Chapter 1
Nina
I push aside another swaying branch, my bare feet pounding against the forest floor. Grit, pebbles, and other unsavory substances have embedded themselves in my skin, but I barely notice the pain.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
I need to move faster.
My dress catches on a branch, the fabric ripping, and I let out a startled cry as something sharp cuts my skin. I feel a sticky liquid slide down my stomach—blood.
Run straight until you reach the tree cut in two. Then, turn left. Run until you see the road. At the road, make sure you go right. Do not stop. Do not look behind you. Do not allow yourself to be seen.
The instructions reverberate in my head as I pick up my pace. My lungs struggle to replenish their oxygen supply, and my heart is hammering in my chest.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
I extend my senses toward the nearest animal, and immediately implant myself in the mind of a squirrel. It’s running through the underbrush, its eyes fixated on the human beside him.
Me.
Through its eyes, I’m able to see my tangled black hair, blood-stained white dress, and dirty face. The moonlight illuminates my haggard appearance.
The squirrel, startled by my approach, attempts to scurry off in the opposite direction. It’s at that moment, before it climbs up a nearby tree, that I see it.
In the distance, silhouetted in the inky gray darkness, I spot a strange tree cleaved in two. Without a moment of hesitation, I pull myself out of the squirrel’s mind and veer to the left.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
In some distant cavity of my mind, I become aware of dogs howling and motors revving. However, it’s all background noise, overshadowed by the breath rushing in and out of my lungs. My legs ache from the physical exertion, and I find myself stopping, one hand bracing against a tree trunk to hold myself up.
No stopping.
With a cry, I force myself to run even faster. Everything hurts. Branches whip at my face, drawing blood, and more than once I trip over a tree stump.
Usually, I’m more apt at using my other senses, but not today. Not when my life and freedom are quite literally on the line.
I can’t go back there again.
I don’t know how long I run. Minutes? Hours? Time sludges by slowly. In a demented way, I’m used to it. My life as a prisoner and punching bag has assured me that time doesn’t exist. It’s just an abstract concept.
I run until my bare feet touch something hard and grainy.
Asphalt.
Make sure you go right.
I run.
My chest tightens to unbearable levels, and the pain in my stomach intensifies. I’m weak—starved, really—and haven’t done more than walk from my cell to the torture room in months.
Why did I think I could do this?
Still, I can taste freedom on my tongue. I can hear the crickets in the distance. I can feel the wind against my face.
It’s within my grasp…
My legs give out from underneath me, and I collapse on the ground. I only have a second to pray, a second to plead, before unconsciousness overtakes me.
* * *
His grip on my hair is punishingly tight as he drags me down the long, barren hallway. I’m in his mind yet again—a power I discovered many years ago. Gray stone walls surround me on every side, and the distinct smell of copper and urine permeates the air.
“I’m sorry,” I cry, attempting to dig my feet into the floor. That small act of disobedience proves to be futile as his grip only tightens. Pain erupts on my scalp as I’m dragged kicking and screaming into a familiar bright room.
This room has been the star of numerous nightmares.
Floor to ceiling windows create the walls allowing copious light through. It’s the only room in the facility that allows natural sunlight to penetrate the monotony of darkness. The rest of the rooms are bathed in artificial fluorescent lights, or, in the case of my cell, a single hanging bulb.
I remember the first time I’d been dragged into this particular room. I’d been three, maybe four, and more confused than scared. Where was I, and where was my momma? But those thoughts quickly dissipated as the pain consumed me.
Now, the pain is something I am used to.
He pushes me down onto a cold slab of cement raised in the center of the room. It resembles a macabre altar used for sacrificial rituals. At least, that’s what Kai always told me.
Kai…
His absence in my life is a physical pain, a gaping hole that is growing to a chasm. He has been the one constant in my life for years, and every day he’s not here is the slash of a whip against my back.
Kai, I need you.
I wrench myself out of the bad man’s head as iron chains clamp down on both of my wrists and ankles. The last thing I want to see is my own torture.
“What should we use today, Little Monster?” he teases, and I don’t need vision to know his lips are curled into a sinister sneer.
I don’t whimper, don’t cry. My eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling as he glides across the room, to the wall hosting a variety of weapons. Everything from machetes, to knives, to grenades.
There’s only one rule the psychopaths have to follow: don’t kill me.
I hear the sound of a blade being unsheathed, but I remain oblivious to what weapon he selected. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
I brace myself for the pain—the never ending agony.
It’s just another day in the dissonant chaos of my life.
* * *
I wake up to beeping.
My head is foggy, as if I’d been drugged, and my body aches something fierce. I attempt to bring my hand to the back of my head…
Only to realize it’s restrained.
I tug, the cold metal biting into my wrist.
They found me.
Terror thrums through me—a physical bolt of lightning to my senses. The incessant beeping becomes louder until it drowns out everything but the pounding of my heart.
“You need to calm down. You’re safe,” a calm voice tells me, and I flinch at the hands touching my shoulders. It’s entirely instinctive. Flinching has been ingrained in my very anatomy since I could first walk. Every touch has a second agenda.
Taking a deep breath, meant to calm my racing heart and mind, I push myself into the woman’s head.
She’s staring down at me.
I look like a mess. I must’ve been washed off, for the dirt and blood are nowhere to be seen. The white, gauzy dress has been replaced by something much less comfortable. Paper, maybe? A paper dress?
A black screen is adjacent to the bed, a line steadily creating waves. I try to recall the name of the strange contraption. I know Kai told me…
A heart monitor!
I mentally grin at my own epiphany.
I appear to be lying on a small cot, a scratchy white blanket pulled over my lower half. Both my wrists are secured to the bed by silver handcuffs.
Any comfort I previously felt diminished at the sight of those things. How many times have I been strapped to a table just like this?
The woman seems kind, compassionate, but what darkness is lurking just beneath the surface?
Everyone has a darkness. Some wear it like a badge of honor while others hide it away. Which one is she?
“Where am I?” I whimper. It’s the strangest sensation to see my lips move but not be consciously in my body. It’s a gift I’ve always had, and one I can’t explain.