Locked In: No Way Out Series - Book One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  "My mother is buried in the ground behind the shed," he says, sounding as if a breath is caught in his throat.

  She's dead. But—"What did she die from?" Please don't confirm my fear. Please, no. Please.

  "Next question," he says, anger firing through his voice. He would only be avoiding the question if my assumption were correct. The memory of Snatcher blaming a murder on Sin reels through my head. He must have killed his mother. Who would do that to their mother? This man is a murderer, and I'm locked in a dark basement with him. He could kill me too. Maybe Snatcher was waiting for Sin to do his dirty work. That's why I'm here.

  "Sin?"

  "Yes?"

  "Were you ill before you were locked up?"

  "That's up for debate," he says.

  "Well, the doctors must have determined that you are now healthy if they let you out. Right?" I ask, knowing I'm only trying to convince myself that I'm going to be okay in here with him.

  "Yes, Reese," he says. "That would be true. If the doctors were the ones who let me out."

  6

  Chapter Six

  SIN

  I should let her go. I should tell her to run—to get the hell away from me and this fucking nightmare she's been held hostage in for the past three years. But I won't give her that chance again. I wasn't sure if she was actually going to take the opportunity and run into the night blind and desperate for freedom. Clearly, she's smarter than I've given her credit for, which is good because what's out there isn't better than what is in here. She just doesn't know it yet.

  Go figure the lights power back on the second I tell her I escaped from the goddamn psych ward. The look in her eyes should have filled with more fear than what she let on, but she's obviously too numb to comprehend the danger in which I've become.

  Rather than shoving through those metal doors, she's been sitting on the top step staring at me for the past hour. I haven't had this much time to look at her in much light, but now that I'm knee deep into this staring contest, I can see what the darkness has done to her. Her skin is pale—ghostly white, and her eyes are the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen. Her lips are dry and cracked, and her cheekbones are slightly sunken. But even with all of the flaws, she's still beautiful, like one of those porcelain dolls Ma used to collect.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, her eyebrows scrunch together.

  "Like what?" I ask her.

  "I don't know. It's like you're waiting for me to run away or something." She combs her fingers through the length of her long hair and tucks the sides behind her ears.

  "Aren't you afraid of me?" I ask her.

  She stands up and slowly makes her way down the steps to where I'm standing. "I'll tell you what I'm afraid of, Sin," she begins. "I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of starving to death, or worse, getting sick. That's what I'm afraid of."

  "That's all?" I ask her, knowing exactly why those are her simple answers. There's nothing else to be afraid of when you're in solitary confinement.

  "No." She narrows her eyes and bites down on her bottom lip. "What I'm mostly afraid of…is that I may never find my way back to a normal state of mind."

  "As you should be," I tell her. Her eyes widen at my remark or possibly for the reason I'm agreeing. Maybe she wants me to tell her she'll eventually be okay. But I doubt she will be, and I'm not one to give false hope.

  "I want answers, Sin. Tell me what has changed over the past three years? Where are we? Do you know my mother?" I was wondering how long it would take for her to start asking questions. "And how did you escape from the hospital? Did you kill someone to make that happen?" At least it's clear she knows the reasons why she should be afraid of me.

  "I don't think you want to know the answer to any of your questions. You're too fragile right now."

  "Fragile?" she shouts, her voice hoarse and broken. With her thin finger pointed directly at my nose, she continues, "Don't confuse my weakness for being fragile. I'm alive. Therefore, I am not fragile."

  Her anger excites me a bit, and I do my best to hide the twitching smile piercing through my permanent scowl, but I find her humorous, and a little cute.

  "Come with me," I tell her. I bring her to the other side of the basement where Ma's closet has gone untouched. I open the door, and for the first time since her death, I inhale the perfumed scent permeating the closet and now the air around us. A pain in my chest makes it hard to touch the material of her clothes, but I grit my teeth and yank out a pair of her overalls and a shirt. "Here, clean clothes." I thrust my arm out to her with the clothes. "Take them."

  "Are these your mother's?"

  "They were, yes. Now put them on." I squat down to the shoe rack and grab a pair of Ma's work boots as I look over at Reese's bare feet. The size is close enough. "Here." I toss them to the ground in front of her.

  "Why is your mother's closet in the basement? Did she live here? I thought you said your dad wouldn't come in here…"

  "Enough. Just take the damn clothes, will you?"

  "Thank you," she says, holding everything tightly against her chest.

  I walk past her and back over toward the door to give her privacy, although there isn't much isolation in this wide-open basement, except for the dozens of beams supporting the ceiling.

  I sit down on the bottom step and try to avoid her movement out of my periphery. Although the paleness of her skin glows brightly enough to make avoidance difficult, and I'm losing the battle of attempting to give her privacy. Perfect, untouched porcelain is all I can see, even when I close my eyes.

  "It feels nice to change out of those clothes," she says, folding up the grey sweat pants and the white t-shirt I assume she's been wearing for the past three years. She steps into each boot and tightens them around her ankles. "They're a tad big, but shoes are nice." What the hell did Pa do with her shoes? Why would he even take those from her?

  She sits down beside me, folding up the extra long pants at her knees. "I guess I'm ready for whatever is out there now that I'm in clean clothes."

  You're in my dead mother's clothes; I want to say.

  "I'm glad you think you're ready," I say, leaning back against the cement wall as I fold my arms behind my head. Closing my eyes, I add in, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

  I hear her scuffling around on the step and then her head rests down on my lap. My body stiffens from her touch, even through the thick jean material; I can feel the warmth of her head. "What are you doing?" I snap at her.

