Page 43 of The Trap

Colson squeezes my hand and immediately I lean into how good it feels. I don’t know why I do this. I always fight the things that feel nice, the things that make me feel a momentaryblip of joy. It’s like my cynical nature is so used to helping keep me safe—and in most cases, alive—it doesn’t allow me even a fucking second to experience what it’s like to not have to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. Right then, I make the decision to stop fighting it. I let him curl his calloused palm over my hand and squeeze it tight as we step closer to the open door. The metallic scent of death plagues our every sense, and I realize he’s probably just as afraid as I am. And just like me, he’s too stubborn to show it.

He leads the way into whatever is on the other side, the speaker going on about how we should be proud of ourselves for making it this far and that Round Three, the truth round, is the most difficult of them all. I hear it, but I choose to instead focus on the comforting effect that holding Colson’s large palm has on me.

“Together, Raiden, that’s how we’re getting out of here.”His words linger in my mind. I fucking hope he’s right. Worst case scenario, we’ll leave together with a one-way ticket to hell.

NINETEEN

My breath catches, burning past my stagnant lungs, working a violent rush of anxiety to the very fucking marrow of my bones. I may not be familiar with death like Raiden is–working and being related to Moretti, I can only imagine the amount of carnage she’s seen–but how it smells, and how it lingers and stains your memories,thatI’m very familiar with. After all, it was my hands that held my mother’s corpse after my father claimed she overdosed.

Everywhere we walk over is marred with blood. It sticks beneath our feet and with each step, the aroma ripens.The closer we move our connected stride, the more that pungent iron smell overpowers my nostrils, as my father’s words replay in the back of my mind like a vinyl stuck on repeat.“She was a selfish woman, Colson. The sooner you accept that, the less you’ll waste your time missing someone who didn’t want you. She didn’t want us.”His emotionless tone assaults my memory, bringing me back to what was the worst day of my life. When he said she overdosed, leaving us “selfishly” as he put it.

Except, an overdose doesn’t result in bruises around the neck, and it doesn’t leave blood stains like she had on hernightgown. There was so much blood it made my stomach bunch into sickening knots while a wave of numbness rolled over my mind, pulling me from the reality that my mother died. I never believed dad’s story but if I fought it, if I pursued it, I knew he’d kill me too. Money and power afforded my dad a shield that made him exempt from the law. Granted, the white-collar shit eventually got him, but I know the blood that has stained his hands even if no one, not even the cops would listen or believe me. And sometimes I wonder if I was just a coward, unwilling to make that sacrifice, because life as a Cromwell hasn’t been easy for me, maybe I would’ve been better off dead. Then maybe I could see my mom again, although if I were dead, my path would’ve never crossed Raiden’s.

“Round Three,” the voice announces, its cryptic and machine-like tone dripping from the speaker on the ceiling. Our hands still intertwined, I feel Raiden tug at my arm, forcing my attention to her just as the door we walked through slams shut. Trapping us in.

“Look,” she whispers, her neck tilted up, pointing in the direction of the transparent ceiling. I squint, trying to make out what exactly is above us. There are candles dripping wax onto the floor, obscuring the view, but the more I squint and focus, the more I can see flesh. Lots of bare, moving flesh. Body parts thrashing and writhing against each other. Moans break through the translucent barrier, highlighting the chaotic orgy that is happening on top of where we are being fucking tortured.

“What the fuck?” I mutter. The moment the words spill out of my mouth, steel rolls over the glass, locking us in deeper into the claustrophobic and narrow passageway we’re now standing in.

Raiden peels her hand from mine, cupping both palms to her mouth as she begins to shout, “Help! Someone fucking help us!”

Her pleas for help are useless–they only make the sick fuck who hides behind that mechanical voice laugh.

“The fuck is so funny, huh?” I shout.

“You,” the voice deadpans. “Well, both of you. I did you a favor by bringing you here tonight. Not only did you finally get to experience what you’ve been fantasizing about since Ms. Ramos, or no, excuse me,Sally, walked into your life….it was Sally, wasn’t it?” the speaker asks, pausing as if either of us care to answer.

“Forgive me for asking. I mean, there’s just so much misinformation, it’s hard for me to keep up. As I was saying, I did you a favor. You had your fun with Ms. Ramos.Iprovided you the atmosphere to live out your wildest fantasies. And now that you’re here, even if it was always meant to end in bloodshed, you will learn the truth, if nothing else.”

A bright light flashes, shining on a door at the end of the narrow hall. It’s made of steel, with what appear to be four evenly spaced panels in the center, but the closer we inch towards it, I see they aren’t panels at all, but boxes.

“Get to it, the door isn’t going to open itself,” the voice commands.

Something snags at my boot as I go to take a step forward. It’s sticky, but that’s not what’s holding me back. It’s not sticky enough to halt my steps, it’s soft. I peer down at my foot, seeing that it's the squiggly shapes of a torn intestine. Bile rises to my throat, threatening my mouth. This is fucking sick. Whoever is doing this is fucking sick.

I swallow hard. I allow the burn to trickle down my throat, expecting the unsavory flavor to turn my stomach, but something else happens instead. I’m surprised by a surge of adrenaline in place of what should be panic. It doesn’t make sense, but I use it, tapping into it like it’s a sick, twisted gift. And maybe it is, because whatever is on the other side of that door is going to require everything Raiden and I have to get the fuck out of here.

Our steps stop just a few inches from the door. That unpleasant smell is ripe, so fucking strong that Raiden is plugging her nose.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs.

“You know, you two really look so cute together,” the speaker announces, ignoring to the fact that we’re standing amongst fucking blood and guts.

Even though it was said with the intention to be sarcastic and heartless it draws a smile to my face–an uncontrollable, shit-eating grin, actually.

“No fucking shit,” Raiden says matter-of-factly as she motions her hand for them to continue. “Anyone with eyes can see that, but I’d look even cuter with your motherfucking blood all over me when I fucking kill you!” She clamps her fist, ready to strike the door.

Faintly aware that she’s about to slam her fist and likely break it if she punches the steel, I go to stop her, replaying what she just said.

“Wait!” I yelp, lunging at her, snatching her fist in my hand.

Pissed that I stopped her, she whips her head around to look at me with those sultry heated eyes of hers. “Yes?

Clearing my throat, I try to stifle the grin that wants to beam through my face. “Um,” is all I can manage, my own stupidity of getting hung up on the fact that she agreed that we look cute together robbing me of the ability to form a coherent sentence.

Her eyes widen, head bobbing forward. Goddamn it, she looks so hot when she’s pissed. Which is all the time. But who am I kidding, she looks hot, sexy, fuckingbeautifulall the time. It’s unreal.

“Yes, Colson?” she repeats, this time with my name, which feels like an arrow to my heart every time it falls from her lips.

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