Read Online Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) by Nenia Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nenia Campbell
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from him. Not by force.
I should have run when I had the chance , I thought. Back at the house … I should have kicked him in the balls and found a phone to call the police . I should have done something.
But I hadn't — because in the end, I had been too afraid.
Now, it was too late.
“ Look at the camera, darlin. Show me that pretty face.”
I hung my head. If he saw the rebellion in my eyes, he'd stomp out what resilience still remained. His flat affect was like a black hole; sucking away all emotions, leaving a void where the fear could take hold. It was tempting to sink into apathy, to lull myself with the thought that I no longer cared what happened. But that was a lie. I knew I wanted to live.
But time had become my enemy. I had both too much and too little. The more I tried not to think about its passing, the more it pressed down upon me, like an insufferable weight. I tried singing songs in my head. Then fairy tales. Then, when I had exhausted my repertoire, scriptures that had been drilled into me from both Sunday school and confessional. I soon stopped, though; they gave me no comfort. This dark, sunless place was out of even God's reach, and each word seemed to be echoed by the devil's own laughter.
His cell phone rang the day after he took the photographs, while he was bringing me water. He set the bottle on the ground, just out of reach, and took the call in another room. Usually these discourses lasted a couple minutes. He was gone for much longer than that.
The water bottle sweated beads of condensation. The need to drink surfaced. I didn't pay attention. For once the dryness in my mouth didn't seem to be caused by thirst. The calls never took this long. Something was wrong.
Over the pounding of my heartbeat, I heard the creak of his footsteps on the stairs. I turned towards the door. He glanced at me, then at the untouched bottle of water, which he nudged towards me with his boot. He wasn't talking — that was bad. He always froze over when he received a piece of news that displeased him. And then he took it out on me.
As he turned to leave, I said in a cracking voice, “Wait.”
The grit beneath his soles crunched as he turned to face me.
“ My parents.” I took a sip of water, gagging on the mineral edge. “What about them?”
“ We got them.”
Those three words turned my blood to ice. I set the bottle aside, not noticing when it toppled, sending the precious water coursing away from me in shadowy rivulets. “You mean you captured them?”
“ No. It's only a matter of time. The phone call came from somewhere near the Canadian border.” He glanced down at me. “I suppose yesterday's photo shoot must have been convincing.”
I flinched. “You're lying.”
“ What reason do I have to lie to you?”
Clearly, he was forgetting that he had lied to me already — several times — which was the reason I was currently chained to a pipe.
A horrible wailing pierced the air. It took a moment to realize it was coming from me. My parents were still alive, but it was unlikely I'd ever get to say goodbye. The last exchange I'd had with my mom had been a vicious argument, where I'd told her I hated her. My captor started to shimmer around the edges, blurring behind my tears. I made no move to stop them. My heart was breaking, and the jagged pieces were cutting me all up inside.
“ Your tears won't do them any good.”
“ Why can't you just leave us alone?” I screamed.
The blurred form shook its head. “You are a stupid girl.”
Yes, I was. Stupid to think he was capable of granting any kind of mercy.
“ You're helping to pay off your parents' debt. Their greed is the reason you're here.”
“ Don't talk to me about greed, you bastard! You put a price-tag on my parents' lives! And you'd probably sell your own soul to make a cool million, too, you…you fucking hypocrite! At least my parents never killed anyone for money. You think you're so tough, so smart, so right just
I should have run when I had the chance , I thought. Back at the house … I should have kicked him in the balls and found a phone to call the police . I should have done something.
But I hadn't — because in the end, I had been too afraid.
Now, it was too late.
“ Look at the camera, darlin. Show me that pretty face.”
I hung my head. If he saw the rebellion in my eyes, he'd stomp out what resilience still remained. His flat affect was like a black hole; sucking away all emotions, leaving a void where the fear could take hold. It was tempting to sink into apathy, to lull myself with the thought that I no longer cared what happened. But that was a lie. I knew I wanted to live.
But time had become my enemy. I had both too much and too little. The more I tried not to think about its passing, the more it pressed down upon me, like an insufferable weight. I tried singing songs in my head. Then fairy tales. Then, when I had exhausted my repertoire, scriptures that had been drilled into me from both Sunday school and confessional. I soon stopped, though; they gave me no comfort. This dark, sunless place was out of even God's reach, and each word seemed to be echoed by the devil's own laughter.
His cell phone rang the day after he took the photographs, while he was bringing me water. He set the bottle on the ground, just out of reach, and took the call in another room. Usually these discourses lasted a couple minutes. He was gone for much longer than that.
The water bottle sweated beads of condensation. The need to drink surfaced. I didn't pay attention. For once the dryness in my mouth didn't seem to be caused by thirst. The calls never took this long. Something was wrong.
Over the pounding of my heartbeat, I heard the creak of his footsteps on the stairs. I turned towards the door. He glanced at me, then at the untouched bottle of water, which he nudged towards me with his boot. He wasn't talking — that was bad. He always froze over when he received a piece of news that displeased him. And then he took it out on me.
As he turned to leave, I said in a cracking voice, “Wait.”
The grit beneath his soles crunched as he turned to face me.
“ My parents.” I took a sip of water, gagging on the mineral edge. “What about them?”
“ We got them.”
Those three words turned my blood to ice. I set the bottle aside, not noticing when it toppled, sending the precious water coursing away from me in shadowy rivulets. “You mean you captured them?”
“ No. It's only a matter of time. The phone call came from somewhere near the Canadian border.” He glanced down at me. “I suppose yesterday's photo shoot must have been convincing.”
I flinched. “You're lying.”
“ What reason do I have to lie to you?”
Clearly, he was forgetting that he had lied to me already — several times — which was the reason I was currently chained to a pipe.
A horrible wailing pierced the air. It took a moment to realize it was coming from me. My parents were still alive, but it was unlikely I'd ever get to say goodbye. The last exchange I'd had with my mom had been a vicious argument, where I'd told her I hated her. My captor started to shimmer around the edges, blurring behind my tears. I made no move to stop them. My heart was breaking, and the jagged pieces were cutting me all up inside.
“ Your tears won't do them any good.”
“ Why can't you just leave us alone?” I screamed.
The blurred form shook its head. “You are a stupid girl.”
Yes, I was. Stupid to think he was capable of granting any kind of mercy.
“ You're helping to pay off your parents' debt. Their greed is the reason you're here.”
“ Don't talk to me about greed, you bastard! You put a price-tag on my parents' lives! And you'd probably sell your own soul to make a cool million, too, you…you fucking hypocrite! At least my parents never killed anyone for money. You think you're so tough, so smart, so right just
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