“Did I what?”
The knife stopped. He brought it to my throat and pushed hard—not the sharp edge, but the dull edge. I couldn’t breathe; he was crushing my windpipe.
Cole…
“Stop playing around,” he hissed. “Answer me! Did you tell Cole Mauricio what your husband told you?!”
“No—”
The knife cut me off. He yelled in my face, his spit landing on my cheek. “Did you?!”
I coughed, and kept coughing, He was pushing down so hard, and suddenly I could make no sound. I was choking. I couldn’t get air inside.
When you’re about to die, all the movies make it seem like time slows down, you get flashes of your life. Maybe those memories are supposed to comfort you. Maybe it’s the brain shooting on its last synapses. I didn’t know. I knew there were scientific theories, but that was not what happened to me.
I couldn’t breathe—that was it. I. Just. Couldn’t. Breathe. My eyes bulged, and I flailed in the chair. My arms were everywhere. Despite the pain, I broke through their ropes. My back arched off the chair, but my head was still tied in place…then I was falling…
I hit the floor with a smack.
After I hit the ground, I couldn’t do anything. My body shook, all on its own. My mind was slipping away. There still wasn’t enough air. My vision blurred, and there were voices. I heard them through a fog again.
A light—one single light burned right through me. Faces blocked it. Shoes hurried closer. I felt them pounding on the floor. A woman screamed. There was shouting. People were shoving, and someone fell.
Then Carol was on the floor, her head turned toward me. Terror lit up her eyes, and she was pale. I would’ve laughed, if I could. She was scared, and I was going to die. I saw movement at the door. Hands were touching me, putting me back in the chair. The light was blocked. The hallway door opened, and light spilled into the room. For one brief second, I saw him. I saw the man who had interrogated me. I saw his back, then his profile as he turned down the hallway.
I saw him.
Someone moved in front of me, and the rope around my neck fell away. Then I could breathe in ragged gulps. Someone lifted me, and my eyes rolled.
Blackness closed in again, but I’d seen him now.
I saw Dorian.
Cold water woke me up.
I turned my head and saw Carol beside my bed. She sat in a chair, a bucket next to her, and she was washing my face with a rag. She wasn’t looking in my eyes. She was only focused on my skin. She brought the rag to my shoulder and began moving it lightly down my arm. As she got to my hand, she paused. A line marred her forehead, and she let out a deep sigh. With gentle hands, she picked up mine and examined it, turning it over so she could see better in the light.
There was a draft in the room. She brought the washcloth to my knuckles as I looked around. I was on a cot, tucked into the corner of a small bedroom. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. I could see into the open closet door. Only a pile of blankets was inside.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. They grew louder, and I tensed—until they moved past the door.
“You’re awake?” Carol now looked at me.
I must’ve moved my hand. I tried to nod, but it hurt too much. I felt half paralyzed when I croaked, “What did you do?”
Shame darkened her eyes, and she hung her head. The washcloth fell from her fingers, hitting the floor. She cursed and bent to grab it. When she sat back up, she placed it on the table next to the bed. Grabbing the bucket, she rose. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
I wanted to plead with her not to tell the others. Don’t let them know I’m awake! Don’t let them hurt me again! But no words came out. I couldn’t get them out, so I lay there and waited, feeling like an opened wound.
She came back moments later, kicking the door shut with her heel. She placed the bucket beside me, pulled out a new washcloth, and brought it to my cheek. I held my breath, waiting for the cold and knowing it would add to my agony, but it didn’t. Warm water greeted me instead, and I was relieved for the first time since being captured.
“Thank you,” I finally got out, wondering if I should thank her for anything. My voice was a mangled mess.
She didn’t respond. She washed the rest of my cheek, then moved to the other one. She bathed my jaw, and up to my forehead. After cleaning my nose, she sat back and dropped the rag into the bucket. Her shoulders slumped and she looked down. “This is all my fault,” she said softly. “Every part of it.”
My throat swelled. I didn’t think it was from physical pain. I couldn’t talk anymore.
“I was their eyes and ears on you,” she continued. “No one else.”