I thrash beneath him, bucking my hips and twisting my body, desperate to break free. “Julian! Help!”
The second man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white cloth. A sickly-sweet smell hits my nostrils before he even presses it to my face.
I jerk my head to the side, holding my breath, but the man grabs my jaw with bruising force, forcing my head still. The cloth covers my mouth and nose, pressed tight against my face.
My lungs are already burning from the struggle, and holding my breath becomes impossible. When I finally gasp for air, the chemical fumes flood my system. My vision starts to blur, my limbs growing heavy.
The chloroform burns through my lungs, my muscles weakening with each second. I manage one last desperate kick, but it’s feeble, and I don’t even come close to my aim. The larger man chuckles, the sound muffled through his mask and my drug-addled brain.
“Stop fighting. You’ll only make it worse for yourself,” he says.
My phone. It’s still on the nightstand, just inches from my outstretched fingers. If I could reach it?—
The man notices my gaze and knocks the phone to the floor with a casual sweep of his hand. “None of that.”
My head swims, consciousness slipping away in waves. The room tilts and spins around me, the men’s masked faces blurring at the edges.
Julian. I need to warn Julian.
But Julian’s not here. He must have left for work hours ago, probably sitting in his corner office, sipping coffee and reviewing spreadsheets. He has no idea what’s happening.
I try to focus, fighting against the chemical pulling me under. Something about this feels personal, targeted. Not a random break-in. My gallery is gone—what else could anyone want from me?
Unless...
This is about Julian. Or about us.
With the last shred of my consciousness, I will my arm to move. My fingers find the emergency call button on my smart watch—the one Julian insisted I wear after the fire. I don’t know if the signal goes through.
My last coherent thought floats through the darkness closing in around me: Julian will find me. Julian will know something’s wrong.
Then nothing but black.
Pain.That’s the first thing I register as consciousness slams back into me like a freight train. My head throbs with every heartbeat, a nauseating pulse that makes my stomach roll. I blink against the dim light, trying to piece together where I am and how I got here.
I try to move, but my arms won’t budge. Panic surges through me as I realize I’m bound to a chair. The ropes around my wrists are too tight, biting into my skin, sending fiery pain up my arms with every twist I attempt.
“What the fuck?” My voice comes out as a rasp, my throat dry as sandpaper.
The room slowly comes into focus—a basement of some kind. Cold stone walls catch the light from a single bulb hanging overhead. The chill seeps through my clothes, raising goosebumps across my skin. I don’t recognize anything about this place, but the walls are adorned with crosses—wooden ones, metal ones, some ornate, others simple—at least a dozen of them staring back at me like silent judges.
A church. I must be in a church basement.
I strain against the ropes again, earning nothing but more pain as they scrape against raw skin. Blood trickles warm down my fingertips, contrasting with the cold air.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Is anyone there?”
Only silence answers me. I try to remember how I ended up here. The last thing I recall is falling asleep in Julian’s arms after he promised to help rebuild my gallery, after I told him I loved him.
Julian. Does he know I’m missing? How long have I been here?
My head pounds harder as fragmented memories try to surface. Hearing that noise and going to investigate. The masked men. And then nothing. Just darkness until now.
The basement reeks of incense and damp stone. A small table sits in the corner, holding what looks like an open Bible and more crosses. This isn’t just any church basement—it feels personal, deliberate.
The door at the top of the stairs creaks open, sending a shaft of light spilling across the stone floor. I squint against the beams of light that assault my vision without warning, my heart hammering in my chest as footsteps echo down the wooden stairs.
My mother emerges from the light, her face set in that same righteous expression I’ve seen countless times throughout mylife. Behind her follows Pastor Williams, the severe man who’s led our family church since I was a child. His eyes burn with the same zealous fire they did when he preached about sin and damnation from the pulpit every Sunday.
