Page 117 of Doesn't Count

“You’ve seen her?”

“Blonde hair, blue eyes, short? Yeah, I’ve seen her.”

Suddenly, this horrid feeling envelops me, stirring in my chest. A feeling like...

Hope.

“Ash.” I whisper. “Where is she? Is she okay? At least tell me she’s alive.”

“She’s alive. Scared, but alive.” She reassures me. “She’s staying in Martha’s old room.”

“What happened to-”

“Passed. Father sent Martha home a little earlier than we all expected.”

I nod. Another young girl sacrificed for a sadistic cause.

“I can’t stay long, I don’t want to get caught, but when I heard the rumors that you were back, I just had to see for myself.” She pushes to her feet.

Before she can leave me, I grab the hem of her dress. “Wait. May?”

“Hmm?”

“Any chance you can unlock these?” I hold my wrists up.

Fear flashes across her face draining every bit of color.

“You know I can’t.” Her voice wobbles and a tear slips down her cheek. “Ollie, you know you’re asking me to get myself killed right? You’re asking me to put my children in danger. I- I-”

“It’s fine. I get it. Your kids come first. They should. I’m sorry I asked.” Though that small sliver of hope I felt earlier crumbles at her words, I don’t blame her. “Can I just ask you one thing? Look out for Ash?”

“Of course.” She wipes her tears away, replacing them with a sad smile. “You know, I would give anything to have someone love me enough to walk back into this hell just to be there for me. You’re a good man, Ollie.”

“I’m a dead one, May.”

Her smile falters as she turns on her heels, looking back only once before disappearing up the stairs. She leaves me here with nothing but words I wish I believed.

Am I a good man?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ashton

My eyes fight to open, crusted shut with salty, dried tears. They feel swollen and achy like the rest of my body from being man handled too roughly. As my senses come flooding back one by one, so does the pain and dread.

My tongue feels like sandpaper, dry and heavy, following a desert trail past my throat. Sitting up on a broken mattress, the world around me starts to sway. My head pounds, pressure building behind my eyes and temples. With the vision of someone who’s had one too many drinks, I catch a door to my right.

Without much thought, I quickly jump from the bed, letting out a shocked yelp. My body slams back onto the mattress, bouncing with the force. It takes me a second to realize that I’m handcuffed to the bed frame.

Panic induced shivers course through me, forcing goosebumps to spread all over my skin. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise at the danger that’s becoming evident the longer I’m conscious. Despite the fear that dampens my skin,I’m cold, my arms bare. At some point while I was passed out, someone took it upon themselves to change my clothes. I’m now wearing a white, short-sleeved dress that reaches down to my ankles. The fabric is thin like something you would wear in the summer, not dead middle of winter.

I can’t stop my mind from wondering what else happened while I was unconscious, while I was undressed and didn’t even know it. Trying to distract myself, I force my brain to recall everything that’s happened up until this point.

Think. Think. Think.

But my mind is too distracted right now by the prospect of being trapped in this windowless room with nothing but me and the bed inside. The walls that might have once been white are now yellow and brown with water stains dripping down in every corner of the ceiling. In random spots along the carpet are black tar-ish patches against the green matted fibers that resemble burn marks.

It’s musty in here as if the lack of air flow trapped all the summer’s humidity and never let it go. I’m sure mold and mildew are making themselves right at home.

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