Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,156
my heart back.
Bea
I couldn’t wake up.
For what seemed like hours, oppressive darkness weighed down my lids, pressing on my entire body like I was encased in a concrete grave, buried alive. I tried to fight the sinking, terrifying sensation, but there was no give in the blackness. I could only lie there wondering if this was death. Not the soft embrace of the Reaper the way I’d always believed, but a deep, dark hole you sink into and never return from.
Gradually, so gradually it seemed to take an eternity, sensation returned to my limbs. There was a tingle in my fingertips that felt like an itch. I wiggled my toes, finding them cold and stiff in my boots.
With wakefulness came pain.
Pain as I remembered Cleo fighting for her life in the hospital.
Pain as I realized Priest would be going quite literally crazy knowing I’d been taken, wondering if I’d been killed.
Pain as I thought about adding more grief to my family when they were already so mired deep in hurt.
Then the blinding pain in my head that robbed my eyes of sight even when I was finally able to pry my lids open.
I gazed unseeingly as I remembered the events leading up to my being there. The gunshot in the clearing, Priest trying to get to me, and Officer Moore driving the car, telling me he was taking me to safety, taking me to a haven. The word haven had hit wrong; a discordant note struck in my mind. I’d questioned him about it, leaning forward toward the console. He’d slammed the brakes so hard, I’d swung forward and hit my head with a hard crack against the plastic. A moment later, his hands were coming at me with some kind of syringe in his grip.
Now, this.
“Oh, God,” I croaked, just to see if my voice worked.
It did, though poorly like a door creaking on rusty hinges. The words scraped through my throat.
No one answered.
I blinked rapidly, feeling tears flush away the dark and roll down my cheeks. Light broke through, images blurred and condensed into discernable shapes.
I was in some kind of backwoods church.
It was a shed, really, a lean-to built from old wood that was cracked and poorly insulated. The wind whistled sharply through the gaps, swirling in the little chapel like a harsh whisper so that the entire space seemed filled with ghostly voices. I turned my head on a wince to see the front of the space, a rough-hewn altar topped by a massive, crudely carved cross the size of a grown man. There were rust-coloured stains on the cross.
I didn’t know anything that left that kind of residue but blood.
A shiver rocked through me, black spots dancing in my vision as I gritted against the jarring pain in my head.
What had my abductor given me?
I sucked a freezing breath into my lungs, then watched the plume of hot breath billow around me. Deep breathing did nothing to calm me. I was alone in some Godforsaken shack in the middle of nowhere without a phone or any means of communicating with the people I was sure were looking for me.
I couldn’t just count on them to find me.
I had to rely on myself to get out of this and get to them.
My hands were bound behind my back with rough rope that rasped over the thin skin of my wrists every time I shifted. I fell to one hip, hoping to get leverage to stand and try the door at the far end of the space even though I could clearly see chains around the handles.
A whimper from somewhere among the spare pews held me still.
“Hello?” I called.
My echoing voice returned in answer.
Carefully, I started to shift again onto my knees.
Another whimper, this one sharper, longer like a keening animal.
I looked around deliberately this time, trying to see into the shadows poorly lit by two halogen construction lights with exposed bulbs. To the far left, sticking out from behind one of two rows of pews, I saw a foot.
A foot wearing a high heel.
Instantly, hope overtook my panic and fear. I rolled forward onto my knees and started to shuffle across the packed earth floor toward that shoe.
As I drew closer, I saw a long, pale leg encased in nude hosiery and the hem of a black wool dress. It wasn’t until I nearly fell around the corner of the pew, knocking my hip painfully against the corner, that I knew for sure who it was.