Page 29 of Tortured Eyes
Twelve
He’s been gone for a while. The door shutting behind him was like a warning shot going off in my head. I chased after him and met the wood of the door with my body, hoping to slam it open, but he was stronger and easily shut the exit on me, and now it’s locked. For the next hour, I went over every inch of the room. No secret passageway, no other doors, no windows I could either access or break open.
The place is a fucking cell.
At least there's a small bathroom in here, but realistically the make-shift bed is the only comfort in the room, and with it comes the reminder of what he wanted the first time we met. The attraction I felt for him, the instant connection still sizzles under my skin, but it’s almost closer to an obsession when I look back on it now. An obsession because I saw a way out of the never-ending questions I’ve been faced with by my father's cases.
And now I’m in deep with no way out and nobody looking for me. Not for forty-eight hours or so at least. Who would miss me? Maybe Jimmy might get concerned, missing his usual sparring session, but who’d he raise the alarm with?
Stupid Bryce.
My thoughts betray me, swinging back and forth between despair and hope like a pendulum. That’s not what my training gave me, not what I’ve worked for. I’m strong enough to get out of this alive. Whatever it takes, I have to get out of this alive, but the question is, how much of myself will I have to give up to achieve that?
It's the waiting—the not knowing—that burrows away inside my brain and plants fear. Logan's like a wounded animal right now; he showed that the last time he was in here. One minute he was a stoic shadow in the room, and the next he was ready to put a bullet in my brain. It won’t be that simple, though. I know that for sure. No Cane will allow this to go unanswered.
My whole body jolts to life at the sound of the lock.
Logan’s back.
The speed at which my heart takes off to racing catches my breath, and adrenalin burns in my veins. But nothing happens. Logan doesn’t come through the door and silence wars with the blood rushing in my ears.
More waiting, but I can’t just sit and wait for whatever is coming for me. My feet inch across the carpet to the door. I wrap my fingers around the handle, half expecting it to be all in my head, but as I press down, it moves and opens the door. It swings wide, and I can see out into the main living space of the apartment. Again, I wait for Logan, but there’s nothing. I can’t see past the entrance or the door. This isn’t right. This is a trap, surely? But what other chances will I have?
Another second, another ten, and then I thrust all of my weight forward and sprint out of the room. My mistake hits me straight in the neck—an arm blocking my path and stopping me dead. The impact knocks me flat on my back, and the lights dim and twinkle around me as I struggle to keep focused. Another blow smashes into my cheek, making sure that I’m stunned and unable to keep my head up. My head throbs with spasms of pain, the darkness creeping in around my vision.
I lift my head, determined to see what Logan has planned for me, but I see two figures, or am I just seeing double? Another blow, the pain flaring over my face, and the darkness is too enticing.
* * *
Icy shock brings me around, and I’m ripped from the peace of my own mind. Water drips from my face and soaks through my shirt, chilling my skin and bringing my attention front and centre. I lift my hand to dowse the water away, but I can’t move. I can’t see either. My eyes fight to open as my eyelashes get caught on a scratchy material. A veil of black, that’s all I can see. I pull my hands closer, desperate to let some light in, but I can’t. They chafe at the wrists.
All of my senses are on high alert now, and I shift in my seat, listening for anything that will help. Breathing. A slow and rhythmic sound that grows louder the harder I listen.
“Who’s there?” I ask into the room, hoping I’m still in the same place. At least I can imagine where I am. My head turns around to follow the sound of footsteps, or what I think is the sound of movement. It’s so quiet, my heartbeat and breathing dwarf any other sound I think I’m hearing. As I listen, my hands work at feeling out what has me restrained. The bite of plastic cable ties cut harder into my wrists the more I move, but I can also feel a coarse rope connecting my wrists to my waist, stopping me from having free movement of my arms.
As I adjust to my surroundings, thinking each of them through in turn, I try to move my feet, half expecting them to be bound as well. They're free, surprisingly, and my boots have been taken off. I press my feet onto the cold floor and push myself up from the chair, suddenly understanding that I’m somewhere new because of the different floor. My balance is off, and I feel myself listing to the left, but I right myself with a wide step and then freeze.
“Logan?” I ask into the darkness again.
A shiver runs over my body as a faint draft whispers past me. And then it hits me. A jab to my shoulder sending me one way, followed by a jolt, like I’ve run into someone, tilting me back. I stumble about like a rag doll, fighting with my impaired balance and trying to bring my hands up to defend myself, but it’s useless. I manage a sort of crossed-arms stance, but it does nothing to protect me.
Another hit to my back and then to my thigh. They get harder and heavier with every knock. To my chest, my arms, my back. I can’t predict where they’re coming from and can’t defend against them. I’m a standing target, bouncing between blows in the darkness. It feels like I’m surrounded. Every part of my body starts to ache. They aren’t powerful blows. Jimmy hits harder than this when we spar, but they put me off balance, not being able to see where they are coming from.
I topple over and thud to the ground on my side, disorientated from the knocks sending me one way and then the other.I hear footsteps beside me, and I instinctively curl in on myself, protecting my stomach and face from the boot I’m sure will follow.
“Stop!” I croak, desperate to claw some breath back into my lungs as I realise I’m exhausted from being the centre of this cat and mouse game.
Nothing.
Part of me is grateful for the respite, but I know this isn’t over. It’s just time for my body to grow used to the dull ache that’s awakening over me. Coupled with the deeper sense of despair that's beginning to take over.
I imagine all of the times I kicked the shit out of Jimmy and all the kicks and punches I’d landed, building my strength and power so that I’d never be in this position. With all of his added weight and height, he always had the advantage, but I was still a match for him. I should be a match for these fuckers.
With my head running over patterns of attack, I roll over onto my knees and wait for sounds of movement. If this is how they want to play, bring it.
I lean to my elbow and sweep my leg around in a fast arc, hoping to make contact or knock whoever's with me down. My calf connects, and I hear the stumble giving me a direction. I get to my feet and use my arms as best I can to feel in front of me until I find my target and grab hold. With him in my grasp, I have something to aim for and use my knee to deliver my own attack, landing several hits to muscle and bone.
Up close and personal, we begin to grapple, clawing at each other, trying to get a smack or hit in to each other. His advantage is my lack of sight, but this close, it’s lost, and I can feel where I need to aim. But it doesn’t last. He sends me off balance, and I land on my back, knocking the wind from me again.
