Page 29 of Dance with Death

She looks at me, her dark eyes catching mine. She speaks in perfect English and her accent is undeniably American which, of course, reminds me of Ezra.

“If you’re smart, you’ll do the same,” she says to me, then turns her eyes to Vigo. “I’ll finally be free of you.”

A certain and oddly peaceful grin spreads across her cheeks. It’s a look that will haunt my dreams for years to come.

She lifts the knife, sets the edge of the blade against her throat, and slices herself open with composed determination.

I scream.

I scream as blood rushes from her gaping throat.

I scream as she falls to her knees.

And as the light leaves her eyes and she tumbles sideways to the ground, I sob.

I see red.

Red, red, red.

Everywhere.

It’s splashed across my clothes.

It coats my skin.

It pools over my sneakers as it continues topulse,pulse,pulsefrom her body, as her heart persists to beat it out of her severed veins.

I scream again.

As the pulsing spurts of blood slow, as my mind drifts back into my body, I turn my head to look at Vigo, who remains on the other side of the see-through cage.

And he’s smiling.

Vigo is smiling the grin of a satisfied man, a blood-lusting man who knew this would be the outcome and has just been granted a most gratifying release.

My voice comes out as a shaky whisper as my body trembles and shakes out of control. “You’re sick. You’re sick, you’re sick, you’re sick.”

He sucks in a long, slow, deep breath. “No,schiava.I am well.I am very,verywell.”

My new home is a transparent box, spattered and stained with blood, and decorated with a body.

Vigo left after the girl killed herself.

I haven’t been able to move and I don’t know how much time has passed. My back is still pressed against the plexiglass corner, as far away from the dead girl as I can get. I’m not sure whether I’m still breathing. I must be, but the only thing my mind is actively aware of is the sliced and bloody body on the floor, the stench of copper, the drying blood caked on my sneakers.

I don’t know what’s happening around me, if the other women in the other boxes are crying, screaming, or silent. I have no awareness other than blood and death before me.

Time must be passing as my legs grow weak and tired, and I slowly slip down to the mattress beneath my feet.

The blood of a dead slave coats the floor around my perch, an ocean of red surrounding my island mattress.

I close my eyes and try to force myself to think of something else, of anything other than this living nightmare, but my mind can’t track a conscious thought.

My heart, though…My heart knows what I need.

It pumps an emerald green blaze through my veins, which ignites a flash fire vision beneath closed lids. Behind the fire blazing over my eyes is the man I fell desperately, tragically in love with; the man who both loved me and ruined me. The memory of his smile, of his snarky tone, and his warm embrace, holds me safely inside my mind.

My brow furrows as I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, imprisoning myself with Ezra inside the faraway pocket of my awareness. If I can stay here, I can stay safe. If I can keep the memory of him bright and vibrant in my thoughts, maybe I can survive here.

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