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Now, it is all paperwork.
11
CORA
I gag myself awake. The stench of shit and piss is making my eyes water. It’s so potent I can taste it in the back of my throat. Something cold and wet drips onto my face.
Fuck. I hope it's water, but I know I’m not that lucky.
As I sit up, my back scratches the rusty bars. I glance around at the other prisoners, and relief blazes through me. They're not here, the kids or Laura. They got away, I know it. They are so smart I know they would go and find somewhere safe.
“Cora.” A whisper catches my attention. I move over next to her. They’re all scared, just like me. Our futures are uncertain with certain outcomes; none are ideal.
“Don’t worry,” I say, taking her hand, “We’ll get through this.” I give my best smile. I have no idea how we were getting out of this, but I know it wouldn't be without a fight. Her face contorts, and tears roll down.
“Cora, I’m so sorry,” she cries.
“It’s not your fault. It’s none of our fault. Just—“
“No,” she says louder, “Laura—she—“ Her voice cracks, and she breaks into a full sob. I lean in and rub her back.
“Is safe with the kids. They’re—“
“They took her,” she blurts out.
My body goes cold. My limbs feel like boulders. “What do you mean?”
“She was here,” she sniffs, “Watching over you, then they came. They took her.”
The room seems to spin. No, this isn’t right. She’s upset and confused. Laura got away with the others. “Are you sure? Today has been tough for everyone. We can see anything,” I say.
It wasn't true—can’t be.
“It was Laura. Two enormous guards dragged her from this cell. She hasn’t been back since,” her eyes are puffy. They dart around as if someone would descend on us at any moment. That was a very likely possibility at this point.
From her expression, I know it is true. Laura was taken.
I want to puke, and it’s not from the shit surrounding us.
Images pop into my mind from our childhood. The happy chubby red, cheek girl I protected all this time. I failed, and now she’s in the clutches of those monsters.
That dipping water seems so loud now. My mind races for an answer. Why her? Why no one else? Is she being tortured? Then my mind runs to the dark places. What are they doing to her?
I can’t breathe.
My little sister.
The woman recoils back. She tries to pry my hand from her wrist. “You’re hurting me,” she gasps.
I immediately release her. “I’m sorry. Sorry. How long was I out? When did they take her?”
She rubs her wrist, “You were sleeping for about ten hours, then they took her about six hours ago.”
“And she hasn’t been back?”
“I’ve told you, no. She’s gone,” she says with tears in her eyes.
It doesn’t add up. Why? She’s quiet. I taught her what to do—keep her head down and don’t draw attention to herself. They’ll overlook you as long as possible.
