by W. A. R.
Still, for Justin to be blamed for shooting her…his trial would have been a delicious thing to watch.
Swimming to a waiting Riley who was in a boat, hidden close to where the bridge and land met: this was part of the plan.
Riley helped a gasping and aching Amber into the boat, her body throbbing as he checked over her. His fingers pressed down on her ribs and she winced slightly. He checked her pulse, her legs and her arms, her eyesight, and her cognitive responses before he declared her safe from any permanent damage or immediate danger. She then stood and helped him ease in the corpse of a Biter that they had found in the last day or so. Amber took in the blonde hair that was pulled half-assed into a ponytail, the exact bright red shirt that she herself wore and the jeans and shoes. Physically, though they had a similar build, they looked nothing alike, and Amber could tell, as the Biter was recent. That wouldn’t be a problem, however, because Amber knew that from far enough away, from the bridge or from the sawmill, it would look like her. It would be her. Slowly, they pushed her into the current, facedown and limp.
Until further notice, Amber was now dead to all eyes who wished to see it.
Letting her own people watch as she died, and letting them believe that she died until a later time: this was part of the plan.
This didn’t come without reservations however. She knew that once they figured everything out that they were going to be angry with her. But right then she couldn’t let it get to her. She had to remain quiet and strong. In order to deceive the enemy, she had to first deceive her friends. Her vision was blurred in one eye, pressure slowly building behind it, her body trembling from the cold water and her harsh encounter with it and they waited. They waited and listened as the voices overhead, 150 feet up disappeared and then they waited some more. They had to be sure they were gone, had to be sure that they had no idea of their lies, of their ruse. Riley kept a close eye on her, watching for any change. Amber wanted to be bitter about his watchfulness, but she didn’t care anymore. Their plan, in part, had failed either way. Miles and Shelly were dead and Brian was still a tortured captive. It wasn’t fair. Then again, she reasoned, it would never be. Once Riley felt confident, he began paddling, rowing the opposite way of the sawmill because they couldn’t know, not yet. They had to believe that she was still dead. It was all protection, in case they were caught, in case they were being watched. In this way, if the shit did hit the fan before time for them to meet back up, Amber and whoever else was available would still be able to save them before it got too late.
They were going to the same secure place where Amber will be waiting for them later in the week. They would come to her and she would see them and hug them and they will see how it was all for the best. She really hoped that they forgave her, but this was the only way. She ached for Shelly and Miles. Wasn’t that enough turmoil in itself? Her best friend…her lover…the other halves of both her and Brian…gone. Her son and father…gone. She had ever endured such a pain as was then and it hurt so very bad. It was as if she was catapulted into misery and it was unbearable. She was dying. Slowly and surely, she was losing her will to live. She felt the tears come but she bid them back. Not yet. She couldn’t cry yet.
It had to be done this way because there was a much bigger plan in motion.
She still had to get close to Adrian.
She still had to get close to him and kill him.
Chapter Fifteen
It had been mere hours since Amber’s death and things had grown tense and quiet. The tension, Miles knew, came from him. He remained seated on the floor beside the door that he had tried so desperately to break down despite his confines. His shoulder still throbbed, but even worse was his chest. His heart suddenly felt nonexistent. Still, he simply sat there, hurting and allowing the slow anger to build within him. He was unmoving, unspeaking, watching every second every reaction in the room to everything. He watched over the hours as Shelly and Bobby-Jean descended into the haunting quiet that was becoming them, the two of them unable to resist the sadness at having lost so much more than their hearts could bear. He watched as Cassie and Rick kept looking out of the window, searching for something, someone…a hope, maybe, that she was still alive and well. He watched as Buddy stood angrily, pacing with his head lowered, tears in his eyes and unable to do anything; his mind deep in thought. He watched as Derek and Jacob remained silent, unsure of what to say, what to think, as if they couldn’t believe everything that had happened. He watched as Lacy and Chloe comforted each other, trying to determine how to ease the minds of the people they shared a room with. And finally, there was George. Something was different about George, Miles noted. He was saddened, yes, but what had happened didn’t seem to come as a surprise to him. It was almost as if he expected it. He thought of his dream, of how she had danced with the devil…with his son and he now understood what it had meant…or he had thought.
