Page 150 of Finding Noah

I closed my eyes to acceptance and waited.

Benjamin gasped and groaned, struggling a bit initially, then slowly got to his feet.

I waited as he seemed to stumble, the wooden chair scraping against the floor.

I waited as he cursed and dropped his weight once again to the bed, straddling my waist and wrapping his hands around my neck.

He uttered a slew of curses into my face as he squeezed, and the pressure in my head grew more intense by the moment until my eyes ached and threatened to pop.

And I was six years old again, waiting to die, as he increased pressure, cutting off all hope of air getting through, and—

His grip loosened from my neck at the same moment his weight pressed against my body. He was lying on top of me, barely conscious. Confused, I gasped for breath, hindered by his head against my mouth, until he was pulled away and onto the floor with impressive ease.

I opened my eyes, greeted only by hazy darkness for a moment, before the view of the room came back. And with it …

The man in black.

I’m coming home, Meg, was the last thought that crossed my mind before Ben sat up behind the man in black, the gun in his hand.

I’m coming home.

BANG!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DOC

Am I dead?

I was shot.

Is this Heaven?

I came to with a start, instantly aware that, not only was I very much alive, but I was clothed and pleasantly cool, covered by a thin, soft blanket. The bed beneath me was plush, far more comfortable than what I'd been lying on in my prison.

But despite the comfort, panic was quick to settle in at the realization that my eyes were shielded to my surroundings. And I couldn't move my arms to remove the blindfold.

Not again, not again, not again …

“What the fuck is this?” I demanded, my voice hoarse and rough, as I tugged at the binds holding my wrists to the bed.

“Sorry about that.” A gentle voice from nearby came, and I turned in its direction.

I tipped my head as distant recognition slowly settled in. “Who are you?”

He softly chuckled. “Sorry, Noah. That's not how this works.”

“How what works?”

He was quiet for a moment as footsteps neared the bed. Then he replied quietly, right beside me, “Letting you live.”

I furrowed my brow, my eyes blinking against the cloth over my eyes. “But … the dude in the mask and suit … he said … he said I was innocent. He said he was helping me.”

“Yes,” the man replied, his voice assuring. “He is. We are. But there are rules to benefit from our assistance, and they're in place for our preservation as well as yours.”

He touched my wrist, as if about to release my hands, but then he stalled. “If I allow you use of your arms, do I have your word that you'll keep that blindfold in place?”

“Can't you wear a mask like …” Genesis 18:23. It was the only response he'd given when I asked for his name, and at the moment, it didn't feel like a response at all. “Batman?”