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As the hours pass, we all take turns pacing, sitting, and trying to distract ourselves with idle conversation. But the unease in the air never fades. Nor does the gnawing worry in my stomach.
CANDY
A sliver of light pierces the darkness. I squint, hardly daring to believe my eyes. Footsteps approach, and the jangling of keys sends a surge of hope through my veins. The door creaks open, and I am blinded by the sudden flood of light. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the brightness.
“Are you real?” I croak, my voice a mere whisper after days of disuse.
The figure steps forward, the outline of a face in the darkness – a face I vaguely recognize. A rescuer? A jailer? The lines between saviour and oppressor blur in the harsh light.
Someone is roughly shoved into my cell, crashing to the floor and groaning in pain. A bottle of water is tossed in after them and then the door is slammed again, and I’m plunged back into darkness before I can even react.
The new prisoner moans, but otherwise doesn’t move.
I scramble for the water and take long gulps, the bottle almost gone before I think to stop and save some for the other person now in here with me.
Whispering, I crawl forwards until I’m able to touch the newcomer on the shoulder.
“Are you okay?” I ask. The person – a guy I think – flinches.
I don’t know what to do, what to say. It’s not like I can help him in any way. I have no food to offer him, no blanket, mattress or pillow that I can share. Barely any water thanks to my desperate, selfishness.
I wonder who he is and why he’s here. Are our fates interlinked? Is he here because of me, or am I here because of him? Maybe it’s neither, but I feel like there must be a connection. I cannot fathom why I’ve been taken, if it wasn’t to do with my rent. And if it was about the rent, why have I just been thrown in here to rot? How does that get my landlord his money? They didn’t even let me explain.
A pained wail – like a wounded animal would make – leaves my cellmate’s lips and he stiffly rolls onto his back.
“H-hel—”
I peer down at him in the darkness, squinting to try and better make out his facial features. It’s no use. He’s beaten beyond all recognition and every sound drawn from his lips is an agonised rasp.
“Hell…me.”
“Help you?” I whisper. “What can I do? Do you want to sit up?” I panic, wanting to support this badly beaten man, but not having a clue how.
“G-race.”
I freeze.
“G-race…p-please…hell…p.”
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s m-me…noodle…”
“Jamie?!”
NORTH
As Wint and I are escorted to see Dash, the aseptic hospital corridors offer a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. The scent of disinfectant fills the air, a reminder of the thin line between life and death within these walls.
Dash is lying on a sterile white bed, his face pale but with a hint of colour returning. Machines hum softly, monitoring his every heartbeat. The sight of him so helpless tugs at the threads of my composure.
Five years we served together. Five years of the most dangerous missions I faced in my twenty-one year career in the forces. The unspoken bond between us speaks volumes, a shared history of trials and triumphs, but I never had to see him in this state.
I take a seat beside his bed, the plastic chair creaks beneath my weight.
As the minutes turn to hours, my mind shifts to Candy. The unanswered questions resurface, and the gnawing worry for her safety intensifies. I know that Don and Frost are out there now, searching the streets for her, and I’m already restless for another update.
I excuse myself from Dash’s bedside, promising to return, and step back into the sterile corridor. I attempt to track her phone again but still have no luck. I consider calling the friend, even the piece of shit ex boyfriend who threatened her at the club, but…would it worry them unnecessarily?
