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The room darkens at Alexander’s command, but I lay in silence, listening to every creak and rustle, every breath we both take. Minutes pass that feel like hours, and I can’t take the silence.
“Alexander,” I whisper. He doesn’t respond, but his breath stops. He hears me.
“Thank you for coming back for me.” I pull the covers to my chin. “I’m sorry about Theodore.”
A long sigh comes from the couch, and I hear Alexander roll over. “You’re welcome. Me too.” It’s a simple answer, and that’s all I need in order to sleep. No drawn out conversation or hashing out feelings needed, and I’m grateful.
When I close my eyes, I think of BeLew and Morgan, hoping I’ll see them in my dreams. I drift off, but they don’t greet me in my sleep.
Instead, it’s raining again, Dean and I standing at the edge of a cliff, his evil grin pointed at me. The earth moves, making it hard to stand, and I hear screams from all around. I turn, looking for the source, and a figure moves in my peripheral. I rush over in time to see the outline of someone falling from the edge and the splash of water below.
I watch, powerless to stop it.
“Did love save you?” I yell down at the dead man.
Chapter Ten
A Gift
Theislandspoiledme,allowing me to wake with sunshine on my face and the feel of a breeze through my open window. I miss everything about that place and the short time when we were all happy and together.
There aren’t windows on ships or in the underground, and every time my eyes open, I never know if it’s day or night. Have I slept eight hours, or awoken in the middle of the night? I’m wide awake, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.
Alexander’s soft snores are the only sound that fills the darkened space. There’s a dim light in the corner, a soft shadow of the tablet that glows. My feet touch the ground, and I move the blankets to the side, careful not to make any noise. I stand, expecting a creak or shift in the floor, but this isn’t our house on the island. There isn’t wood beneath my feet, only molded steel. I take one step, and then another. I tip-toe from the bed, careful not to wake him. He sleeps on a couch in the center of the room, the tablet resting a few steps further.
I take it, scurrying back into the bed and burying myself underneath the covers. The light brightens, and the glowing words, “How may I be of service?” dance across the screen.
You could get me out of here.
I think of the door within my reach, but how far would I get? Do I remember how we got here?
After we exited the elevator, this room was the sixth on the right, but to get on the elevator, I need a code that works. Alexander uses passwords for some of the locked doors, but the numbers are always different, and I can’t remember them all. Then there are the ones that require a handprint, and I stare at the tablet, thinking back, weighing my options.
Schematics of the underground, I type into the search bar. Hundreds of files scroll across the screen, and my eyes hurt from the bright light until my pupils adjust. The first option looks to be the best place to start and when I tap the icon, images of this place come into view.
There are architectural layouts showing every floor from the surface downward. It shrinks the lower you go, not quite triangular, but the top floor where we entered is much larger than the bottom. I scan through the images, unable to find any way out except the top where Alex brought me inside.
Tapping on every floor, I try to see if there’s something to tell me about codes or access, or maybe where my family resides. There’s no manifest, and all the pictures are of pristine empty spaces, images from before this place filled with people. The jail they kept me inside is the only thing that looks the same, and although it’s clear that was its purpose, there are also supplies in the pictures and rooms with hundreds of lined benches. That floor is more than just a holding for prisoners, but I can’t determine what else would need to keep thousands in its space. A church and prison in one, perhaps? The notion almost makes me laugh.
One floor glows red in a file, and I tap on it, curious if it’s something special.
Access deniedbeams back at me. I find another layout with the same red floor and try again, but get the same response. It’s one of the lowest in this upside-down pyramid, but that doesn’t tell me much. I can’t even tell where we are, let alone how to get around after an hour of snooping. I fight the groan in the back of my throat and turn the tablet face down so it doesn’t light up the room when I rip the covers from over my head.
The door in the room’s corner looks too tempting to ignore. As nice as this room is, I’m in another prison, and my guard snores on the couch between me and freedom.
There’s no lock on the inside, and he wouldn’t get up in time to stop me.
My feet glide across the ground while my brain fights to decide. I touch the handle, feeling the cold metal against my fingers, wondering what it would be like to open the door to my family on forty-one.
The boys haven’t left my side much since that day in the field, and this time apart is killing me. Even though it almost sends me to my knees, I pull my hand away and take a step back. Escape right now is useless, and I’ll only anger the Eminent. He’s quick-tempered, ready to carve off my brand and hang me as an example, so I take another step away from the door, running my hands through my hair in frustration.
“You won’t get far,” Alexander says. The couch creaks when he sits up. His voice makes me jump, but I try to hide my surprise.
“I know,” I get out, swallowing hard and shaking out my hands.
I turn around, dragging my feet back to the bed, tossing the tablet to the side table. He likely knew I was awake the entire time, so there’s no point in hiding my curiosity. I climb in while he rubs his eyes and yawns. Maybe he’ll find the couch so uncomfortable he’ll take me back to my family, and I shake my head at my pathetic thoughts. A couch is better than death.
“It’s not time to get up,” Alexander groans. “A few more hours.” He rises anyway, pouring himself a cup of water and getting one for me without my asking.
