Through the Ashes (The Light Book 2)

by Jacqueline Brown

  The way she asked told me she knew something was wrong. I wished for her sake she wasn’t so perceptive.

  Trent nudged me with his arm. Jonah wasn’t looking at us, but I could tell he was watching me from his place beside East. They both were, though neither was obvious about it.

  “We have some exciting news,” I said, forcing the tears to stay hidden.

  I held out my left hand. The ring felt as though it was tying me to hell for eternity. My hand shook so badly that I grabbed it with my right hand to steady it. “Trent and I are engaged,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “You’re what!” Sara said, shock and outrage in her voice.

  Jonah’s head snapped toward me. East locked her eyes on Trent. Josh stood beside Blaise, neither of them spoke.

  “We’re getting married,” Trent said while sliding an arm around me. His voice dared her, dared any of them, to say another word.

  I repeated the words exactly as Trent had instructed: “Trent and I will help you all search for Sara’s family, but then you must leave his territory.”

  “And then what?” Sara asked, her voice concerned as she tried to make eye contact.

  I didn’t meet her gaze. “And then you will be able to leave and go … and go home,” I said, faltering when an image of JP entered my mind. I stared in Sara’s eyes, begging her not to make this any harder than it had to be. Begging her to save herself.

  East, with her arms folded across her chest, said, “And what if we don’t agree with that plan?”

  I could feel Trent’s rage building beside me.

  I inhaled, knowing what I needed to do to keep her alive. To keep all of them alive.

  “East, you don’t get to vote. This is between Trent and me. We have decided to get married. I have decided to stay. We will walk you, now, to Sara’s apartment. After that, you can do as you like, but I can assure you it will not involve me.” My tone was harsh and arrogant.

  I was certain my friends knew I was lying, but Trent didn’t. I could tell by how his body relaxed beside me. I could never fool those who loved me, not when my heart was breaking. But I could fool him and I had.

  ***

  Our feet echoed on the marble stairs, the morning sun dimly lighting our way. There’d been no more words spoken between my friends and me. We had only a few miles to go and then Trent would finally have me to himself.

  Looking back, I could see that he’d been trying for this since we first met. Then, he was able to hide his true feelings, his true intentions. Now my life would be filled with pain—however short. He would kill me soon. I took solace in that fact. I wanted to live, but I wanted those I loved to live more. This was the only way.

  Sunlight filled the lobby. The corner people cowered when they saw us approach.

  “Clean my apartment,” Trent ordered.

  The corner people said nothing, but seemed to bow in reply.

  I faltered, and he pulled me forward through the doorway. The cool spring air felt good against my skin. The feeling brought with it so much contradiction. My life was ending, yet the world continued. It didn’t stop just because evil was winning. Somewhere, I knew good must be defeating evil. Somewhere, but not here.

  My friends followed us. They knew the truth, but had no choice. They could do nothing. I prayed they understood that it was over. Trent had an army on his side. There were six of us and one contraband pistol, which was back at Trent’s apartment in my pack.

  We turned a corner and Trent jerked me forward into a group of soldiers. The men and women in uniform looked startled, and then fearful when they saw Trent. Was he cruel to them as well?

  “Arrest them. They’re traitors,” Trent said, pointing to my friends.

  “You said they’d be protected,” I shouted.

  “I lied,” he said, his voice calm.

  My body came alive as adrenaline pumped, and I ran toward Jonah, breaking free from the arms that tried to stop me. Jonah fought to reach me, but two men pushed against him, holding him back. He fought hard against them and moved them forward as he reached for me.

  I ran, my hands reaching for him. I wanted to feel his touch in mine. I wanted to be with him. With him by my side, I would be okay. Somehow, some way, we would be okay.

