Page 51 of Braving the Valley

"We'll go upstairs in a minute," I lie. "It's beautiful, right?"

"More like terrifying," she murmurs.

She steps inside the cell, curiosity winning out, and somewhere far above here, I think I hear one of the forgotten souls in solitary scream.

She ventures farther into the cell. Her fingers trail the bars that comprise three of the walls before she reaches the stone wall at the back and stops touching things. I grab the lantern I had Marshall smuggle in ages ago and light the flame. It starts instantly.

She reaches the bed hidden in the corner where the light from above doesn't quite reach, and she stops walking.

"I think I've seen enough," she says, abruptly starting for the cell door.

With one hand, I shut it behind us, lock the bolt, and pocket the key.

Her eyes go wide, and she walks over to the cell door, pulling on it. It doesn't open. She gapes at me.

"What have you done?" she pulls again, panic bleeding into the words.

She pulls again and again until she groans with the force and digs her heels against the floor. I stand there and watch her until, many minutes later, she finally tires her frail frame. Out of breath and defeated, her hands slip from the bars, and she falls back onto her ass,hard.

It must hurt. It's not like she has much back there to pad the fall. She starts to cry, and maybe I should feel bad, but I don't. Only one thought passes through my mind.

She's gorgeous when she cries. She'll be breathtaking when she burns.

"Let me go, Gabe," she murmurs, looking at me, bleary-eyed from her tears. "Please."

"I can't do that," I tell her, leaning against the metal bars behind me. "You know I can't do that."

"Why?" She jumps to her feet, bolts to the nearest panel of bars, and pulls with all of her might. She's playing a game of tug of war she has no hopes of ever winning. It doesn't even budge.

"You can't leave until you're cured," I tell her, stepping away from the wall. "They're going to take you from me, and I can't allow that. You want to live, Avery. You don't want to die. They will let you die, eventually, but I'll never give up on you, baby girl."

She roars with her anger, raises both hands, and bounds forward to push me.

"Let me go!" she shouts. "Let me out of here!"

She hits me, pummeling her small fists against my chest. I barely even feel the blows.

"Not until you're better," I tell her.

She continues to strike me, again and again and again. I let her. She pummels at my chest, arms, shoulders, and pectorals until finally, she exhausts herself, which isn't long. She drops to her knees in front of me, sweating and out of breath.

"What do I have to do?" she asks me, crying.

"Beg me for it," I tell her, repeating the words I murmured to her once before. She looks up at me again. Only this time she isn't perfect. She's snot-nosed, teary-eyed, and red-faced. "Grovel, baby girl."

She looks like she might actually do it this time. I'll be disappointed if she does, but she never disappoints me. That fire ignites inside of her again, just like I want it to. It's going to keep her alive while she's down here. She scrambles to stand in front of me, looking positively manic.

Good. I want her feral and fucking unhinged.

"Fuck you!" she screams at me.

She tries to hit me again, but I don't let her this time. I spin her around, pin her arms flat to her sides, and force her head back to admire my surprise. I hold her against me, letting her appreciate my handiwork for herself, and I know the moment she realizes the full extent of it. Above us, painstakingly hung and suspended, are a hundred mirrors, maybe more. Some are true mirrors, hard to come by in this place, and others are just reflective surfaces, sheets of metal and thick plastic that bend and distort our bodies.

"What is this?" she asks me, still breathing heavily as we look up at a hundred versions of ourselves, our bodies cut and diced like lunch meat.

Half of me holding her.

One eye and a slice of her face staring down at us.

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