CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ALICE
My head feels like it's being struck by a thousand heavy hammers.
I can feel movement.
My body is being shifted, dragged, and placed somewhere, but the sensation is completely disconnected.
It feels like I've been trapped inside someone else's body. I try to force my eyes open, but my eyelids feel like they've been glued shut.
Suddenly, the weight lifts. The movement stops.
I try to open my eyes again, desperate to see. This time, I manage to peel open a tiny slit through my lashes, but everything is a dizzying, unfocused blur.
When I finally force them all the way open, a harsh, naked light hits my eyes directly.
It feels like a physical assault.
Automatically, I try to bring my hand up to shield my face from the blinding glare, but my arms won't move.
A cold jolt of adrenaline shocks my system as I realize the truth: my wrists are bound tightly behind my back.
In an instant, the darkness recedes and everything rushes back to me in a violent wave.
The alleyway.
Ellie running beside me.
The suffocating, chemical-soaked cloth. The blackout.
My eyes snap wide open, frantically darting around the perimeter of the room.
Right beside me, slumped in an identical chair, is Ellie.
My blood runs completely cold.
Her skin is entirely devoid of color.
The beautiful, warm tan of her complexion is entirely gone, replaced by a pasty, deathly white.
"Ellie..." I whisper. My voice doesn't even sound like my own; it rattles in my throat like rough sandpaper.
"Ellie... open your eyes..." I whisper again, louder this time.
Still, there is absolutely no movement from her.
Panic begins to claw at my chest.
I have to get to her.
The heavy wooden chair I'm tied to isn't helping, but I refuse to just sit here.
Pressing my feet firmly against the concrete floor, I use the leverage of my legs to lift and slide the chair, creating a scraping vacuum against the ground.
It's exhausting, agonizingly slow work, but it works. Inch by inch, I edge closer to her.
"Ellie, wake up, please..."
At this point, pure, unadulterated terror takes over.
She is pregnant. She isn't waking up. My mind spirals into the darkest possible scenario. What if she lost the baby? What if the chemicals harmed it?
No, no, no, no.
"Ellie, open your eyes!" I whisper-yell, pouring every ounce of command I have into my voice.
It works. A soft, breathless whimper escapes her lips, and her eyelids flutter, slowly peeling open.
"Thank God... Ellie, look at me. Keep your eyes open," I urge her, finally close enough that our chairs are nearly touching.
She forces her eyes fully open, blinking against the harsh light.
"Alice... where are... we...?"
There is zero energy in her voice. She sounds completely hollowed out.
"I don't know where we are, Ellie... but don't worry. I'm going to find a way out," I assure her.
It's a lie—I need an assurance just as badly as she does—but I have to be strong for her right now. I have to be.
I try to twist and contort my torso, straining against the ropes to see if the knots will give.
Nothing.
They are tied perfectly tight.
But as I twist, a solid, rectangular surface presses hard against the side pocket of my hoodie.
My phone.
It's still there.
But my hands are bound behind me.
I can't reach down to pull it out.
I look back at Ellie, whose eyes are already heavy again, slipping in and out of consciousness.
"Ellie... I need your help. Look at me," I whisper urgently.
She blinks, focusing on me with a slow, unconscious nod.
Seeing her like this makes my nerves feel like they are on fire. It is only the second time in my entire life that I have felt this utterly, completely helpless.
The first time was watching my mother die in that hospital bed, unable to do a single thing to stop it. Now, it feels like history is repeating itself.
"My phone... it's in the side pocket of my hoodie," I say, my words fast and sharp.
"I need you to reach it and pull it out. I'm going to turn my chair around so my side is facing your back. Use your hands to get into my pocket, okay?"
She nods weakly.
I begin to aggressively scrape my chair backward, pivoting my body.
Every loud screech of the wood against the concrete feels like a countdown.
Time is running out.
As I finally position myself, my right hip pressed near her bound hands, I speak over my shoulder.
"Ellie... reach your left hand out. Straight as it is... and find the pocket."
She tries, her fingers fumbling blindly against the fabric.
"I can't find it..."
"Your left hand... straight out, Ellie. Use it. You can do this."
This time, her fingers slide against the opening of the pocket and plunge inside, her grip locking onto the metal frame of the device.
The moment I feel her secure it, I twist my body sharply forward, pulling the phone cleanly out of my pocket and leaving it in her grasp.
"Okay, now listen to me carefully," I breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"It has my face lock. I'm going to lean back so it senses my face and opens. Then, you're going to call the first log. I know you can't see the screen, but I'm going to guide your fingers. Got it, Ellie?"
"Yeah..." she whispers.
I lean my head back, tilting my face toward her hands until the screen lights up and recognizes my face, instantly unlocking. Looking over my shoulder, I can see the screen clearly, even if she can't.
"Swipe right on the very first contact," I command. It's Mio.
Suddenly, a heavy, distinct sound echoes from the hallway outside. The scraping of boots.
"Alice... someone's coming..." Ellie's panicked voice breaks something vital inside me.
I snap my attention back to the phone.
The screen is dialing. It's ringing.
Before Ellie can even adjust her grip, the call connects.
"Hello—" Mio's voice cuts through the speaker.
"Mio, listen to me!" I scream toward the phone behind my back.
"Me and Ellie have been kidnapped! We don't know where we are! Go to the police, go to anyone—tell them to track this phone! Please, Mio! I'm hiding it—"
The heavy metal door bursts open with a violent slam.
The sudden shock startles Ellie, and the phone slips from her fingers, clattering onto the concrete floor.
Through the speaker, I can hear Mio's frantic, terrified voice screaming my name over and over.
Without thinking, I swing my leg back, kicking the phone with the heel of my shoe, sending it skidding across the floor until it disappears safely behind a thick concrete pillar.
Then, I look up at the doorway.
The air is instantly stolen straight from my lungs.
My chest tightens, a suffocating wave of shock freezing me in place.
Those cold, piercing gray eyes. They belong to Marcus.
He is standing in the doorway, a heavy black handgun gripped tightly in his hand, looking completely, utterly unhinged.
Like a maniac.
And his eyes are locked right on me.