  As Jonah’s hand grasped mine, my head was jerked back and my body fell. Trent pulled me by my braid. Rage surged. I scrambled to my knees, my hands pulling against Trent’s, his ring, the ring that was a lie coming off in the process. Trent would not release me. I charged toward him, knowing I couldn’t loosen his grip by pulling away. We fell to the ground. I thrashed violently, making contact with whatever I could. Blood poured from his nose. For the first time in my life I saw fear in his eyes as he saw me … really saw me. I was no longer an object he controlled. I was someone who stood against him, perhaps the first person since he came to this place. He moved his arms to cover his face, and I felt my body rise. Soldiers lifted me, took me off Trent. He scrambled to his feet. Hatred replaced fear. He picked up his gun and aimed it at me.

  I closed my eyes … not wanting to die, yet accepting my fate.

  “Take them,” he shouted.

  I opened my eyes. Jonah’s body was limp, being carried roughly by two soldiers. My friends were huddled together, guns pointed at each of them. East’s eyes glowed as she fought to break the hold of the soldiers. A kick to her side stopped her struggling and brought her to her knees.

  “No!” I screamed as a soldier raised the butt of his gun, ready to bring it down on her back. My words caught him off guard.

  East rolled from his reach.

  Another soldier, older than the rest, stepped in front of her. “It’s illegal to mortally wound the young and healthy,” he said, his voice firm.

  The other soldier lowered his gun.

  “Don’t hurt them,” I begged, looking in Trent’s eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt them.”

  “You don’t get to decide that,” he said, his blue eyes gray with darkness. He held the barrel of his gun and raised it above his head.

  Pain overwhelmed me, as if my skull had been broken open. Shouts faded into the darkness.

  Twenty-Four

  The room spun. Light was fading. It was dusk. My eyes closed. I couldn’t reopen them. I heard his voice … Trent yelling. Was I supposed to respond?

  Silence filled my mind.

  ***

  My eyes opened to darkness. My head was pounding. I reached to touch it. My hands would not move. They were tied behind my back. I lifted my head and it cried out in pain. My eyes began to adjust. The floor beneath me was hard. Memories flooded in: Trent leading us outside, promising to help my friends in exchange for me … troops surrounding us, terror filling me, Jonah trying to save me, me fighting Trent.

  How long ago was that? What day was today? Where was Jonah?

  I felt my wrists with my fingers. They were connected with a hard strip of plastic, a zip tie. I pulled my hands apart. They didn’t move. A sound came from above. I turned my head. A bed. Trent lay on it, his chest rising and falling with his breath. How I hoped it would stop. I looked around the room. Could I kill him before he realized I was awake?

  My pack lay against the couch. If I could reach it I could get the gun. I needed my hands in front of me. I sat up, scooting my hands under my butt. I moved them along my legs until I could pull them in front of me. Trent groaned and rolled. I held my breath and watched. He no longer faced my direction. I crawled to my bag and, holding the zipper as close together as possible, slowly opened it. Trent didn’t move. I plunged my hands into the bag. I felt through the clothes and dried meat. I kept going. I had to get the gun. I looked nervously up at Trent. Still he didn’t move. Panic rose within me. I moved my hands. Nothing. The gun was gone. I looked up.

  Trent sat watching me. My breath stopped. He slid off the bed and came toward me. I scrambled to my feet and stood, shaking.

  The moonlight illuminated his face. His eyes were hard and cold, all hint
of kindness gone.

  “Why do you always do this kind of stuff? Why can’t you just do as I say?”

  “I’m not yours to control,” I whispered.

  He punched me hard in the stomach. I doubled over, falling against the French doors. They opened against my weight. I fell to the concrete floor of the balcony. I wanted to scream out, but couldn’t. I could barely breathe.

  “Why?” he screamed. “Why do you do this? Do you think I enjoy hitting you?” He dragged me inside by my shoulder and closed the doors.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “I’m sorry … I don’t treat you better.”

  I had to live. If I had to lie to do it, then so be it, but I refused to allow him to take my life. Not now that he had Jonah and the others. I had to find them and get them away from here, away from him.

  He sat on the bed and looked at me, his head cocked to one side. “We were happy once, you know.”

