by Kim Faulks
The goddamn fit scared the crap out of him. He felt sick. His thoughts were slow and the vision haunted him. His fingers twitched and he rubbed his hand. The pain felt so fucking real. I’m going to be okay… I’m going to be okay.
Slade moved to kneel beside Jason, still trying to coax a response from the vacant form. Colton gritted his teeth as a cold anger washed over him. He needed to get out of here, now! Each step felt like slow motion as he stumbled over to the pair of men. He caught Slade’s stare. His words seemed slow, distorted.
Colton was past caring now. Past giving a fucking damn. He dug his fingers in between Jason’s knuckles, feeling them give under the pressure. One by one, the bones crunched, but they came open. At first, he was unable to understand what Jason held. Glistening fluid leaked from a small sac onto his palm.
“What the fuck?” He caught a flash of blue amongst the mess. “That's an eye. That's a fucking eye!”
Colton dropped Jason’s hand. Jason snapped out of his funk and lunged for him. He grabbed the collar of Colton’s pinstriped shirt, jerking him close. The sac slipped from his palm and dropped onto the tip of Colton’s shoe.
Mark had blue eyes. Colton kicked automatically, flicking the fluid from his shoe. The eyeball hit the wall and slid down the rough boards, oozing over the splintered wood like snails after a hard rain. Colton couldn’t tear his eyes away until the congealed mass slithered to a stop on the filthy floor.
“JESUS,” MORGAN CROAKED.
A fucking eye… it was a fucking eye. She inhaled, trying to get her shit together and breathed out on a shudder. After three attempts, she knew the breathing did no good. She couldn't stand being in this evil room any longer.
The falling remains of what had been an eye, stuck and then fell, leaving a trail that glistened in the harsh light. Morgan took one last look at the shoe and then at Colton’s face before she turned away.
The goddamn stench overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth as she pushed through the crowded doorway. The walls closed in, the fucking people closed in. The sickening feeling expanded as she fought through the crowd. “Let me out. Let me out!”
Their pale faces looked like bloated balloons as Morgan pushed past. She could see their haunted expressions. Their eyes were filled with unspoken questions. The same questions plagued her—questions she had no answers for. Tears blurred her vision as she ran.
Morgan hit the far wall with her body as well as her fury. She screamed and smashed her fist into the blistered walls before falling to the floor. Her fortress was cracking. Her carefully-constructed interior walls were crashing down. “Fuck you! Let me the fuck out of here! I want to go home… I want to go home.”
She’d been in some shitty places in her time, filthy, dirty places she’d gone to on the promise of the next hit. But, the desperation made her blind to all that. The deep craving made her forget the bad times and yearn for the good. Since she fought the devil and won, she'd never stepped into a place like that again—until now. This room instilled an overwhelming desperation that made her almost yearn for oblivion once more. I've gotta get out of here. If I stay here, I'm going to die.
“Do you have anything?”
Morgan brushed away her tears with the back of her hand before she looked up. The young woman in front of Morgan rocked from one foot to another, rubbing her arms, and the devil danced in her brown eyes. She couldn't have been older than fifteen, strung out and ready to burst into tears at any moment. Her rocking motion was making Morgan feel seasick. The past reared up to slap Morgan across the face. Everything about this girl screamed desperation, one Morgan knew far too well. “Shit.”
Don't look. Don't be dragged down into her hell. You can't afford it. You barely escaped the last time.
It didn't matter what your hook was. She’d had just about everything, crack, heroin, ecstasy, and barbiturates—all accompanied with the sharp bite of tequila to wash the drugs down.
Jesus, just the thought of that feeling made her feel weak. It didn't matter how the devil got in. Once he was inside, it was hell getting him out. The girl licked her bleeding lips, and by the look of her, those harsh facts were something this girl was finding out.
Morgan shook her head, her tone biting. “No.”
The young girl whimpered and closed her eyes before she nodded. “Sorry. I just thought... I thought....”