Miles, however, was…numb. No, that wasn’t the word for it because if he were truthful he would admit that the pain was excruciating, it was unbearable and that whenever she tumbled over that edge a large piece of himself went with her and all that was left…the small miniscule piece of him that was left was livid, furious, and aching. He breathed her, she coursed through his veins…he needed her and now there was nothing left of her but a rotting corpse in the water. He felt sick. He wasn’t sure how he could go on without her, and if he did who would he be? She had stood on that bridge and had been so damned brave as his own son pulled the trigger on the gun that killed her. And that…that was where his anger stemmed from. His heart dropped and was torn witnessing what he had. His son, the son he once thought was gone, had killed her. He was angry at himself for getting captured again, and he was angry with Michael for killing her, and…he was even angry with her for being caught in that position to begin with. He frowned even deeper. What had she been thinking? She went up there with Damien…she had to have heard the men coming. What was her goal in all of this? He glanced up at George, who looked back at him sadly, his eyes widening in response to Miles’s heated glare. George knew. George had to know. She wouldn’t have done what she did without telling someone about it. She had planned something, obviously, as they were all together in a room that was angled just so, so that the window focused on the point where she had been. Miles had seen it in his eyes as soon as it had happened; he saw it in the way he averted his eyes, in the way he tilted his shoulders just right to avoid the others. Guilt was written all over his face. Miles knew him, Miles knew George Clausen, and Miles knew then that he was keeping something to himself about what had happened. These thoughts settled so deep into Miles’s gut that he knew he would soon not be able to contain himself and he would find a way to make the man talk.
The door suddenly swung open and everyone aside from Miles and Lacy jumped, startled at the sound and the overwhelming presence of the three men that entered. One stepped up to George, and the other scanned the room until they landed on Miles, and the last one went up to Cassie. Each man grabbed a captive, forcing them up. No one fought, Miles realized as he was lifted to his feet; no, they all went willingly. Ryder stepped in then, his eyes scouring over every one of them until his eyes finally landed on Miles. Miles felt the anger consume him at the sight of this man. This was the man that he had trusted, the man that he had believed and risked not only his life but the lives of Brian and Shelly based on his word. He had believed he wanted to help, that he would help Miles get back to Amber before this happened, before she died at the hands of his corrupt people. He didn’t even give them a chance. Ryder’s eyes then strayed to George, and Miles felt his own vision drift that way as well. George stood there, unfazed while Cassie seemed uncomfortable, and she should be. They were prisoners, right? George seemed to realize that something bigger was happening or had happened and that Miles knew what was going on. That pissed Miles off. The man had been a brother to him and now, now he was nothing more than a traitor like Damien. Miles just knew it. He could see it and he fully
intended on finding out what he knew.
Derek was the first to move towards Ryder. “Are you in charge?”
Ryder shrugged. “You could say that.” he replied quickly and Rick stepped forward in front of Derek.
“You knew what was going to happen, didn’t you!” Though it had been hours, the situation, the images continued playing in their minds like a horrible movie stuck on repeat.
Ryder appeared confused but Miles could tell form the steely glint in his eyes that he was far from it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Bobby-Jean narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew we were going to see them. You knew we were going to watch them kill my daughter and take my son away.” Her words were calm and even, the stillness of them expressing her anger and her pain.
Ryder shifted on his feet and placed one hand on the gun at his hip and the other he ran through his hair. “Oh yes, that…it was quite unfortunate. She would have been a wonderful addition for them…or specimen…” he paused, glancing at each increasingly angered face. “Still, she was reckless.” Everyone remained silent but seething, trying to decide whether or not they wanted to act out against him. It took everything Miles had not to launch at him and he felt fresh tears sting his nose. He had to wait. He needed to wait until he could do something about it. “You will all have one last meal and a session of stretching your tired muscles before we leave again. Miles, George, Cassie…I will need you to come with me for while the others eat. After they are finished, Shelly, Rick, and Buddy will be next.” Ryder spoke loudly to them all and Miles felt his mind slipping, his anger flaring. Buddy stepped up next to him, his own temper rising. Miles even felt angry at him. The man had made a promise to protect Amber, Kyle, and Cassie and now two of them were gone. His heart once again lurched. Amber was gone.
