of them wet with what I imagine is some sort of puss-like substance and my stomach continues to roll at the realization. Ick! The rest of it is draped in torn dark cloths, the rolls on its face a stark contrast to the thin twig-like arms and legs that appear from beneath the coverings. What in the fuck is it?
During my distracted observance of the bulbous creature, the tall figure must have moved closer to me, because when I dare a glance back in its direction, the being is now hovering within inches of my face. This time I can’t hold it in, the sudden closeness accentuating the terrifying features of the whatever it is, and I scream out in fright! The thing inhales deeply, a smug look of satisfaction crossing its face, as if my fear carries a delightful aroma, bringing him joy. Unlike the smaller being, this creature could almost pass as human, if not for the fact that its face and what I can see of its arms look like the skin had been removed from them. In some places, the bone appears, but most of the being is covered in what looks to be tendons, exposed muscle, and black blood. I can’t stop myself, I gag. Repeatedly. Only the sheer luck that I haven’t had any food for an unknown amount of time prevents me from actually emptying my stomach contents onto the floor before this creature.