“You thought wrong.” Morgan clenched her fist and the pulse at the base of her neck throbbed under the strain. The young girl looked so sick, so fragile. She must be about the same age as her little sister, Abby.
Fuck.
With this thought, Morgan’s will crumbled. She hadn't seen her sister in over two years. Not since the day... No! Don't think about it. That shit stays in the past.
But Abby wasn't just in her past was she? Her last memory of home was the message on her machine. The fragile voice of her sister cut through the white noise inside her head.
Morgan, I think it’s been long enough, don’t you? Why don’t you talk to me? I need to understand… I need closure. Mum won’t even say your name anymore, it’s like you don’t even exist… like you died, too. I need to understand why, Morgan… why you did this?
Abby's sobs filled the air, until the machine's robotic voice cut in. Press one to delete or two to save this message.
At one time, Morgan could’ve been saved—but not anymore. The hot, blinding room slid away and she was in her crappy apartment. Her hand shook as she reached for the machine. The message light blinked. Morgan hit the button and the torture replayed—this reminder of all she had done.
She hadn’t seen her little sister in two years. They’d once been so close and shared everything, clothes, make-up, a room, and at times, a bed, when a storm hit. Most of all, they shared their secrets, for a while at least.
The apartment seemed to shimmer and dissolve, throwing Morgan back into the stinking, bright room. What if this girl was Abby? Would she be able to turn her back? The thought filled her with darkness and defeat. No. She wouldn't… she couldn’t.
Morgan stood, keeping her voice low, so the others didn't hear. “How long has it been since your last hit?”
The young girl’s eyes widened. She yanked her sleeves down her arms, making sure she covered her tracks. “I dunno. What day is it? One, maybe two days.”
Morgan nodded towards her arms. “H?”
The young woman gave a short nod. “You?”
Morgan shook her head. “Not for two years. What's your name?”
“Charlie.”
Charlie, Abby... almost the same.
Morgan forgot her problems as she looked at this young girl. “I'm not going to lie to you, Charlie. I'm going to be honest here, and I speak from experience. This is gonna be hell.”
Charlie's voice shook, but she pushed her spine straight. “I can deal with it. I can—”
“No, you can’t. Not without help, at least.”
Charlie shook her head, backing away from Morgan. “I can do it on my own... I don’t wanna—” She lurched sideways, covering her mouth. Fluid shot through the gaps in her fingers, splashing the wall. The wretched sound of her heaves filled the air.
Morgan's own stomach reacted and the pulse in the back of her head screamed.
“That's disgusting!”
“Can't you do that in the other room?”
“Really! How old are you? We’re locked in this room too, you know!” The women huddled in the corner called out. Their disgusted, snide remarks and condescending tones appeared wasted on Charlie. The kid was too sick and weak to notice.
But Morgan noticed. Baring her teeth, she glared. “Fuck you! You think you're so goddamn special? At least she isn't in denial. Take a look around you. Go on. See the fucking bloodstains on the floor? You stuck-up bitches think we’re getting out of here alive? Then think again!”
They stared at her open mouthed. One woman gasped. Her hand fluttered to her mouth, while the other clutched the cross around her neck.
She swung back to Charlie, who leaned against the wall, clutching her stomach. She wanted to hold the young girl, to comfort her, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to do either. All she could manage was to grab her arm and growl. “Come and sit with us.”
I'll take care of you.
Charlie wrenched her arm away. “Get the fuck away from me!”
She scrambled away to the other side of the room, leaving Morgan’s hand hanging in the air. Morgan’s heart ached. She wanted to go after her, to try and talk some sense to the stubborn kid.
Abby needs me, can’t she see that? She looked so small, so pathetically thin and fragile. Why couldn't she just do what she was told? Why did she have to be so stubborn?
Because this girl wasn't Abby. She was a stranger, locked in a room with a bunch of other strangers and bound by a drug that ravaged her body and screamed her name.
Morgan extended her middle finger as she walked past the others with their snotty expressions. She paced like a caged animal, back and forth along the wall, making sure she stayed well away from the doorway to that goddamn room. She was exhausted and growing weak, but the constant motion calmed her and she used the turns to keep an eye on the young girl.
