Page 66 of Anorthic Anarchy

Center city burns…and hopefully the sewers as well.

Everything must go in my wake.

At the first fuel station, I run into a pump directly and do the same. Then, the same on the South Side. And then the East.

Nowhere is safe from the burning smell of sulfur and petrol. It’s heavy, despite the mask covering my face.

But fire is just to flush snakesout.

By the time I make it to House Strauss and climb the elevated drive to the castle, Gnarled Pine Hollow burns. When I step out of the Hummer and toss the mask off my face, I behold the spectacular show beneath me. But it’s not enough…

All I can think of iswherethey’ve taken my little girl. And my baby.

A sob threatens to surface as I run my hands through my hair and tug on the ends. Pacing back and forth on the cliff’s edge, I scan the chaos beneath me. Anarchy ascends from the ashes. And I feel nothing but utter devastation in my soul.

Astrid asked mewhyI was doing this, and as the minutes pass, and I have no further ideas on where to find her. I know.

It’s no longer for revenge.

This is for my angel.

My savior.

My love who carries our love.

Chapter 26

Astrid

The darkness holds no tears for me now.

Locked up for several hours in a small room, I calculate my odds of getting out of here alive. With all my body parts intact. Mainly, I’m concerned for my child. But the darkness?

I welcome it.

Sliding to the floor, I place my back against the drywall andthink. Every moment of my capture and imprisonment floods my mind.

I haven’t left Gnarled Pine Hollow. It was only about one mile from home that the van turned right and headed due north. We hit a dirt trail of some sort, which wound around a few times before coming to a sudden stop.

The blindfold they kept over my eyes allowed me to see at least sets of feet and light. Three men took me. One grasped my shoulders and shoved me off the back of the vehicle, while another caught me in his arms. My hands are tied behind my back, even now, with a stiff rope that my fingers work slowly to unbind.

Cement steps. Hardwood floors. Polished. New. A Persian rug. Plush, so likely expensive. A bullnose threshold to wooden steps. Carried down fourteen, then right and another… Then, the room.

Linoleum flooring. Drywall. And no light. Nor sound.

“Echo!”

My voice bounces against the three walls nearest me, but is absorbed by the one in front. Standing, I slide my shoulders along the surfaces and measure out the distance. An eight-by-ten box. Some type of spongy material pads the front wall. A solid wood door, the back of which is also covered.

Nothing else in the room.

This must mean they are holding me to wait… But for what?

Orwhom…

More hours pass, and I use the corner to take a piss. At least my thumbs can dig into the back of my panties and pull them down. Drip drying is no fun. This is no House Strauss cell.

The acrid odor of my urine means I’m dehydrated already.

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