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He closed his eyes for a long blink, then stood up straight.
He and the man exchanged a few more words that were too quiet for me to hear. And then he was gone.
The door closed with a resounding click in the quiet room, and the man walked over to where I lied here paralyzed.
He leaned down close, as if someone else might hear, and whispered. “I’m sorry you had to see that. This will all be over soon.”
He knew.
He knew I was awake.
Why didn’t he tell my dad I was awake?
I felt a sudden, sharp sting of pain. And then there was nothing but blackness.
***
When I woke up, I was in a circular room, almost like a courtroom, but more sinister.
On a platform in the front of the room, there was a row of chairs behind a wooden table, or desk, or something. In shiny, gold letters across the front of the desk was the wordTribunal.Ten men sat on the platform, all young, most handsome.
The floor was a golden marble with a blood-red “O” formed out of a serpent in the center. The walls were the same golden color with tall white columns placed near arched openings that led to long hallways. Above us, there was a circular balcony, like the ones in theaters or opera houses.
I was lined up with nine other girls near one of the arched openings. Ten of us, all wearing solid white robes and nothing else. Down the hallway behind us, and on the walls of the circular room were stone bowls with the same flaming red glass I’d seen at the crypt in Green-Wood Cemetery.
An ice-cold chill shot up my spine, and a deep voice spoke against my neck.
“Welcome to Judgment Day, sweetheart. Do you have any idea why you’re here?”
Kipton Donahue stood with his front pressed against my back.
I had a pretty good idea.
I’d tried touching the untouchable. I’d challenged the unchallengeable.
Two months ago, at a charity function designed to send aid for disaster relief overseas, I’d overheard a conversation. The medicine and food Kipton’s “charity” was sending to this underprivileged nation was laced with a drug that caused infertility. He was knowingly prohibiting the growth of a nation just because they were “poor.” It was genocide at its finest. The night before I “died” I’d shown up at his front door with my evidence. He’d asked me if I wanted money, and I told him he could shove his money up his ass. I wanted justice.
Now I stood here, shivering, a few steps away from a room full of predators, swearing I would still have my justice.
The girl in front of me walked out into the room, smiling and posing as if she were on a runway, like she washappyto be here. Like she’dchosento be here.
“My dad will find me. My friends will find me,” I told Kipton through gritted teeth.
He narrowed his eyes and grinned. He tightened a fist in my hair and yanked my head back. “No one is coming. They all think you’re dead.”
The walls started closing in on me, and a shudder chilled my bones. The floor felt like quicksand, threatening to swallow me whole. My heart raced, and tears stung my eyes. I wanted to fall to my knees, but I refused to let him win.
They all think you’re dead.
It all made sense now.
Drug overdose.
My dad’s tearful goodbye.
Being trapped inside my own body.
I’d been taken.
