Page 93 of Shadowed Whispers

“Shh. It’s okay.” Her voice is eerily calm as she sweeps my hair off my face, sitting on the side of the bed. The casualness of her touch contrasts sharply with the severity of my bindings. I’m trapped, unable to scoot away or escape her invasive presence.

“Why are you doing this?” I cry out, the weight of my entire life pressing down on me. Isn’t it enough that I’ve lost every single place I’ve ever called home? And now, I’ve been kidnapped. What the hell did I do to deserve this fate?

“You needed to be saved,” she coos, her tone disturbingly serene as her eyes gleam with madness and conviction. “And luckily for you, I found you.”

“Saving me by binding me to a bed?” I choke on my words, my voice a mixture of incredulity and anger.

“For now,” she replies softly, continuing to brush my hair away from my forehead with disturbing tenderness. “Until you’re compliant.”

My heart skips a beat. “What?” The word escapes me as a whisper, a fearful acknowledgment of the unfolding nightmare.

“You and I are going to do amazing things,” she whispers as she leans over me. Her lips brush my forehead in a chaste kiss, her touch chillingly gentle. “I can’t wait.”

The cold kiss sends a shiver down my spine, her words echoing ominously in the dim room. As she pulls back, her silhouette framed by the faint light, the reality of my situation sets in. Trapped and at the mercy of a captor who sees me as a project, I realize that this is a new level of hell—one where my freedom is stripped away under the guise of being saved.

“Frankie, come back to me. Come on, firefly.” Bishop’s voice pulls me out of the swirling vortex of my memories, grounding me back to reality.

When I come to, I find myself sitting on the edge of a bed. The hum of fluorescent lights breaches my memories next, flickering above us in a steady, persistent rhythm. I blink, my eyes adjusting as I finally take in my surroundings.

The room is almost like an infirmary. Dozens of beds line both walls, their clinical arrangement reminding me painfully of an orphanage.

“Hey, there you are,” Bishop says, leaning back on his heels, his eyes searching mine. “You alright?”

Am I? No. I don’t even know what triggered my episode this time, but here I am, disoriented yet somehow steady. Though my stomach feels tight, I muster up a nod. I’m alright—no idea where I am or what is even happening, but I’m okay, or at least I tell myself that.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Safe room,” he replies.

Everything rushes to me all at once. “Victoria.” I stand too fast, my head spinning as if I’m on a carousel, and I fall toward Bishop, who quickly catches me in his arms.

“Sit still, alright?” he instructs firmly but gently, setting me back on the bed. He scoots back, giving me space, or perhaps preparing to catch me again—I can’t tell which. “She’s okay,” he adds, reaching into his pocket to slowly remove and unlock his phone, which he hands over to me. “She’s waiting on your call.”

I blink at him, then focus on his phone. My brain feels like it’s short-circuiting under the strain. I concentrate on the messaging app, find Tori’s number, and call her.

“Frankie,” she answers immediately, and I sag with relief.

“Tori, you’re okay.”

“Yeah, are you alright? I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are.” She pauses, her voice anxious. “Where are you?”

“Safe room?” I sound it out like a question, still disoriented.

“On my way.” The call ends, and I hand the phone back to Bishop.

Licking my lips, I look around, feeling odd sitting in this huge room with just him. “Where is everyone else?” I ask, glancing at all the empty beds then back at him.

“Outside.”

“With that thing?” My voice pitches into a screech.

He nods slowly, his expression guarded, his usual look when he’s dealing with me. It’s careful and measured, like he’s treading on fragile ground.

“Just relax,” he says as he stands up and fluffs my pillow, a small, almost absurd gesture given the circumstances.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, watching him with surprise.

“Fluffing your pillow,” he answers simply.

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