  “I know. I know we were.” I nodded, the ache in my head increasing with the movement.

  Without thinking, I reached to stop the pain. My fingers touched my head and felt the liquid that matted my hair. I quickly pulled my hand away. I fought the tears that wanted to form. I fought the realization of all that this day had brought.

  “Go take a shower. You look disgusting,” he said as he stood and walked away.

  I wanted to jump from the balcony, but I would never survive. The floor where I’d been lying was stained deep red. How much blood had I lost?

  I went to the guest room, carrying my pack. Tears stung my eyes. This was my hell. I locked the door to the room and pulled the drapes open so the moon could provide the faintest bits of light.

  As I turned, the door swung open. I screamed before I could stop myself.

  “You really think a lock will keep me out?”

  “No, no. I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cracking. “It’s just habit.”

  He carried a lantern in one hand, a knife in the other. Fear overwhelmed me. Images of Jonah, JP, Quinn, my father, and my friends flashed in my mind. I thought of Pops, my mom, and my brother. I would be with them soon.

  He set the lantern at my feet. “Give me your hands,” he said.

  I held them out, trying without success to hold them steady.

  “Can’t you do anything right? Keep your hands still, or it’ll be your blood, not mine.” He jerked my arms straight and stuck the blade between the zip tie and my skin. The knife dug into my wrist, cutting it slightly. He cut the first strap and then the second.

  “Thank you,” I said, with a shallow breath.

  He left the room. The lantern sat at my feet.

  I took the lantern and backpack and ran to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. I was almost unrecognizable: my blonde hair was a dark red mat against my scalp, my face pale, eyes scared. More scared than I’d ever seen them.

  I turned on the shower. The spray was cold. There would be no hot water in the middle of the night. I knew Trent would not give me much time. I had to be cleaned and dressed before he came in. I had to think, to escape, to live. At all costs I had to live.

  I needed to find Jonah and the rest of them. They’d been captured because of me. I should’ve realized what Trent was doing. I should’ve known what he was capable of. How had I ever thought I loved him? How had I ever believed his lies?

  I peeled the blood-soaked T-shirt from my body. The lantern reflected against the mirror, the effect making the room brighter than it should’ve been. The skin of my abdomen was already beginning to darken from the millions of ruptured blood vessels. I felt dizzy. My stomach churned. I took a deep breath to try and stop the contents from coming forward, but I couldn’t. I heaved into the toilet, the bruise on my stomach crying out as it contracted violently. I forced air into my lungs. My legs trembled, but I had to push myself up onto them. I flushed the toilet and stepped into the shower. The glass door creaked when I pulled it closed. The air was freezing. I didn’t allow myself to think. I stepped into the stream of water. Every drop felt like ice pelting my skin. I turned and allowed the frigid water to hit my head. The pain brought me to my knees. My body shook. I didn’t know if it was from the cold or if the pain was overwhelming every cell in my body. Even in the shadows I could see the water turn from clear to red.

  Tears poured forth. This was more than I could bear. I wanted to sleep. My mind began to fade. I pulled it forward. I could not lose consciousness, or I’d be dead before I woke.

  I forced myself to my feet. I turned off the water and the attack against me stopped, but the shaking did not. I inhaled with the first pull of a damp towel across my freezing body.

  I forced Jonah’s faded seminary sweatshirt over my wet skin. I wrapped the towel loosely around my hair, wincing as I did so. I wouldn’t brush my hair. I couldn’t. The pain would be too much.

  My breath caught. The door handle was moving. I hadn’t locked it. I knew better. Trent came into the room. He glanced at me with a look of disapproval. He moved toward me and I froze. His hand reached behind me. He took the lantern, turned, and left.

  I stood, staring in the mirror that was now black. My body shook, this time from fear.

  God help me.

  I repeated the thought over and over in my mind. Trent would kill me—after he’d tortured me. I had to get away and I had to do it now. Every second I was here could be my last.

