CHAPTER TWELVE

MIRI

The longer I stay in here, the more difficult it becomes to stay positive.

He's not forced himself on me again. In fact, the violence and physicality have faded. He's more verbally aggressive.

"Heeeeellllppppppppp!" I scream and scream, over and over.

Banging on the door in a rhythm is about all I have to keep me occupied.

He's told me not to. He keeps telling me to be quiet, but why would I do anything he asks? I'd much rather cause him as much grief as possible. And if that means screaming and shouting for all I'm worth, I'll do it.

"Somebody! Anybody!" I keep up the calls, but not even Shaw rises to them. "Heeeeellllppppppppp!" My voice cracks at the end, and I cough and splutter, wishing there was a bottle of water left or anything else in here. At least he fed me.

I still remember the soggy food Naja and I were given on our trip from home over to London. I thought it was bad, the journey taking what felt like days, all the while being terrified. Naja protected me – she was like a rock – and I loved her for that. But I wasn't na?ve enough not to know what was going on. There are only a few outcomes for girls who get snatched off the street, and I'm living proof of that.

I rest my forehead on the metal door and try to track the passage of time since we got here. It was the evening. We'd had pizza. The bath. They were all moments that had helped stitch my fragile soul back together. They healed a part of me that made me finally feel content for the first time in a long time.

Would Bob raise the alarm? Would he have called Landon? Would Landon be looking for me yet?

I didn't tell Willow much about this guy – not even a name. It was stupid. I should have, and now I feel like a fool. Mandy knew I was going to the restaurant, but that's it; I didn't think further than needing cover for our first date.

My mind runs to Peter and Tally and even Neil. They'd miss me, wouldn't they? They'd tell someone? Someone would come looking. But nobody looked for us back home. Although, how would we know any different?

My head feels like it's drowning in a tide of questions that only gets deeper and stormier.

"Shaw?" I call out. I've not heard from him in a while. It must be hours. The longest since he brought me here. I wait for a sarcastic or grim retort, but nothing comes. All I hear is silence.

A silence that is suddenly deafening.

He's not here. There's nobody here.

The irrational thought of dying of starvation in this cell leaps to mind.

I wouldn't die of starvation; I'd die of thirst before that, but the sentiment is the same. A rise of panic brings me out in a hot flush as my pulse quickens and my breathing shallows.

"Heeeeellllppppppppp!" I start the screaming again, banging on the door and making as much noise as I can.

Then I wait. And repeat.

Nothing.

Looking around the room, like a countdown has been set off in my mind, I search for anything I can use as a way to get out. A broken brick, a dent in the wall I can work with. This place blew up. It must be structurally unsound. Suddenly, as I'm digging around on my hands and knees, I can smell that acrid burning smell that we inhaled as we ran to get out – ran to get free. It's like I'm back there again. Only this time, there's nobody coming for me.

My fingers keep scratching at a corner brick, seeing if there's any give at all, but it's still solid.

I roll over onto my back and look up at the ceiling.

And close my eyes.

My breathing evens out, and my pulse slows, staving off the encroaching attack of panic.

I think of being back on the grounds of Tallington, out by the lake. It was peaceful there. And beautiful. And I may never see it again.

It's a shock at how much that hurts. All this time, I've been operating under the understanding that Landon is the enemy of sorts. But maybe I've screwed that up like I screwed up judging Shaw?

~

I wake with a start, and it takes a moment to orientate myself. My back aches – all of me hurts.

Before I move, I wait and listen. I can't hear anything, and the panic I felt before rushes back through me.

Standing up, I move toward the door and bang on it with my fist clenched tightly. "Shaw?"

But there's nothing. So I start to bang louder. Harder.

My screams and cries become regular and repeated. Over and over again.

Somewhere in my consciousness, I know I won't be left.

All of this is a show of ownership. Shaw said it himself; they want to sell me and make a profit. That's what this has been about all along. So, leaving me here to die won't accomplish that.

