Page 85 of Irreversible

And then there’s Everly…

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to bring it up when I already know the answer. “That guitar pick you have over there. It’s blue, right? Sparkly?”

“Yeah.”

I picture Everly cradling it in her hands like it’s something priceless. Her favorite memento. One I bought myself, years ago. It was special. Sara even gave it a name.

Jewel.

“It’s hers.”

My sidekick.

“I know.”

“Take care of it for her, okay?

Her answer is no more than a whisper.

“Always.”

19

Six days.

Six days of failure after failure.

Roger has delivered my meals—morning, noon, and night—and I’ve done everything in my power to get that bracelet on him. Batted lashes, coy smiles, flirtatious words. A faux yearning for conversation and company.

Nothing’s worked.

My only chance of getting out of here has been a wall more impenetrable than the four walls closing in on me.

I swear they’re shrinking.

Or maybe that’s just hope.

My stomach tightens with a sharp pain as I lay on my mattress, curled up in a shivery ball. Over the past few days, my health has declined. I’m not sure what’s going on, but this morning I woke up with a fever that feels like red-hot lava bubbling beneath my skin.

Pulling the blanket up over my swollen belly, all the way to my chin, I moan when another wave of searing pain contracts in my abdomen.

Isaac’s voice is a whirr of muddled noise beside me. “…and then his head will be on my breakfast plate.”

I blink slowly. “What?”

“The ogre. Decapitation is inevitable.”

“That sounds…nice.” My eyelids close like curtains, drawing over the stage of my foggy eyes. “I don’t want breakfast. I’m not hungry.”

He pauses. “You good over there?”

“Pancakes are good.”

“What now?”

When I reopen my eyes, happy-faced pancakes are dancing above my head, drizzled in syrup and melted butter. Warm goo drips into my eyes.

Luckily, I have enough cognitive sense to realize I’m losing my damn mind.

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