Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(64)

I exhaled.

“However,” he continued, “this female has caused me more problems than any who’ve been granted the same privilege. If the time comes to grant you your plea, be warned, you may not like what you find.”

What the f*ck?

“Me,” I tried one more time. “Me, correct me. None of this is her fault.”

I couldn’t see Richards’s face, as he was still peering out the window. Though his voice was low, I heard every word. “It’s all her fault. If she’d only listened.”

I wasn’t supposed to understand, yet I did, and the clarity his words provided sent a chill down my spine.

“Dylan,” Father Gabriel demanded, “show Brother Jacob to Sara’s new room. Hurry, I have a plane to catch and I need a pilot.”

I turned away, unable to look at Father Gabriel a second longer. I’d crash the damn plane if I thought it would save her.

As Elijah opened the door, I looked directly into his dark eyes. Instead of meeting mine, his gaze dropped to the floor. We were Assemblymen. It was a f*cking brotherhood, and yet here he was, holding the damn knife as Father Gabriel twisted. Richards remained quiet as I followed him down the hallway past an archway that led to a large kitchen. I didn’t pay any attention, but noticed women in the kitchen, all wearing the same white dress as the woman I’d seen by the door. Finally we came to another door.

When Richards opened it, he hit a light switch and said, “Watch your step.”

Really? Like he gives a shit.

My entire body chilled as I stepped out of the opulence and into a cold, dreary world. As if she could sense my apprehension, Sara’s body shivered in my grasp, and her sad blue eyes peered up toward mine. I didn’t want Richards to see, but in our brief gaze I tried to convey as much as I could. I tried to tell her I loved her, I’d move heaven and hell to get back to her, and I didn’t want to do this.

Step by step, down into the underbelly of the mansion we went. The length of the staircase told me that this was more than the lower level—it was a subbasement. Even the temperature dropped as we continued down. When we neared the bottom, the wall to my right ended, and I stood in disgust at where we were, at what I saw. Unpainted concrete blocks created thick walls, while instead of crystal lighting fixtures, as I’d seen upstairs, naked lightbulbs hung from the ceiling. The room was nothing more than an unfinished cement box—even the floor was smooth, cold cement.

The permeating odor of disinfectant stung my lungs and reminded me of the clinic at the Northern Light. When I looked up to the ceiling there were exposed wooden beams with thick insulation stapled in between.

I didn’t want to think about its purpose. Was it to keep the cold from the floor above or sound?

The only furniture in the room was four worn couches, appearing as if they belonged in a fraternity house or a garage sale, not a multi-million-dollar mansion. Four doors interrupted the concrete block. The first one was open, and I stopped, glancing inside. The room reminded me of barracks I’d inhabited, but more cramped. In a space I doubted was bigger than ten feet by ten feet were three sets of bunk beds with thin mattresses. As in an army barracks, each bed was made, the sheets perfectly folded and tucked in place, and like the larger room with the couches, this one was without color. Gray walls, gray metal bed frames, and gray blankets. Only the pillows were different. Still void of color, they were white.

“Over here,” Richards said, reminding my feet to move.

Each step physically hurt; the pain inside me was excruciating. I couldn’t leave her here. I’d promised her I’d stay with her. The sound of an opening door caused me to look up, away from Sara’s face, which was burrowed into me, as it had been when I first lifted her after her accident.

Suddenly the smell made sense. The door Richards opened revealed a room that looked like our clinic, or more accurately one room of our clinic. This room had two hospital beds. I swallowed, knowing that the newly acquired wives were kept in a clinic in the building across from the church.

Why was there one here, in Father Gabriel’s house?

My feet forgot to step as I saw the occupant of one of the beds. Her face was black and blue, as Sara’s had been when I found her at the clinic. Her eyes were covered in bandages, and around her neck was a thick, leatherlike collar. Though I was sickened by the woman’s injuries—or more accurately the girl’s—it was her identity that shocked me. Attached to an IV was Sister Salome from yesterday’s service.

When I turned to the other bed, I saw the IV pole with the clear bag of solution. I recognized it from Sara’s accident.

“You said no medicine,” I said, more as a question. I didn’t want to trust this *, but I was out of options.

Richards nodded. “I meant it.” He shrugged. “I just can’t promise for how long.”

He pulled back the sheet and blanket of the unoccupied bed. At least it all appeared clean. When I laid her upon the mattress, the déjà vu almost knocked me off my feet. It was as if I were back nine months in the past. I wished with everything in me that I were. If this were nine months ago, I would call my mission complete before Sara ever stopped taking her medicine. I would take her away, make her safe, and call for reinforcements.

Sniffling like a child with a cold, I gently smoothed her beautiful blonde hair away from her face, and turned to Richards. “Please?” I was too devastated to fight.