Page 35 of Reckoning

Madeline

I screamed until my throat felt like it was bleeding. I pounded at the door until every surface of my hands was bruised or bloody. I kicked at the door handle until my ankles collapsed. My fingernails dug into the screws holding the hinges in place until they ripped away to nothing.

Every piece of me hurt.

I felt the pain down to my bones while my heart seemed to shatter inside my chest. I cried without realizing it until every spare ounce of water was leeched from my body.

When Conrad had abducted me weeks ago, my instinct had been to protect myself. I had been battered with fists and feet and focused on nothing besides making myself as small as possible, forming a protective shell against the bruises and insults.

Was that why I had found myself drawn to Meyer? Had I sought to alleviate the pain of my kidnapping and separation from my parents by forming an attachment to the man who held me? Perhaps I thought, in some dark recess of my brain, that bringing the two of us together could bridge the gap between our families—if not to undo the damage done between Conrad and my mother, then to at least prevent the perpetuation of this ghastly feud.

Had I really been so naïve as to think I could act out some modern-day Romeo and Juliet, changing the ending so we all lived happily ever after while the true criminal received his just desserts? I was unbelievably, unforgivably foolish. I had let myself think Meyer could be steered from his father’s shadow into the light of … what? Love?

I surprised myself by laughing out loud, clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. I was hysterical, and I knew it. Seeing my mother, my parents, together and risking their physical well-being to search for me, had me feeling unhinged. I had betrayed them in the most horrible way by letting myself feel something for Meyer despite how horrible he had been to me. Worse, I knew what I was doing while it happened.

After what felt like hours, I collapsed, facing the door, waiting for Meyer or—God forbid—Conrad to open the door and drag me to whatever torture he could think up to punish me for my mother’s appearance. Time disappeared completely.

I leaped to my feet as the door handle rattled, and whatever was blocking it was being pushed aside. I adopted the defensive stance I remembered from high school P.E. class, intent on leaping upon whoever was behind the door even if it was Conrad Schaf himself.

Instead, I found myself tangled among Joshua’s strange but all-too-overpowering limbs. He didn’t even have to wrestle with me, not really. He just held me in place until I couldn’t move any more. Spinning me around, he pressed me against the wall while twisting one arm behind me. The other dangled free as he held a round pill inches from my face.

“You’re going to swallow this.”

I kicked him in response. Pressing his body tighter against me to restrict my movement, he held my nose with one hand, forcing the pill into my mouth once I parted my lips to breathe. His hands closed again around my nose and mouth, holding my face back. Only once I swallowed did he release me, letting me stumble away from him into the bedroom.

Grateful I had left on my shoes, I scrambled through the doorway and stumbled through the hallways. If I could only get outside, maybe someone there could still help me. I was still so angry, so afraid, I felt drunk.

The door to the outside was locked, and a cry tore from my chest.

“MEYER!” I screamed, stumbling toward the kitchen. He had to be here somewhere. I was vaguely aware of a tingling sensation in my toes, then the complete lack of feeling as I fell to my knees in the hallway. I opened my mouth to cry again, but no sound emerged. I realized I was prone on the floor, attempting to crawl forward but all too aware that I was not moving at all.

Joshua crouched in front of me, somehow looking concerned as he took my pulse and smoothed the hair back from my face.

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” he said softly, the deep lines on his forehead creasing as his face contorted into something that could be construed as concern. He hooked his hands under my armpits, pulling me up and into his arms like a bride. I felt the sensation of walking, gentle waves of movement lulling me despite my resolution to stay conscious, stay awake, stay tethered to this deep feeling of hatred that had burned out all feelings of affection in my faithless heart.

“Don’t fear him, Madeline.” It was the first time he ever used my name. His hands were softer than I would have expected for a bodyguard. My head fell against his chest as I lost all control of my neck.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I demanded, but the words went unsaid. My head began to ache with the effort I was exercising to speak, to no avail, my own silence ringing in my ears as if taunting me.

I was dimly aware of settling against something soft, and I wondered why the carpet suddenly seemed so comfortable until the scent of forest and firewater touched my nose. With the last dregs of my strength, I tried to fight my way free, out of my captor’s bed, but it was useless. Black fingers floated from unseen depths, twisting around me into chains that held me locked in place. I drifted into unconsciousness, wrapped in the cologne and coverlets of my enemy.

*

Bright lights in my eyes wrenched me from a dreamless sleep, my hand flying up to knock away whatever was blinding me but barely rising from the mattress.

“That’s it. You were under for a long time. I thought you would want to be up.”

I blinked, the room around me coming into focus as feeling returned to my limbs. I had the sensation of coming out of a deep sleep, but I never remembered even lying down.

Turning my head, I saw Joshua sitting on the bed next to me. There was a small scar on his chin, a little divot slightly whiter than the rest of his face.

Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I searched my brain for my memories. It came back in waves—the horse, the barn, my parents, battering the door of the bathroom until my hands bled. Panic surged. What had happened while I lay unconscious? I pressed my fingers into the corners of my eyes, looking down, controlling my breathing.

“Where are my parents? What day is it?”

Joshua shifted. “It’s Monday. You don’t need to worry about them.”

I didn’t have the energy to push. I had never felt so defeated in my entire life. My chance to escape had come and gone, and I had spent it locked in the bathroom like a drunk girl at a party.

---