Page 19 of Splitting Secrets
Sonny
Having company in the cells doesn’t make the time go by any faster, nor does it make anything more pleasant. On top of my loosening grip on reality, I’m plagued with nearly incapacitating guilt that I’m the reason the others are here.
Had I hidden those journals better, they would be finishing their finals and heading home with their families to enjoy their winter break. Matilda might be tinkering around in her shop. Poppy would be okay.
Instead, they’re stuck here, rotting underground with me.
My clothes hang off my body like filthy rags that provide next to nothing in the way of protection from the frigid air. I’ve nearly lost feeling in all my fingers and toes due to the freezing temperatures of these caverns. The knots in my hair have become so tangled, I’m afraid that if I ever do make it out, I’ll have to cut them all off.
Finley wasn’t exaggerating when he said I looked horrible. Speaking of my traitorous great-great-great-something-grandfather, he hasn’t come back since the others arrived. To my complete and utter disappointment. I’d love to lay into him for landing me here.
Hunger has become the easiest feeling to ignore. It’s the constant thirst burning in the back of my throat that has me losing my mind. Taking the scraps of food and meager cups of water left for me on the floor of my cell like some caged animal is almost worse than simply allowing myself to starve. It gives my body enough sustenance to leave starvation mode without the guarantee that I’ll be thrown back into it within hours.
We talk to pass the time, eventually running out of surface-level banter and diving straight into the deep end of our thoughts. We bicker and cry and laugh together. I’m learning things about them that I don’t think they ever intended anyone to know. I’m sharing secrets I thought I’d take to the grave.
The tension with Matilda has quickly dissipated. There’s nothing any of us can do to change the past, and holding onto anger and resentment only isolates us even more. We need moral support more than an ego boost.
None of it matters when every minute feels borrowed. None of us has any clue when our captors will come for us, or what will happen when they do.
Matilda thinks their lack of action is a positive sign.
“The Syndicate has no problem sending their viper after those who cross them. This time of hesitancy signifies your importance to them.”
Their viper. She’s mentioned the name before when referring to Raze. Though, her tone is always much harsher than when she refers to him by his real name. It’s as if she sees him as two separate people.
The Viper is the man she fears will come down here and slaughter us. Raze is the man she wholeheartedly believes will come to our rescue.
Perhaps that’s how she keeps him on such a high pedestal—by humanizing the monster. But I refuse to fall for such mind games. They’re the same person, capable of the same atrocities. Neither side of him can be trusted.
“What is it about Sonny’s family that has them so scared?” Beatrix wonders.
Thankfully, they’ve taken to calling me by my real name. In fact, none of us have muttered Poppy’s name since that first day they were brought down here.
It’s one tumultuous train of thought I absolutely refuse to go down, no matter how desolate this all feels.
“She’s a Landry descendant. Who knows what she stands to gain if the truth were to come out about what happened?” Jonah replies.
“That was over a century ago. I doubt there’s much she’s entitled to anymore.” Beatrix pauses, then adds a noncommittal, “Sorry, Sonny.”
“There’s more to it than correcting the history books or paying out what is owed. Sonny’s existence threatens the very foundation from which they operate their phony little cult,” Matilda explains in a dull, lifeless tone that doesn’t match the magnitude of her words.
“How is that?” I prod without bothering to hide the desperation in my voice.
I need to know what it is that has caused all of us to be sent down into these depths of hell, because reading a few journals doesn’t seem to fit the punishment.
“I won’t do the explanation any justice,” she dismisses.
“Well, you’re the only person who can give it right now,” I argue back, flexing my hands into fists.
“Matilda, how long are you going to play this game? We’re as good as dead down here,” Jonah says. He’s never backed down from an opportunity to give her a hard time, even without truce.
“It’s not a game,” Matilda says through a sigh, as if she’s irritated to even speak with us about it.
She must reserve all her impatience for this specific subject, always dismissing it with half promises that we’ll get answers whenever we get out of here. Each passing day proves that it’s all an excuse, and maybe she isn’t privy to all the knowledge she claims to be.
When I stand from my makeshift bed to talk directly through the opening of my door, I notice two beams of light bouncing off the stone walls of the corridor. We all go silent, listening to the uneven, shuffling footsteps closely to get a count of how many people are coming our way.
I’m guessing two.