  Medicine cabinet. The thought entered my mind as if placed there by someone else. Its appearance startled me, but I wasted no time. There were several bottles. I opened them, dumping the contents into the pockets of my green canvas pants. I put the bottles back and closed the small glass door as the light came around the corner, illuminating my reflection in the mirror.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  I followed Trent from the bathroom to the guestroom, and into the kitchen.

  “You made me miss lunch and dinner, and I’m not eating another MRE,” he grumbled.

  Going to the cabinet where the box of military meals had been, I said, “I’ll see if there’s anything I can make you.”

  “You better hope there is,” he said, throwing a kitchen chair back and slamming himself into it.

  The lantern provided enough light for me to see a round cylinder at the back of the almost empty pantry. I pulled it out. Gratitude surged through me at the sight of the oatmeal container. Never had I been so thankful that Trent refused to cook. I scanned the countertop. Behind three mostly burned candles stood a box of matches.

  “Does the stove work?” I asked.

  “It’s gas,” he said, glaring at me.

  I swallowed the anger at his condescension. A container of honey sat by the stove.

  “Would you like some oatmeal and honey?”

  “I guess,” he answered in a harsh tone.

  He laid his pistol on the table. Then he leaned back in his chair and watched me measure the water and pour it into a pot. I struck a match and held it at the burner as I turned on the gas. The small blue flames emerged, bringing with them the smallest glimmer of hope.

  As I waited for the water to boil I filled a glass and placed it beside him at the table. He drank the water in one gulp. I filled it again and returned it to his spot at the table. He ignored me and leaned forward on an elbow, allowing his head to rest against his arm.

  I returned to the stove and added the oatmeal, stirring as I did so, to ensure it didn’t boil over. I felt his eyes on my back.

  “It started boiling. It should be done in a few more minutes,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling as I felt him approach.

  “I don’t need a play-by-play, just food.”

  I felt his breath against my neck. I stirred the oatmeal and hoped he couldn’t tell how badly my hand was shaking.

  I exhaled when I heard him walk away. I continued to stir, and glanced behind me. Trent had left the kitchen and was standing by the large sliding door, looking out at the city. He held the
gun at his side.

  I dug my hand in my pocket and pulled out as many of the pills as I could, dropping them into the boiling liquid. The capsules melted away, leaving only the white and gray powders. A moment later the powders disappeared, consumed by the oatmeal. I allowed the faintest sigh of relief to escape my lips.

  I squeezed honey onto the steaming oatmeal in Trent’s bowl. I poured cinnamon on top and stirred it all together. I hoped the honey and cinnamon would cover the taste of whatever was in the pills. And I prayed whatever was in them was enough to knock him out.

  He sat at the table, holding the gun on his lap. He looked at the oatmeal. “Where’s your bowl?”

  “There wasn’t enough.”

  He stirred the steaming oatmeal and took a large spoonful. Then another and another.

  My heart soared at the sight. I turned so I wouldn’t give myself away. I focused on the task of doing the dishes while Trent ate.

  As I finished I heard the thud of his head hitting the table. I turned and exhaled when I saw his head and shoulders on the table. His arms were limp by his side.

  I ran to the bedroom and grabbed my pack. In the kitchen I took the pistol from Trent’s lap. I held the pistol, pointing it at the back of his head. I wanted to stop him from creating more darkness. My finger wrapped around the trigger, the gun tight in my hand.

  No. The word rang in my head.

  “Goodbye, Trent. I’m sorry things ended this way. You’re better than this. Or at least you could be.”

  I lowered the gun and ran from the apartment.

  A moment later I was in the lobby, watching two guards outside the large glass doors. I bit my lip as they turned to face one another.

  It was the middle of the night, but the moon was bright enough for them to see me, just as I could see them. There was no way for me to slip out with them standing there.

  “Help me,” I prayed.

  I jumped at something moving in the shadows. The girl, the “corner girl,” was watching from across the lobby. She stood, stepping from her spot in the corner. She was alone; the others were gone. She glanced at me and then strode to the glass doors.