Page 48 of Dance with Death

Slip.

Slip.

Slip.

My body drifts.

I fight to keep my head above water.

I thrash with every ounce of strength I can muster, but the water remains still. It’s still and clear as my chin dips in. There’s a ripple across the surface as my hands finally fall free from the side and drop into the water. My lips go under.

Somehow I’m able to remember to take a deep breath, inhaling through my nose, as I dig deep to my final reserves. I fight the paralyzing drug for one last moment, one last breath before my nose slips beneath the surface.

Vigo reaches one hand out above the water and waves at me, a demented grin plastered to his face. Then my eyes fall under, welcoming a rush of soapy water that stings.

I’m under.

I’m under and I can’t move.

I’m under and I can’t breathe.

I’m under and I can’t fight, can’t save myself.

I can’t even close my eyes.

I have to watch above me as the distorted image of Vigo leans over the water, watching me with an amused expression.

Pull me out!

Pull me out!

Pull me out!

I’m helpless.

God.

Please.

Pull me out!

I know I can make it to twelve. Twelve counts of eight before I slip into unconsciousness. It’s all I can do—count. I can’t fight, I can’t scream. All I can do is drive myself mad with panic or force myself to focus and count, give my mind a task to take it from this madness.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

I internally scream out in relief as Vigo’s hands ripple the surface, slip beneath my head, and scoop me out of the water. My lungs scramble to take in air through my nose—I can’t even part my lips to gasp. He lets me go again and I slide under.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

He drops in a washcloth and presses it over my face, covering my eyes, my nose, my mouth.

Now I know why the other girls fought so hard to remain in their boxes in the basement. I know why the girl in my box had chosen her own death so easily. This isn’t a punishment for poor behavior. This is nothing more than torture for torture’s sake.

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