Page 7 of Claiming Sarah

Buzzing teases my ears. I swat at nothing, knowing it’s in my head. Dr. Moore’s ghost taunts me, but his death was not in vain. The good doctor helped me obtain paralytics, which I used to coat the door handle of Dr. Bell’s car and the leather of her driver’s seat.

My eyes scan the parking lot. I won’t let another predator swoop up my raven. No, she’s coming with me.

The buzzing grows louder and I turn, catching sight of Sarah Bell slumping down in her seat through the glass of her front windshield.

It’s time to fly home, little raven.

“She’s awake. Look how pretty.”

“Taste.”

“Take.”

I watch Dr. Bell squirming like a rat in a cage. Double-sided glass provides me with the perfect view of my raven, hands tugging uselessly at her restraints. She will be here a while. She should get comfortable.

“Never let her go.”

My fingers press two buttons. One changes the pitch of my voice, and the other turns on the mic and two-way speakers.

“Good evening, Dr. Bell. Please get comfortable. I’m afraid your stay will be a long one.” End. Her mouth opens, no doubt letting loose a hair-raising scream. She’s feisty, but she’ll break. And when she does, I will crack open her insides and take a peek at her secrets.

“Break. Break. Break.”

She knows my brothers, the Lasher twins. Xavier remains an escaped fugitive, supposedly on the run with Dr. Bell’s daughter. But where is he? How can I get close to the other one, Zaine?

“You’ll never get close to them.”

Sarah Bell holds the answer to these questions and until she breaks, spilling her guts, she will remain my guest. A glance at my watch reveals time crept past noon. Lunchtime.

“You’ll fail.”

Growling at the voices, my scars itch. I can’t argue with ghosts. I need to feed my guest. My lips stretch into a grin, the scars on the corners itching with irritation.It’s time to eat, Sarah.

SARAH

Blood rushes through my veins, and my blood pressure rises. Tears burn my eyes, but I won’t give the fucker the pleasure of seeing me cry. Three-point restraints keep me pinned, one for each ankle and one on my left wrist, attached to a steel bar running the length of the wall. Fluorescent lights overhead wink intermittently, bringing to mind the articles I read about sun therapy in Alaska.

Large, square tiles cool my overheated flesh through my clothing, the black scrubs I wore to work before everything went dark. A stranger approached me in the parking lot, and then... I don’t remember, trying in vain to pillage my memories, letting out a frustrated scream when I come up empty.

“I hope your dick rots off!” I yell into the four-by-four room. It reminds me of a deconstructed men’s bathroom, all the stalls removed, a lone urinal glaring at me from the opposite wall. The steel bar tethering me and the urinal act as the only decorations in the room.

A rusted metal green door serves as my only symbol of escape. Cameras wink in each corner of the ceiling and spanning the length of the wall on my left, rests an onyx mirror, no doubt another form of surveillance. My free hand lifts to give him the middle finger.

I won’t go down easy, mentally filtering through pressure points I can hit, major arteries begging for puncturing, and of course, if I can get enough height with the ankle restraints to kick him straight in the balls.

My head thunks against the wall behind me, minutes ticking into who the fuck knows. First, my daughter getstaken by that animal, and now this. Either Z or Xavier is behind this. And if it’s Xavier, that fucker will rue the day he touched Lauren when I get free.

If, whispers a voice in the back of my mind, flashing statistics.Fuck that. It’s too early to give up. All I can do is wait. I’m ready to meet the devil. And I’m betting he has blue eyes.

6

FOOD

ZAIDEN

“Feed. Feed. Feed”

A wet sloshing sound disturbs the quiet, wiggling worms sliding from my palms. I catch what I can, dropping them into the blender of milk, protein powder, yogurt, and crushed Ativan. Bringing a dirt covered finger to my lip, I debate additional ingredients. Shrugging my shoulders, I internally say “fuck it”, turning away from Dr. Bell’s dinner, ignoring the shadows dancing on the walls in the shape of worms..

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