TO HOME?

TO HOME?


Angel's Pov

It's a new day.

I know this because I woke up from what was a disturbed night's sleep, but it was a night’s sleep nonetheless. I'm still so tired.

I lie there, unmoving. I'm still in the nightmare, the one with the singular light.

It could be worse, I guess. I'm not hungry, they let me take a bath yesterday and let me put my own dress back on. Plus this Khan person seems to have lost his interest in me, thank goodness.

But I need to pee again.

The woman opens the door, and beckons me out again. I'm bathed, fed and led back. As the door looms, the urge to just run seizes me again, so suddenly I stop.

But I start walking again before she even notices.

Is this my life now?

What happened to Adam that he still hasn't woken up? Is he okay?

Is the Laith lying?

Why would he lie?

So does that mean something bad actually happened to Andrew? Is he okay?

“Please, what time is it?” I croak.

“I don't know, we don't bring phones down here,” the woman replies but the hard look on her face falters and she continues, “although when I clocked in today it was eight thirty. That should be about an hour ago.”

“Thank you,” I whisper brokenly, tears gathering in my eyes as I walk back into my prison without a fuss.

She hesitates “And it's. . .Wednesday,” she says as she shuts the door.

It's Wednesday. I saw Anna, Sadie, Jay on Monday. I saw Andrew two days before that. I saw Hank a day before that. It's Wednesday.

I go back to the bed and lay down. I begin to count the seconds.

Anytime I lose count, I add in a few minutes and continue from the last place I remember.

When the woman comes to give me food hours later, I pounce on her, almost ignoring the tray. “Time, please.” I need to know.

She hesitates looking behind her as if I'm asking her for cocaine. “I had a feeling you'd ask. It's three pm. Still Wednesday.”

I nod, calming down, as if she actually gave me a fix. I was an hour and twenty five minutes off. I start counting again.

When the door opens later that evening, I stand, rushing to it but stop in my tracks at the person closing the door behind him.

It's not the woman. It's the man, who calls himself the Laith. Disappointment dampens me. I turn my back to him and go back to my bed.

I’m still scared of him, but in a way that’s changed. It’s not the sharp terror from before, frantic, wondering what he wants with me.

I'm not sure I care about what he wants with me anymore. My fear is something duller, resigned. Or maybe I'm just duller and resigned.

Either way, he said he wouldn't hurt me and he'd take me back to Andrew. What other choice do I have but to hope he's telling the truth.

“You’re not happy to see me? You wound me, Angel.”

The Laith walks up to stand in front of me, his gait assured and unhurried, with a solid certainty that comes with knowing no one here can stop him, least of all me. I hunch into myself for the same reason.

“What if I told you I had news about Andrew?”

About Andrew?

I can't help it how eager I am, and I can't hide it either. My body springs towards him to find him already smirking. If I was a dog I'd be salivating hoping for crumbs.

“Yes. It's time to go. Unfortunately this is where we’re going to say goodbye.”

For a moment, I just blink at him, not really registering the words.

What? Time to go. . .?

My first instinct is disbelief. Immediately after, my second is hope — encompassing, jagged, the kind that hurts to feel. I stand up slowly, barely breathing. “I’m going back to Andrew?” I ask, not trusting this.

He nods, still smirking.

So I walk. Every step feels like a gamble. I expect someone to grab me. To drag me back. To laugh in my face about how gullible I am. He could just be moving me to somewhere else.

But I keep walking.

I can see light up ahead, natural light, not the harsh fluorescent one burned into my retinas. For a moment I squint, heart hammering, still not daring to completely believe.

We step outside.

And we're really outside. The moon is overhead, glowing brightly.

I feel like putting my tongue out to taste it. I want to taste the moon. I feel a hysterical laugh bubbling out of me at the thought but I tamp it down.

They could still take me back in, although it would push me that much closer to actual insanity.

There’s five sleek black cars parked ahead. The Laith gestures to the one in front with the back door open. It's the only one with just a driver. The rest have a total of four people in them.

I walk over, shaking. If they take me back in there—

I slide into the car and the Laith shuts it behind me. “Do come visit again,” he quips, amusement written all over his face. Asshole.

He taps the top of the car, twice and the driver turns it on. He steps back and we start driving away.

Even now, the four other cars behind us, I still keep my eyes on him until I can't, as if he'd vanish into the car beside me and ask the driver to stop.

We drive for a while, until derelict buildings give way to squat, residential homes and then streets that begin to look familiar.

We're here.

“Miss Angel?”

Jameson. He startles as he sees me, tossing his hat out of his eyes. He opens the gates immediately and only the car I'm in drives inside. I turn to watch him gape, in between tapping the screen of his phone.

As soon as it stops in front of the house, I scramble out and rush inside.

I'm here. I'm in.

They can't get me anymore.

I walk through the house slowly, like I’m underwater. I recognize it, but it feels like I haven't been here for weeks. Everything feels like a novelty.

But it's too quiet. Nobody's home.

A walk into a guest bedroom and throw the windows open. Then I curl up on the bed keeping the moon in my sights. My dress smells like dust and fear but I can't be bothered to change right now, can’t bring myself to move.

I lie on my side, just watc
hing the moon. I don't count the seconds, don't need to. I can hear a clock ticking away in the corner.

Where is he?