Tempest - Kris Michaels Page 0,2

Be anything other than her marionette and you’ll end up like this, Pilar. Lesson learned. She picked up the guard's shirt. "Here." She draped it over his shoulder and wished she had a blanket.

"By who?"

"My mother," she hissed and closed her eyes. The sickness in her gut rolled and pitched at the thought her mother orchestrated this evil.

"Explain." He shivered against the mattress.

"I will. May I lie down beside you? It might help to keep you warm." The man didn't answer, either he'd passed out or he didn't care. She put the cup on the side of the sink and carefully slid onto the pallet. She spooned behind him and carefully put an arm around his gaunt waist. The groan he released may have been from the pain of her gentle jostle of his position, or perhaps relief from whatever warmth her body provided.

The lights clicked off leaving the cell in complete darkness. A small slice of light filtered in from under the cell door. "Motion activated." The man's faint whisper reached her.

"Are they watching you? Cameras?" That she’d given aid to the person Regina was trying to extract information from wouldn't help her cause, not that she gave a damn about her mother right now.

"No. No camera, no mic." He gripped the shirt and pulled it closer to his shoulder. "Thank you."

She swallowed hard, trying to stop the tears which welled in her eyes. His gratitude for simple human kindness sliced her heart.

"Why is she doing this to you?"

He jolted a bit. "She?"

"My mother."

"She?"

The question had to have been asked for reassurance. "Yes, my mother."

There was silence for several long moments. The man's shaking subsided a bit. "Tell me about her."

"Why?"

"I want to know who is doing this to me." She heard a small hitch in his voice and somehow knew he was crying, although his shoulders barely moved. This man was broken. She kept close to him, willing her warmth into his too thin body. She spoke soft words of comfort, of promises she couldn't keep, telling him everything would be okay.

He whispered hoarsely, "Name?"

"My name is Pilar. What is your name?"

There was no movement except the shallow in and out of his chest as he breathed. She thought he'd fallen asleep, but eventually he answered, "I no longer have one." The man drew a deep breath and relaxed slightly into her. Moments turned into minutes, that lengthened into hours, and she held him because it was all she could do. Finally, he stirred.

She helped him off the bed and watched as he willed himself to remain standing and shuffle to the sink to brush his teeth with the tail of the new shirt. Only his jutting hip bones held up the cotton scrub bottoms he wore. His body hunched as if the effort to straighten his spine was too much.

"You need food." She marched to the door and pounded on it. The man spun; his body braced against the sink.

The guard threw open the window. "What now?"

"I want food." She crossed her arms and stared at the goon on the other side.

"It's coming. I'll open the door for you to exit when it arrives."

"Exit?" What in the hell was he talking about?

"No food for him." The goon tossed his chin toward the man.

"Wrong answer. You will bring my food to me, in here. Do we need to go over what will happen if you don't?" She ran her fingers across her camisole straps. "I mean, you've already torn my shirt to shreds."

"Fucking bitch."

She smiled at the man. "Just like my mother. Remember it, and you'll survive."

The man's eyes narrowed, and the flap slammed shut.

"You shouldn't anger them." The man shuffled back across the floor to the bed and lay down slowly.

"They're terrified of my mother."

"Who is she?" The man groaned the question as he turned onto his side to talk to her.

She lowered her eyes to her hands. Wasn't that the question of the decade. "I don't know. Not really. I'm not sure I ever knew her." She moved to the cot and sat on the floor, so they were eye to eye.

"Why are you here?"

"Punishment, I guess. I asked too many questions and wouldn't let it drop." Pilar shook her head and stared at the edge of the cot.

"What kind of questions?"

Pilar stared at him. The man's bruised face and bloody eyes scored her soul in ways she couldn't fathom. She was her mother's attorney. The law required that she keep her secrets, yet somehow, she