Page 90 of The Torment of Two

Dr. Skeller.

Gone is his jovial smile.

Fierce determination paints his features now.

My heart hammers in my chest, but my body has become useless to me. I’m unable to move or fight. A small whimper escapes, earning his intense gaze on me.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. I’m going to take care of you.”

For a split second, I pray I have it all wrong. That, once again, I’m overreacting and being paranoid. That this man—my dad’s friend—is going to protect me, not hurt me.

Where’s Two?

Where are we going?

I must doze off because I wake again in a darker space. Wine bottles line shelves on the walls. A wine cellar? My head lolls to the side and I see Two.

He’s asleep on the ground, arm stretched over to a pipe.

Handcuffed.

All hopeful thoughts fade as sheer terror floods in. Hot tears leak out of my eyes, but I’m unable to do anything else. My eyelids drift closed and my chaotic thoughts start to dull.

“Shh,” Dr. Skeller whispers as he sets me down on something soft. “I want you to rest a bit. Don’t fight the medicine, darling. Everything’s been taken care of. You’ll see.”

I feel him gently remove my shoes and then cover me with a blanket. It’s warm and feels relatively safe. I’m no longer able to fight to stay conscious. Blissful darkness steals me away.

I wake to a slight tickle on my thigh and a banging inside my skull. Nausea curdles my belly as I attempt to gain my bearings. I feel worse than the time me and Dempsey drank a whole bottle of Mom’s wine when we were like ten years old. We threw up. A lot.

But this?

This is worse.

More ominous.

Why?

Cracking my eyes open, I squint to orient myself with my surroundings. I see wine bottles lining a wall.

Where am I?

When I go to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I realize my wrists are zip-tied together, resting on my belly. The rest of my body feels heavy and sluggish, but I’m quickly gaining clarity in my mind.

It all comes flooding back.

The workshop. The sweet tea. Dr. Skeller.

He drugged us.

A whimper crawls up my throat. It’s then I feel the tickling again. I dart my eyes over to my right and see the wicked man himself.

“You’re quite beautiful when you sleep,” Dr. Skeller says with breathy awe. “Better than I imagined.”

Terror prickles its way through me. “I—”

He hushes me with his thumb to my lips. “Rest, my love.”

Bile burns my esophagus and I dry heave. Dr. Skeller slides off the bed I’m on to quickly grab something. The next time I heave, acidy vomit spews out of me. He positions a small bucket in front of me, catching the mess as if he’s expecting it.

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