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Saff stared up at the ceiling of her cell, where the dark wood panels had large stains of water damage blooming out in shapes above.
It looked old, like it had dried out years before. Which was a good sign for her. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with any annoying drips while she was in there. Or at least, she hadn’t seen any in the four—maybe five—hours they’d left her down there.
The water stain directly above her perfectly formed a small handgun.
It was like watching for shapes in the clouds as they rolled by. Except these shapes never changed.
Her burning eyes fluttered closed for the seventh time that hour. And like before, the lifeless image of Sarah’s baby instantly filled the darkness.
She ripped her eyes open, jerking up to a sitting position on the cot, and swung her legs off the side.
Crusted blood and fluid was still stuck to her forearms, but most of it had rubbed off when they’d grabbed her arms and dragged her down to the cell. Not that they needed to. It wasn’t like she’d been fighting back.
She lifted her hand and gently prodded the aching spot on the back of her head.
It hurt to touch, but at least there wasn’t any more fresh blood. That was a good sign that maybe it felt worse than it actually was.
Her hand drifted to the side of her tender neck, where she could already feel the bruises forming.
She closed her eyes, letting her hand drop back down to her thigh. Her arms slid until she rested her elbows against her knees and stared straight ahead at the rusted metal bars.
This cell was older and more worn than the first one they’d put her in, with deep orange spots of rust lining every inch of the metal.
The cot was also in worse shape, and she wondered if they’d put her there on purpose. To try to throw some jab at her for having a hidden weapon—for breaking the rules.
She clenched her jaw, ignoring the pain that bloomed there.
It was ridiculous of them—of Sylvia—to think that she wouldn’t try to keep some form of defense. Especially given how they’d treated her when she’d first arrived. And yeah, she’d lost her composure for a second with Dean, but she’d tried to walk away. He was the one that kept fighting.
She glanced at the empty cell to her right. The cleaner, less rusty one that she'd inhabited her first night there.
At least they hadn’t thrown him down there next to her. She probably really would’ve lost it if she was forced to listen to him spewing his bullshit for hours on end.
She let her head bob forward, sagging between her shoulders.
Then, a moment later, a door opened.
Saff’s head snapped up.
She watched the stairs carefully as the light sound of footsteps against the wooden stairs slowly came closer.
A shadow appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Then one black boot at a time stepped off the bottom stair onto the cement floor.
Saff frowned, finally realizing who it was.
Sylvia walked the few steps to the door of the cell, a grim look on her already pensive face.
Saff’s eyes flickered down to her hands as she held the contents of them in the air. A cup of water and an apple.
“You were up all night. I figured you didn’t eat anything this morning, either.” Sylvia knelt down slowly, placing the items inside the cell.
Saff stared at them, unwilling to look back up and meet her harsh gaze.
After a few moments of silence, Sylvia finally spoke.“What happened?”
Finally, Saff’s eyes left the items on the floor, but she continued avoiding Sylvia, glancing off to the side instead. Maybe it was anger, or pride, or spite, but something in her refused to answer. Refused to give anyone, least of all Sylvia, the satisfaction of an answer.
Another handful of moments passed before Sylvia released a sigh. “Was it your fault that Sarah and the baby didn’t make it?”
