Page 51 of Irreversible

“Nothing appealing will come from acting rebellious,” my captor drawls, a picture of contentment as he effortlessly schleps me through the threshold by the roots of my hair. His pitch rises an octave, his words carrying over to Nick through the wall. “Let this be your lesson in practicing good behavior, my friend.”

The door swings shut behind me, and I’m in a hallway.

My objective brain clicks on as I push the terror aside, canting my head in every direction, drinking in the sights and sounds. I only have seconds, moments. If I manage to break free, I can describe my surroundings and get help for the others.

Stay calm, Everly.

I’ve never seen the outside of my room before. Every other time, I’d been drugged, a broken doll being transported away like a bag of trash on garbage day.

Dampness coats my cheeks with sweat and tears. I loosen my muscles, feigning obedience, as my kidnapper breezily sweeps me down a long corridor. It’s well-lit, pristine. The scent of lemon cleaning product wafts under my nose as I gaze at the barren walls: two doors, a large gap between them, another two doors. Several voices wail with mourning like lonely ghosts unable to cross over. A chain clashes. My skin prickles with goosebumps and bone-deep dread.

Victims.

People.

People with stories and dreams, subjected to this horrific fate. I stay quiet, only letting out a squeak when my feet stumble over themselves and I almost face-plant. The Timekeeper hardlyflinches, lifting me back to wobbly legs while I try to remain balanced.

“Where are you taking me?” I demand, though I know he won’t tell me. He gets off on my fear.

“That would spoil the fun, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Did you call him Isaac?”

Unbothered, he keeps going, pulling me forward. “Did I? There are a lot of things you don’t know about your new sidekick,” he says. “Maybe you’ll find out…maybe you won’t.”

“What are your plans for him?” I grunt and resist, my bare feet sliding every which way. “Why is he here?”

“You’re a curious thing.” He clicks his tongue as we veer around a corner, the hallway an exact replica of the one we were just in. “Your concern is touching. Truly.”

We reach the end of the hall, topped off with a steel door. My insides pitch with apprehension. Fear. “Please, you don’t need to do this.”

“Presumptuous of you to assume you understand my needs.” He opens the door with a keycard, then roughly hauls me through it. “I’d say a time-out is in order.”

Stairs.

Darkness.

I trip on the first step, simultaneously trying to rotate from his grasp. In one fluid motion, he picks me up like I’m a sack of flour and plants me atop his shoulder.

I flash back to that night.

Bouncing on a madman’s back as I’m carried from my beautiful home.

Drugs coursing through my bloodstream.

Jasper, sprawled out in the middle of our foyer, drowning in a pool of his own mortality.

I start fighting. Claws out, feet thrashing, teeth bared. “You bastard. Youmonster. Let me go. Let mego!”

He ignores me as easily as he trots me through the chasm of darkness, my hair tumbling in front of my face, blotting out any possibility of sight. I can’t visualize anything as I rake my nails up and down his back, hardly penetrating the lavish satin fabric. It smells dank, musty, and old. A basement, likely skittering with hungry rats and roaches. Tears burst from my eyes in a geyser of terror, and my screams morph into panicked cries. “No, no, please…” It’s a wail, a begging plea for mercy. “Don’t kill me. I’m not ready to die. Please…please.”

He sighs with boredom as we turn a corner, the sound of his shiny shoes scuffing against the cement echoing through me. “So dramatic. It grates me.”

I wonder how I’ll go.

I’ve imagined every scenario—from gruesome, to quick and painless. A hacksaw to my jugular. A needle in my arm. A bullet through my forehead.

Starvation.

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