“Where are you going to take us?” he spat out angrily in question. Miles remained stiff and tense, his eyes never leaving Ryder’s face. He watched Ryder’s eyes as they fished for a response. Was he really going to lie?
“Where do you think?” he answered Buddy’s question with a question of his own. Miles clenched his jaw. He could feel his sanity continue its slow downhill sloping as it had been doing since he watched her die.
“You twisted son of a bitch!” Buddy exclaimed then, launching at Ryder. Ryder never flinched. Instead he waited as the man that had stood next to George stepped forward and with the butt of his gun, hit him hard. Buddy fell limp with a grunt and a loud thud. His eyes rolled back and within seconds he was unconscious, a small trickle of blood rolling past his ear from a cut from the impact. Ryder turned towards the open door and motioned to someone in the hallway before turning his attention back to the alert and frightened people in the room. Two men then came in, stepping past Ryder and reaching for Buddy. Quickly, they began dragging him out of the room. Miles didn’t know where they were taking him, and he didn’t ask. He was sure that he would find out soon enough.
“Anyone else have anything they would like to say?” Ryder asked then, causing most of them to shift uncomfortably, almost shrinking back into themselves, afraid of the men that held them captive. Miles wasn’t afraid of Ryder. Hid mind was screaming. Miles was afraid of himself. Ryder nodded. “Good luck.” He told them all and Miles knew then that he would no longer see Ryder until they were at the compound.
“Come on.” The man behind him grunted as he shoved Miles in the back, urging him forward. Miles stepped forward obligingly, stealing one more glance at the people in the room as they watched him leave. It was the first word that one of these men had spoken, including Ryder. Throughout the week they had all remained silent and commanding. Now, however, they seemed resigned or relieved. He wasn’t sure, but he knew that whatever it was, he was going to use it to his advantage.
Their footsteps sounded down the hall, echoing against the walls and the empty abandoned rooms. Miles couldn’t keep his head straight. He was feeling it, the struggle to keep his mind but that had gone long before. His grip on reality was slipping because really, why would George betray them? How could Brian be taken away to become a monster? How in the world did their people end up with them, and even more so, if this were reality…how could Amber have died? How could he have sat there and watched her as she did…as his son did it? No, this couldn’t be real. There was no way that it was. And so, with that startling realization he shifted his hands against the chains, feeling invincible and feverish. His eye began twitching but the relative calm that settled over him terrified even him because he was unsure of what he could and would do once the chains were off his hands.
The men led the three of them into another room, darkened from the lack of a window. There were a few small slivers of light coming through slits in the walls and Miles slowly tilted his head, the cracking of his neck audible. He waited patiently as the men slowly began their cautious process of removing their chains. First there was Cassie, who, once released, rubbed her wrists, looked at Miles helplessly and stepped to the side. George was next and he sighed, staring directly ahead as if afraid of making eye contact with either Miles or Cassie. This was probably the last place the man wanted to be; alone in a dark room with her daughter and the man that loved her more than the very breath he breathed. Miles cleared his throat and waited.