Poor fucking kid, grabbing her like that, no wonder she ran. Morgan walked until exhaustion wore her down and her aching feet were the only thing left on her mind, and then slid down the wall until her ass hit the floor with a thud.
Charlie huddled in the corner, tossing and turning, trying her best to shake off a fever that wouldn’t leave. Although Morgan could see this girl’s agony, she could also see what was left of her, the infected track marks and skeletal frame. She still felt the pull deep in her soul. The high’s call, so seductive; shoot me, swallow me, snort me, I just wanna leave all this shit behind. But therein lay the danger, because when you come down, you were different, you’d changed and you'd lost your way.
Morgan got high one perfect summer afternoon and she didn’t come down for three long years.
Slade's voice dragged her from her thoughts. He was still in that room. The thought of that place gave her the shivers. She bent her legs, resting her head on her knees.
She thought about the big idiot and couldn’t help but smile. The guy was crazy, dangerous crazy, as though someone failed to initiate that part of his brain meant for self-preservation. Morgan sniggered as she remembered how he tackled that guy... Jason. How he held him against his own body, talking to him, trying to calm him down. Morgan’s smile died away. She swallowed, hard.
Crazy bastard. Don't get caught up with anyone. You know what happened the last time.
“So, ah. Hey.”
She snapped her head up. Charlie’s stare was focused on Morgan. She was trying so hard to look tough, it was heartbreaking. “Please, you gotta get me something. I mean I’ll take anything... I'll fucking take anything.”
Morgan pushed off the ground so hard she thought her arm would snap and pulled Charlie into her. The poor girl was no more than skin and bones, her voice a constant drone. “I'll do anything... I'll do anything... I'll do anything.”
Morgan's eyes watered and she brushed the tears away. She wouldn't be weak now. She couldn’t be weak here. She tried three times before her voice would work. “Let's sit down, okay?”
Charlie dropped to the ground and for a while, they sat in silence. Just two hostages stuck in a room. The uncomfortable silence grew until her soft voice broke the quiet. “Did you mean what you said?”
Morgan turned to her, catching her trembling lip. “Mean what?”
“You know, that we’re not getting out of here alive?”
Guilt flooded her. She could be so fucking insensitive sometimes. Morgan searched for the right thing to say. “I don't know for sure. But if someone told me that they woke up in a room with no doors or windows and blood stains on the floor, I'd say they were fucked.”
Charlie nodded, but said nothing. Tact had never been Morgan's strong suit. In fact, nothing had been her strong suit, nothing but drugs, lies and death. Charlie’s shudders made Morgan sink lower on the evolutionary chain. She now hovered somewhere near the cockroaches that thrived in the small room next door. Jesus.
“Please, don't cry.”
The pathetic sounds continued. Morgan waited, feeling each icy glare from the others on her skin. Moving slowly, she slid next to Charlie, so close they touched. What would I do if this was my sister? Easy, she’d hold her and tell her that everything would be all right. That she’d make it all right.
Morgan slid her arm around Charlie's shoulders. The feeling of wanting to touch another was alien. She felt awkward and unnatural. Fighting everyone and everything was all she had left. Her need for any type of contact had withered and died.
Morgan pulled her arm away and the young girl crumpled. She had no choice but to hold her. “It's going to be okay. Whatever happens, we'll get through it. Let's just concentrate on getting you through this one hour at a time, okay?”
Movement to her right caught her attention. Slade strode through the doorway, his hand on Jason's arm, guiding him to where she sat. As their gaze connected, her heart jolted. She looked away, pretending to be occupied with the heel of her boot before she lifted her eyes once more. God, it was as though she'd never been attracted to anyone before.
Slade was unexpected, to say the least. He was quickly turning into the most comforting and awkward experiences she'd ever had. He hadn't exactly hidden the fact he was interested in her. His gaze lingered a little too long, the subtle shifts to sit closer.
Morgan didn't want to think about him. So why the hell was she?
