Page 27 of Irreversible

I survived forty-seven more seconds.

“Who else?” he demands. Then I hear his hands plant against the wall near my head, causing me to jump. “Who else has been in here?”

“A lot of people.”

“I need their names.”

“I don’t?—”

“Sara?” Emotion bleeds with fury, his voice sounding closer than ever. “Was there someone named Sara?”

I straighten against the wall, twisting toward the sterile sheet of white. My mind reels back in time. I think of the voices, the stories, the names, the cries and pleas.

Sara.

There was a Sara. A long time ago, maybe a few months after I’d been captured. She only lasted a couple of weeks.

God, he knew one of us? Is that why he’s here?

It could have been a different Sara. Part of me wonders if I should say no…

Would that make this more bearable for him? Or less? Does it even matter?

“Speak, dammit.” The command is a physical jab. “Sara Carlisle. Was she here?”

I rub my temples with my index fingers, breathing out a quivery breath. “There might have been a Sara. I’ve been here a long time. Two years.”

“What happened to her?” His voice drops to a desperate growl. Something thumps against the wall. His forehead, I’m guessing. “Where is she now?”

“People come and go. There’s not much I can tell you.”

“Dammit. You’ve got to knowsomething.”A slap jars the surface between us. “I’ll take anything. Just tell me?—”

“I don’t know. I never leave this room. I’m sorry.”

He throws another curse into the void, and the fury is still there, but it’s laced with a hopeless cadence that stirs my guilt.

“There are lots of women named Sara. It might not be?—”

“Fuck.”

“Nick—”

“Goddammit.” He slams a fist against the wall. “I told them. I fucking told them.”

I jolt again, scooting forward. Wheeling around on my butt, I face the barrier between us, imagining him on the other side of it. High school Nick had a baby face and golden-blond curls; I picture this man looking different. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul. He certainly doesn’t act like the others.

But his pain is the same.

Heartbreak, anger, confusion.

And so, my heart cracks a little, another painful divot cleaving through the organ, destined to leave a permanent scar. A tear tracks down my cheek as Nick unleashes a slew of smacks and punches, growling through his agony, his chain clanking against the tile floor.

I suppose he’s not so different, after all.

He breaks.

Just like they all do.

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