Page 117 of Evil Hearts

I was bathed yesterday. The women in charge came for me, scrubbed me raw, then instructed me to keep myself clean as they dumped me back in here. Considering the floor is dirt, the walls are stone, and the only thing I have to sit on is a hay-filledsack in the corner, that’s a pretty tall order. I’ve tried, though, because I don’t particularly want to have another layer of my skin rubbed raw because they have to bathe me again.

My morning meal was a little while ago. I’m not sure exactly how long, but I’m not starving yet, so it can’t be more than a few hours. Which means, whoever this is, isn’t here to provide me with anything to eat. Even if they were, they don’t open the door for that. Everything, including the bucket in the corner I was given to relieve myself in, passes through a small panel at the bottom of the door that can be opened from the other side.

If they aren’t here for any of the things they usually are, I’m at a loss for their purpose, and that in itself is rather terrifying.

Slowly, the heavy metal swings open, the bottom edge scraping along the floor with a dull thump, and muted screech. Light spills in momentarily, dim light from the lanterns outside my cell, but it’s quickly extinguished as a large body steps into the doorway.

My heart starts pounding in my chest as I press my back against the wall, my hands shaking, my stomach tightening as the body steps inside with an obvious lantern in one hand, a brown sack in the other, and as soon as he’s all the way in, the door slams shut behind him.

Desperately trying to see, my eyes widen but I’m still only able to make out a large shadow moving slowly, setting the sack down, and busying himself with the contents. I can hear clanking of hard objects, brushing of fabric, and then…

She still fears me.

I frown as those words fill my cell, the voice deep and soft, and almost familiar.

“Did…” I say hoarsely, moving along the wall until I’m under the tiny window, hoping the moonlight will help me see my visitor more clearly. “Did you say something?”

A match strikes, the flame casting an orange hue against the wall, one that grows as the candle is lit, and my stomach rolls at what I see.

Scratch marks.

There are bloody scratch marks all along the wall, reaching out toward the floor and ceiling. I can even see a few fingernails stuck in a few places.

That’s reassuring.

I knew I wasn’t the only one to live here, solely based on the various scents that are engrained in the floor, and the mattress, but seeing something like that is horrifying.

A loud clank pulls me from my thoughts and my eyes shift toward it, the lantern now sitting on top of a small stool, the looming shadow stretching to his full height and when the light grows, I can’t quiet my gasp.

It’s him.

The huge bull-man, the one who was at the Hughes’s house the day they were killed.

I wish she didn’t fear me.

I know I heard that, those words were as clear as day, but I didn’t see his mouth move. Granted, he isn’t facing me, but I can tell his mouth didn’t move from his profile in the dim light. This half bull, half man is speaking, though, no one can tell me he’s not.

Calming myself because I believe the words he isn’t exactly saying, I clutch my stomach and take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He turns toward me, those dark brown eyes glimmering under long lashes as he snorts.

“I’m not. I know you aren’t going to hurt me.” I twist the tattered pieces of my dress in my hands and take a step toward him. “What’s your name?”

Another snort, a quiet bellow, and then I hear,It has been ages since anyone has cared to know my name, and I cannot speak to tell it to her.

“I can hear you,” I say as I take another step. “I have no idea how, or why, but I can hear you.”

The terrifying truth in that should have me questioning life as I know it, but I’m standing in a prison cell across from a man who shares multiple features with a bull, a month after I witnessed some kind of creature murder my employers. Nothing is impossible at this point, and the sooner I can accept that, the sooner I might be able to get out of here.

Amos.He cocks his head to the side, almost as if he doesn’t believe me, then repeats,My name is Amos.

I nod and give him the best smile I can muster. “Amos. I like that.”

His brow furrows.You do hear me.

“I do.”

What is your name?

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