Colton’s slimy gaze doused her excitement like ice water. He followed Slade to where they sat.
“So, who's this?” Slade looked at Charlie.
“This’s Charlie. I’ve asked her to keep me company.”
She could see Colton’s nostrils flare and lips part slightly. Morgan's arm tightened around Charlie's shoulders, pulling her closer. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky. “She looks sick.”
“She's fine. It’s just this fucking heat, that’s all.”
Colton moved to bend over in front of the young girl. “Maybe she should come and sit with me and the others? I think one of them is a nurse.”
Morgan’s instinct flared like a burn. “Thanks, but I think we’re good.”
Slade shifted, drawing her attention away from the piece of shit. “Colton thought that Jason might be best to sit with us, the other women might be nervous around h—”
Morgan shook her head hard, cutting him off. “I don't think that's a good idea. I don't want to upset him with Charlie vomiting and stuff.”
“So, you'd take a junkie whore over a helpless man who's just gone through hell? Is that it?” Colton snarled.
Her heartbeat delivered a knockout punch, expelling a poison that raced like wild fire through her veins. Charlie was forgotten as Morgan shot to her feet. “I'd be more concerned about myself, if I were you. All that screaming and crying in there? Anyone would think you’re becoming a little unhinged.”
The nerve at the corner of his eye twitched, and Morgan knew she’d hit the mark. A smile pulled the corners of her mouth tight as she continued. “Jason isn't our problem. Maybe your nurses would have better luck taking care of him than we would.”
Colton watched her with a cold glare for a long goddamn time before he turned, taking Jason with him.
Slade’s tone was low enough for only her to hear as she lowered herself back to the floor. “Be careful, Wild Thing. It seems you've just made yourself an enemy.”
Her temper always got her into trouble. She could’ve let the comment ride. She could’ve shut her mouth and if his attention had been aimed at her, she would have. But when he focused on someone weaker, someone unable to defend herself, something inside of Morgan
made her lash out.
Charlie groaned, tried to sit up, and instead rolled her head back into the crook of her arm. Her eyes were now black pools. Her lips were pale, matching her skin. The poor kid looked like hell. Morgan smoothed back the hair from her brow. She deserved a second chance. She deserved a better life. Morgan on the other hand, did not.
“Let's get you comfortable,” Morgan murmured and motioned to Slade's jacket. “Do you mind?”
He winced as Charlie groaned, but he handed it over. “Just… don't let her vomit on it, okay?”
“Don't worry, it'll be fine. Nothin' that a bit of water won't fix.”
Slade laughed. “Woman. Do you see any water around here?”
The electricity in his gaze was mesmerizing. Morgan wanted to stare into his eyes forever, and for a moment, it felt like she did. She lost all sense of anything. Nothing else mattered but the thundering of her heart and his amber-brown gaze. But, as always, the unfailing voice in her head set her straight.
He only wants someone to pass the time. What did you expect? You think he'd take a junkie like you? Those words stung and even though they were her own, she couldn’t help but answer. “I'm clean.”
“Nice to know.” Slade’s brows furrowed and a smile tickled the corner of his lips.
Her face burned and she turned away. There was nowhere to look but the filthy floor. She could feel him waiting for her to turn to him again, but there was nothing to say. The voice inside her head was right. As soon as they got out of here, he wouldn't give her a second glance. “I'll make sure the jacket stays clean, okay?”
She sat beside Charlie, balling the jacket for the young girl to use as a pillow. There was nothing Morgan could do but just be there. She alternated from, “You're doing well, it’ll be over soon” to “You're almost there,” until she couldn't stand to hear the words anymore. The truth was, this was the easy part.
Time lengthened its stride. Charlie whimpered. She was restless, thrashing around, until she found comfort with her head in Morgan's lap and finally slept.
Exhausted was too tight a word for how Morgan felt. She felt unraveled and weak. There’d been no contact from their captors, nothing to say that they hadn’t been all been holed up here to die. Was that what this was? Some sick fuck's idea of fun, like… like watching rats in a maze?