the cold hard ground, staring up at the bright light they turned on full blast and left on, I allow myself to think I’ve made a difference.
For grieving families and poor souls who would have fallen victim to murderers, kidnappers and rapists I helped put behind bars. I’ve certainly made a difference in a few short years, but it’s so very small compared to what I’d hoped.
One life changed is significant, I remind myself. Not a single thought, though, is enough to soothe the truth that brings me lower and lower: I’m going to die here. My hands tremble and I shove them under my legs, attempting to swallow although my throat is dry.
I don’t want to die. My chest heaves in a breath as I tumble down a dark hole of despair.
“I’m not ready to die. I could have done so much more,” I whisper in a croaked voice and just like the last few times my thoughts wandered to what could have been, Marcus’s face returns. His heady scent surrounds me, paired with the chill that’s ever present whenever I think of him. Who would have thought the cold would be so comforting. If he could meet me there in my death, I’d accept it. I’ll go willingly, if only he’ll meet me there. My hand finds my cheek where he last held it and I imagine my hand is over his. I close my eyes, and I swear I can feel his lips against mine.
Creak, thump. The heavy door opens abruptly and the harsh sound rips through my thoughts. Swallowing down every emotion other than hate, I stare up at the hardened gaze from Brass. My body’s stiff and anger flows through my veins, keeping my tired body from sagging.
“Brass,” I say and his name is nearly a hiss from my lips. Contempt lengthens the single syllable. At first it’s hard to see through my blurred vision, but as I steady my breathing, the red light that appears in his hand becomes more clear.
It also explains why his gaze isn’t on me. It’s on a tiny screen from a silver and black video camera.
Thump, thump, thump, my heart gallops away.
He’s videotaping.
“I’m going to need you to do me a favor, Miss Jones,” he says as fear creeps into the back of my mind.
Even though my stiff body turns cold from head to toe, I do everything I can not to show the terror that runs rampant at the thoughts of what he could possibly want to record.
As he steps in, so does another man. Slender in build, slightly taller. All in black and he wears a mask still. I’d feel a glimmer of hope at the sight of his mask if it weren’t for the camera. It’s not that he doesn’t want me to see him; he doesn’t want whoever is going to view this video to see who he is.
“My mother?” I ask him, needing an answer to one of the prevailing questions that have haunted me while he’s been gone.
Brass tsks as the second man shuts the heavy door. I can’t help but to watch as it closes completely with a heavy click and the slim light from the hall fades to nothing. Then there’s another turn of a lock. Someone must’ve locked it from the outside. Or it’s automatic when the door shuts.
“I’m so sorry to inform you, but,” Brass begins and then takes a deep inhale as if it pains him to tell me, “your mother didn’t make it.”
My throat seems to close on its own. As if I’m choking, but there’s nothing except for air present. The trembling that runs through my body is involuntary.
“Liar.” I speak the single word while attempting to hold back the shock and grief. I prepared myself for that reality. I knew it was likely, but still I prayed … Prayers have come easy while I’ve been caged by these four walls.
“We couldn’t have any witnesses,” he says and shrugs carelessly, although the thin, wicked smile stays put. “Your sister is lucky she—”
“Leave her alone.” My statement was meant to hold a threat, but with the sorrow still wracking through my body, I’m only begging him.
“This is good, but this is not what the video is for, Delilah.” Brass speaks clearly, not troubled at all as I heave in the wretched stench of the room.
My mother’s dead. With my head spinning and my emotions swarming through me, Brass approaches far too quickly, reaching down with his left