Page 58 of Kylie

“Answers.”

“To what?”

“My questions.”

“What questions? You know more about my mother than I do.”

“Then I guess you’re of no use to me anymore,” he said, standing up straight and turning for the door.

I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to speak. I wanted him to promise to leave my family alone, but he knew he’d finally found the one tool that might work in his favor.

As though he knew what was going through my mind, he peered back over his shoulder. “Perhaps your sister or your father will have some information I can use.”

“No!” I tried to get up, but I was too weak. “You leave them alone!”

He flashed a sinister smile, but then walked out the door.

“I’ll talk!” I shouted, though my voice didn’t carry much. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know!”

Not that I had much to give him, but I would talk. And if he wasn’t impressed with my answers, I could tell him off-the-wall, nonsensical stories. After all, there were already points when my brain wandered so far off track that I felt as though the hallucinations were real. Surely I could convince him.

I didn’t like the bastard, but I loved my family, and I would do what was necessary to ensure their safety.

Unfortunately, Martin did not come back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wednesday, August 10, 2022

Kylie

I was dying.

That was the only way to explain what was happening. It hurt to move, to breathe. Hell, it hurt to open my eyes most of the time.

I spent a good portion of my time praying. Well, praying or begging—at one point, they became one and the same. I just wanted God to get me out of there, to let me see my family again. At one point, I even asked Him to strike Martin Calloway down with a bolt of lightning. Right or wrong, I just wanted out of this hellhole.

But God wasn’t listening. Day after day, Martin never came back. Not since he made threats against my family. I had even attempted to speak to the camera, to summon him back so I could tell him whatever he wanted to hear. But he never showed.

And now I was over it. Martin Calloway could go fuck himself because I was dying.

The heat, the infection, and lack of nutrition had taken their toll. Since his last visit, Martin had started restricting the amount of water I would get. At least I assumed he was the one who’d given the order. I only got one protein bar every other day. It didn’t matter anymore. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t thirsty. My body was shutting down, and somehow my brain knew that no amount of scarfing down shitty protein bars was going to get me healthy again.

I wasn’t going to last much longer. I was on the verge of death. I had to be.

I exhaled harshly. I did not want to think about dying in this shit hole. I wanted to live, if for no other reason than to kill Martin. No one threatened my family, dammit. I just had to hang on a little bit longer. Another minute, another hour, another day. At some point, something would happen, and I would get the opportunity to fight my way out.

Except fighting was something that only happened in my nightmares. I was no longer capable of sitting up. I felt like someone had beaten me with a meat cleaver over and over. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of my being hurt.

I was dying. Had to be.

And if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t be long. After all, I’d stopped sweating, which likely meant heatstroke.

On a positive note, I didn’t have to use the bucket. Hadn’t for several days. If my math was right, today was Avery’s birthday. My sweet little angel girl was five. Which meant she would be starting kindergarten soon. My sweet, beautiful girl.

Thinking of her made me smile, only I knew I wasn’t actually smiling. I was fading, unable to even shift the muscles in my face.

There was one positive in all of this. If today were the day I really died, I was grateful that my family thought my death had been on a different day. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to ruin this birthday for Avery. She deserved only happiness.