Once he felt the deft fingers on his chains and he felt them loosen he snapped, losing himself in the torment that was his own angered mind and ragged soul. He lost sight of what he was doing, what was happening, and he just acted. It wasn’t real anyways, so what was the point of paying attention? He wanted to lose himself in the fight, to find some sort of answer, and that was exactly what he intended to do. He caught the chain before it fell from his fingers and into the hands of the waiting man behind him. Quickly, he brought his elbow back, driving it as hard as he could into the man’s ribs before turning and hitting him full force in his sternum. The man flew back and landed hard on his back gasping for precious air. The other two men were acting then, one man grabbing Miles’s from behind and the other coming up quick from the opposite side of the room. The man drove a knife into Miles’s arm, and Miles grunted in pain but ignored it, barely felt it. They were shouting and he couldn’t understand them, didn’t want to understand them. George and Cassie stood there and watched on in both fear and awe, but they were blurred in Miles’s vision, casting them in a heated red glow. Miles growled and stumbled back, driving the man’s back into the wall. The man’s hold loosened and Miles brought up his elbow, the man taking the impact in the mouth before shouting in pain. Miles tossed him over his shoulder then and swung down the chain, successfully hitting both the nearing man and the man on the floor with it. It whipped heavily against their skin and bones, their flesh tearing and they cried out. The man on the floor shuddered and grabbed at his broken face before Miles stepped away from him and to the other man, the last man. Miles reached forward as the man shielded his face against the chain, grabbing his hair and jerking him down a little. With this done, he brought up his knee, the jarring connection to his lungs knocking him breathless and Miles wound the chain around his hand quickly before rearing back and hitting the man in the jaw with his chain bound knuckles.
“Miles, STOP! They are going to fucking kill us!” George shouted; the man that had stood there while Miles took all three men down without a problem. Where was this anger, this surge of excitable energy before? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All he cared about at that point was an answer. He reached up and pulled the knife from his arm, barely feeling the aching pain that came with it. His mind was shaky, his sanity clearly questionable but he wanted to kill someone, he wanted and answer to end this horrible nightmare. He wanted George’s answer. He turned to George who stood next to a trembling Cassie. “If you are trying to escape, we will never make it with the others and all get out alive! Think about what you are doing!”
Miles didn’t argue. Instead, he sneered and snapped forward, causing George to stumble and Cassie to shriek. They were frightened of him…h
e was frightened of himself, but he didn’t care. He wanted George to be scared. He wanted redemption for her soul and he was going to find out who was to pay the price. The fact that his son was a major player in it stung him, hurt him, and he hoped that Michael was only doing what he had to do. He hastily slung the length of the chain around George’s neck, twisting it around a second time for good measure before securing his hold on each end. George grunted and searched for air that wasn’t going to come to him, his back to Miles as he bent at an odd angle to accompany the pain of the chains squeezing his throat. His eyes widened at the realization of what Miles was doing and Miles stared down at him, eyes wild and crazed. Cassie was screaming by then, banging on the door for help, running between all three strange men, all three captors, and urging them to get up. George fell to his knees as Miles cinched the chains tighter. He made an indescribable gurgling noise as his fingers clawed at the cold metal.
“Somebody help! He’s going to kill him! Miles stop!” Cassie screamed amongst the groans and gasps for air from the other occupants in the room. Miles ignored her and stared into the increasingly blue face of his friend.
“What do you know?” he asked angrily and he saw understanding flash across George’s bulging eyes. He shook his head and Miles squeezed tighter.
“Someone please!” Cassie shouted, tears streaking easily down her face.
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?” Miles thundered. Yes, his right mind was long gone. Where were his compassion and his understanding? His moral compass? Well, why have morals and compassion if it will only result in your death and the deaths of the ones you love? Again, George shook his head, his lips turning purple and his eyes bloodshot. Miles felt his anger growing white-hot and it took all that he had not to pull just the slightest bit harder and crush the man’s windpipe. “You knew she was going to die, didn’t you?” he asked loudly, not seeing one of the men climbing to his knees, not caring that he was. He no longer heard Cassie, and he knew then that his question had gotten her attention. “DIDN’T YOU?!” he bellowed and slowly, so tortuously slow, George nodded. Shock hit Miles in the gut and he loosened his hold on the chains just enough for George to get a big breath of air. George sucked in the air loudly before coughing and sputtering, his fingers still tugging at the metal, his fingernails scratching his neck. His fingertips were coated red, the tender skin of his neck red and scratched. Miles felt the air leave him. He had known that George knew but the fact that he was right, that he knew it and let it happen hurt beyond reason.