Page 17 of The Awakening

Fuck, what’ve I gotten myself into?

November 15, 2021

I have a strange suspicion that someone within the organization is behind setting up the job to kidnap Sloan, but I have yet to find proof that this is factual. I’ve been racking my brain trying to determine how anyone else would be able to infiltrate our highly protected system and successfully set up the job for her. The only logical explanation would be someone who has experience in the network—a past employee or a present one. We’ve already visited Arno and his goons, and this proved to be a waste. Although his presence at Stone Fortress is suspicious on its own, and I will figure out why he was there. For right now he is no longer a person of interest in finding Sloan’s hunters. I feel like the weeks have gone by and I have gotten no closer to finding out anything.

As I follow Stefan down the long hallway, a feeling of dread starts pooling in my stomach.

I can do this.

You can do this, Sloan.

I’m strong.

I’m in control.

I can feel Arno’s presence behind me as his heavy boots echo through the hallway. As Stefan reaches for the door, I turn around to face Arno. He’s already stopped walking and the expression on his face is unreadable. His hands are in his jean pockets and his eyes flick from my face to whoever is behind me. I assume it’s Stefan, since he was the only other one in the hallway.

“Remember, little one, this is going to be the worst of them all. Stay focused, stay composed, and don’t fuck up. I’ll see you on the other side.” Before I can respond to him, a sharp prick digs into the back of my neck. My legs are the first to go numb. They buckle beneath me, and the last image I see is Arno lunging for me. He cradles my limp neck before I crash to the ground and, as I stare up at his face, he gives me a wink before everything fades to black.

Shouting, loud and deep, fills my ears before I’m able to see anything. Shouts and rushed voices fill the cold, damp air around me as I peel my eyes open. Blinking what feels like a hundred times to try to quickly regain my focus. Finally, as my eyes adjust, I see the beautiful shape of the moon above me. I’m lying in a grass field, the grass cold and wet beneath me. I sit up in a rush trying to familiarize myself with where exactly I’m at. Distant yells and shouting still invade my ears when the image of a jet has me swallowing hard.

As I try to comprehend what memory I’ve just been thrown into, I see the silhouettes of five, maybe six men running into the clearing from the cover of the forest. Squinting my eyes, I can see Arno carrying someone, another set of guys running in front of him also carrying limp bodies thrown over their shoulders. It hits me like a jab to the gut by Mike Tyson himself.

Colson’s death.

The stinging in my eyes comes without warning. I can’t stop the burning behind my eyes and the grip on my heart as the pain starts flooding my chest cavity. Fuck, I can’t watch this again. I can’t go through this moment. Not this one. Any other memories, please. The time my father beat me so badly I was sent to the hospital, the time my mother drugged my food paralyzing me the entire night, the time my father held me under the sink until I passed out. Why this one?

Standing from where I was lying, I run as fast as I can to the jet, just as Arno disappears through the latched door. There’s blood, a lot of blood, leading from the stairs and towards the rear of the plane where I spot Arno leaning over who I know is Colson. I hesitate a moment, not wanting to feel this pain again. In a moment, I feel a rush of fog swirling in my core from my gut to my chest. The familiar feeling of my emotions trying to protect me by blocking the connection from my heart to my brain. I allow it to fill me, but not entirely. I can’t give in fully; I need to remain in control.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I calm the battle inside. Taking a deep breath and focusing on anything other than this moment.

Focus, Sloan.

Don’t lose control.

I snap my eyes open when the sound of a familiar voice fills my head.

“I’ll meet you in the pool, baby girl.” Colson’s voice is fading, his whispered words grabbing my heart and ripping it from my chest. As I make my way to the back of the plane, I see Everett and Dean bleeding profusely from their wounds as the guys work fast to stop their bleeding. Both of them are badly beaten, and I hadn’t noticed the extent of their wounds the last time I was on this plane. I was so focused on losing Colson; I didn’t stop to see.

Everett’s face is discolored, swollen, even if he was conscious at this moment, I doubt he would be able to open his eyes. Dean is lying on his stomach, the whip marks so long, so deep, and so many of them are covering every inch of his back. I can no longer identify his tattoos that once covered his skin. The threat of bile rising from my stomach has me stopping in my tracks once again.

I can do this.

This has already happened and both Everett and Dean are safe now.

The fog that was swirling in my chest has become more dense and almost impossible to cut through as the inevitable image of Colson is looming ahead. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to relive this. I open my eyes and land on Arno. His eyebrows are furrowed together, and his dark eyes are on me, not an ounce of sorrow or sympathy in his gaze. It’s as if he is trying to say something without actually saying it. I study his face for a moment. Trying to decipher his expression, I take a step closer to him, but the faint sound of a whisper has me stopping in my tracks.

You’ve already lived this.

I’m still looking at Arno and his lips aren’t moving, and when I turn around to scan the airplane nobody is looking at me or even speaking. The guys are still being bandaged up, and the attention of the others is solely focused on Everett and Dean. Who said that?

Arno’s brows pinch harder together as I take another step closer. I peer down over Arno’s shoulder and if my heart could break all over again, the look of Colson’s lifeless body just did it. His skin is so ashen gray, his eyes are shut as if he’s sleeping, and the blood—there’s so much blood.

You know when you’re in a dream and you finally realize everything around you isn’t real, so you close your eyes super tight, and when you open them again you’re back in your bed safe and away from the horrors of your subconscious? Even when I close my eyes and reopen them, I’m still standing in the same spot. My legs tremble as my eyes are fixated on his beaten and bloodied body. My eyes are swelling with tears, my head is pounding with all the chaos around me, my chest is heaving, and suddenly I hear him again.

Focus on me.

I’m still staring down at Colson, who is not moving, not talking, not breathing, but I know it’s him talking in my head. I know he is here, and I’ll be damned if I fail this and never get the chance to avenge him.

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