Willing Captive(60)

And all I can think about is Nox.

Will he follow us to wherever I’m being taken? Where are we going? How long will I have to spend without him?

The van crosses the property line, and I look back out the rear window, silently saying goodbye to my second home and hoping I’ll see it again soon. We drive a minute longer when I see it.

Flashes of white, orange, and yellow swirling through the air hold my attention.

My mouth gapes as I watch in horror.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

The safe house endures one, then two, then three more roaring explosions, before being engulfed in flames.

My heart stops. Boo’s arm grips mine as we both watch the terrifying scene.

I don’t blink. I don’t breathe. I can’t think.

Suddenly, I ask distractedly, “He got out, right?” Boo’s hand tightens on my arm. I turn to her, looking down at her hand, and back up to her face. Breathing heavily, I ask again, “He got out, right?”

Her shocked face remains stoic.

Answer me!

Moving across the van, I bang on the divider and shout out, “Rock, turn around!”

Boo yells back, “Keep driving.”

Oh, thank God, she’s back. Kneeling on throbbing and bloodied knees, I crawl over to her and nod, “He got out, right?”

That’s when I see it.

The fear and devastation. It’s written all over her face.

And my chest squeezes. Slumping, I whisper, “He got out. He had to have gotten out.”

Boo’s eyes tear as she holds my unblinking stare. A tear trails down her cheek. Her mouth opens and shuts. Not able to speak, she shrugs weakly while shaking her head.

Anger builds in me and I say louder, “He got out, Boo. He did.”

Biting her lip, she closes her eyes, and begins to cry. Her shoulders jerk silently.

I stand in the back of the moving van. My anger overflowing, I shout at her, “He f*cking got out, Boo!”

Her chin dips. Her body shakes in silent sobs. I watch her tears fall to the floor.

Falling to my knees in front of her, I state a little quieter, “He got out.” Reaching forward, she wraps her arms around my rigid body. I repeat, “He got out.” It sounds weaker this time. Her arms hugging me tightly, her body shakes against mine, and my voice shakes as I say feebly into her neck, “He did. He got out.”

My courage fades.

My nose tingles.

My voice trembles as I utter confusedly, “He can’t be gone. We have plans.”

Finding her voice, she mutters into my hair, “I’m so sorry, Deedee. So sorry.”

My arms hold her tightly, my hands gripping at her clothing. Sorrow slices through me like a knife. The sobs come hard and fast. “No. We have plans.” She clutches me to her. Crying hard, my body shakes as I wail, “He’s coming for me! He promised!”

Feeling weak, I whisper through shuddering breaths, “He promised, Boo. He swore.”

Let it go. It’s over.

A low, long, keening cry bursts out of my mouth. Not able to breathe, my body convulses in my weak state.

I’m numb.

Boo cries with me and holds me tight.

All the way to the hospital.





***





This hospital is different from others.

I’ve been to a hospital like this one before. It’s a private hospital. A small hospital.

It’s almost identical to the one I woke up in when I was taken as a child.

Upon arriving, Rock carried me in a bridal hold. He had to do this because I couldn’t stop the tears. And with tears comes weakness of the heart, and weakness of the body to match.

I remember being pricked in the arm, and suddenly everything was light and fluffy. And although I wanted to cry some more, my body refused. But I felt sleepy. They set me down in a wheelchair and rolled me to a room with a queen-sized bed. Rock helped me up onto it. Boo came forward and hugged me tightly before excusing herself, but Rock stayed with me until I fell asleep.

I came-to a few minutes ago to a nurse taking my blood pressure. As soon as she sees me open my eyes, she smiles and says softly, “Hello, dear. Sorry to wake you.”

Her sweet, mature face is almost too much to bear. My eyes sweep the room. Panic sets in. Sitting up quickly, I ask in a hoarse voice, “The man who was here, where is he?”

Her face falls. “What man, dear?”

No. No!

My hands begin to shake. “The man who brought me here.”

Her face doesn’t show any sign of recognition. Pointing to the chair Rock sat in while I fell asleep, I almost shriek, “He was in that chair! I need to know where he is! It’s important!”

She steps away from me, clearly uncomfortable with my actions and raised voice. She says quietly but firmly, “Now, dear, you need to calm down. I’m sure we can find out where he went.”

My heart rate spikes on the machine. The beeping noise drills into my skull.

Hyperventilating, I rip at the IVs taped on top of my hand and in my inner elbow. Pulling the plastic clean out of my skin, I move to stand when the nurse yells out, “I’ve got a code red! I need hands!”

I stand on the mattress when two large men come into my room. Holding my hands out, I utter, “I just need to find my friend. That’s all.”