I shake my head as I keep that in my mind as a preferable outcome to rotting away.

"Somebody? Anybody? Can you hear me?" Over and over.

"Hello? Is someone there?" A man's voice responds. It's faint, but I can hear it's not Shaw. He sounds timid or unsure.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, I'm in here. Behind a metal door."

"I heard someone shouting." The voice gets closer. "What are you doing in here? Didn't you see all the warnings?"

I bite my tongue, gratitude overriding my initial answer to that question.

"Over here! I'm here!" I pound on the door, making sure he knows where to go.

Finally, he comes to the small window I can see out of.

"Are you okay?"

"No. There's a man, he locked me in here. Please. You have to help me get out."

I step back as I hear the grate of the metal bolt slide free. My heart jumps, and I reward myself with a small smile. Getting out was the biggest obstacle. Once I'm out, then I just need to get to Landon, and I'll be fine.

I watch as the door swings open.

The man, tall and middle-aged, looks horrified as he opens the door for me. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm…" I don't finish the sentence. "Thank you." I smile at him.

"Who did this? We need to take you to the police. Report this."

"No. It's fine. I just need to go. We need to leave," I plead with him. "Quickly." Shaw's been gone for hours, and I have no idea when he'll be back. The man steps further inside the room to help me, and my instinct creeps up, wanting to rush him out of the room. "We need to leave now. I'll go wherever, but we have to go."

"Well, that"s not happening." I falter as Shaw appears around the corner of the door. A bottle of alcohol lingers in his hand, and he takes a swig of the amber liquid and then looks at the man next to me.

"Are you the one who's done this? You have to let her go," the man says.

Shaw steps inside and bars the door. "I don't have to do a thing."

"Shaw. Please."

"Oh, begging now? Good to hear, Miri."

"What do you think you're doing? Let me out. Let us both out." I look at the man, then snatch a glance back at Shaw.

"You want to see what Cortez does? What about this?" He takes another swig of his drink and then smashes the bulb of the bottle against the wall, shattering the glass.

The alcohol and glass shower down on the floor, and I step back instinctively, but it's not me that he aims for. He launches himself at my good Samaritan and shoves the broken end of the glass deep into his throat. Not just once but repeatedly. The blood pours from his neck, covering Shaw and the room as he violates him, slicing the delicate tissue of his neck. The man didn't even have time to clutch at his neck to stem the bleeding. It just runs free, pumping out of his body and onto the floor.

"No!" I scream and lunge forward, desperate to get Shaw off of him. My arms push him away, and he obliges.

As soon as Shaw's hands leave the man, he slumps to the ground with a heavy thud. It was over before it even started. The moment he punctured his artery, he was dead. I still bend over and assess the damage, though, hoping, but there's nothing I can do. Nothing I could have done, either.

Lifeless eyes shine up at me.

And I'm suddenly back in the same room. Another death. Jackson fights with Elias, putting his arm around his neck and silencing him. For me. He did it for Naja but also to protect me. It was just the next shock in the line of things I had to deal with since we were captured. My tears were a permanent feature on my face back then. I could be weak because Naja was so strong, but it made me feel sick to think of someone dead.

But that's nothing compared to how I feel now. This man was going to help me. He came to save me. He wasn't the bad man in this story. He didn't deserve to die just because he heard me calling for help.

Guilt, an overwhelming emotion, sits in my stomach, mixing with all the anger and rage and bitterness, and turns into a potent poison.

It's the Cortezes who should be dead on the ground.

I stare at the man as the puddle of blood edges out wider and wider, free to drain from his body.

"You caused that, Miri. You." I swallow and feel the tears brimming. "What was your number?" I shake my head, but it's ringing in my head louder and louder. "WHAT WAS IT?" I jump at his tone and scuttle backwards. He just killed a man.

Killed him.

"Eight," I whisper, letting it slip past my lips.

"Good. Now you're really home. Shut the fuck up from now on."