  "You're warm, and I'm cold," she says.

  It's been so long since I've felt any warmth that I've forgotten what it's supposed to feel like, but maybe this is close. Craving more warmth, I lower one of my hands and place it down on her back. "We're not so different, Sin," she says softly. "I won't hurt you either." She thinks she knows everything.

  Focusing on the warmth radiating beneath my hand, I find it hard to sleep. I spend the passing hours watching her back rise and fall with every one of her breaths, realizing I've never had the time to watch a person's breath for so long. I watched the padded walls breath, however. When you stare at something long enough, it begins to move—it morphs into things only a human brain can conjure up in a time of desolation. At least I know I'm not imagining this movement within her.

  Somewhere between the time Reese fell asleep and now, the rain has stopped. The birds are cawing outside, and I know it's time to get moving. I squeeze the hand I haven't moved in hours, and she stirs gently beneath my grip. Whipping around and sitting up quickly, she looks at me like I'm the one who coerced her to fall asleep on my lap. "I wasn't dreaming I guess," she says.

  "No, you're still in a nightmare."

  She stands up and stretches her arms above her head before throwing herself to the ground. "A rubber band!" she shouts. She was definitely locked up for too damn long. Who gets that excited over a piece of rubber? I watch her curiously, wondering what the big deal is. But I stop wondering when she twists her hair
into a knot on the top of her head so she can wrap the rubber band securely around it. "I've dreamt of pulling my hair up for years."

  "You have shitty dreams," I tell her.

  "I guess only shitty dreams can exist in a nightmare."

  "You got me there." I walk over to the workbench in the corner and grab a few things to keep in my pocket. "You ready?"

  "I'm not sure," she says. "But we need to get out of here. I need to see daylight."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I mutter under my breath.

  She walks up the steps to the door and pushes the metal bar to the left. "There's light," she says quietly, pressing the door open slightly.

  "He could still be out there," I remind her.

  "I found a revolver in the closet. I'm not worried." I close my eyes and pray the girl doesn't shoot me after stepping outside of this shithole.

  "Let me go first. I've actually shot a weapon before." I nudge her to the side and step outside, surveying the damage from the tornado. Although I suppose it can't be called damage anymore though. It's more like the icing over destruction.

  She follows me outside, cupping her hand over her eyes, shielding herself from the sun. "The sun," she says. "It's—"

  "In the sky?" I ask with sarcasm. "Let's get out of here quickly." I grab her by the arm and pull her faster than she wants to walk. After crossing the street, she pulls away from me.

  "Wait!" she shouts.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I pull her a little harder, so she doesn't try to stop us again.

  "Was that the shed?" she asks, pointing to the pile of rotting reddish-brown wood.

  "Yeah and you would be buried beneath that if I didn't save your ass, so now do me a favor and walk."

  "You're kind of an asshole," she says.

  I jerk her arm and pull her in front of me, lowering my face to hers. "Listen to me. The world is a fucked up place. Especially right now. This is an abandoned town. Has been for ten years. Do you know what happens when things are abandoned, Reese? Tell me. Do you?"

  I hear her swallow against the stale air. She tries to stare me down, her jaw grinding back and forth with anger. "All I know is that abandoned people go crazy." She breathes heavily contemplating her next words before spitting them out, "Like you, asshole."

  "And like you," I grit through my teeth. "Let me tell you something, sweetheart, when towns are abandoned, they become a habitat for the insane. So keep your eyes open, your mouth shut and stay behind me until I tell you otherwise."

  7

  Chapter Seven

  REESE

  He must be exaggerating. Towns don't just close down. Well, at least they didn't before Snatcher took me.

  I should be considering Sin's words or demands, but I'm trying to take it all in—the light, the colors, and the landscape. Everything is burnt orange and brown, which is beautiful against the blue sky, but this place is nothing like home. We had grass, very green grass and wildflowers. There are no flowers here.

  My legs feel heavy with each step, but I don't want to complain. I can't complain. We need to get out of here. We need to get as far away from here as possible; even though there is nothing but vast open space. I don't see any roads or highways in the distance. I don't see anything in the distance. "Where are we?" I ask.

  "Shh. Keep your voice down, will you?" Sin snaps.

  Confused, I look around, trying to understand why he would tell me to be quiet since there's no one around. I look behind us toward where the shed and basement were. The house adjacent to the basement is larger than what I thought now seeing it from this angle. I release a heavy sigh as I let my feet drag against the dirt "How much farther until we reach a road or a highway?" I ask softly.

  Sin stops suddenly and turns to face me. "Look, I know you've been locked up for three years, and you have a million questions, but just assume I don't have the answer to any of them right now. Okay?"

  "No. It's not okay. You're right. I have been locked up for three years, so don't you think I deserve some information? Anything? Like even the name of this stupid town. You can't just mute me…like your father did."

  Sin grabs me by the loose material of my overalls and pulls me up to his chest. His forehead shimmers under the sun and his hazel eyes grow wide with anger. His veins swell under his skin, and I'm realizing I've pushed the wrong button. "I am nothing like that man. Nothing." He releases me quickly and turns back around, continuing in his direction.

  With a deep breath, I continue in Sin's shadow, noticing another shed off in the distance. That one is mostly flattened too, although, there are a few planks of wood still standing upright, unlike my shed. One of the standing planks has a showerhead dangling by a metal rod. A shower in a shed. I didn't have a shower in the shed I was in. I was given a bucket of water and a dried out bar of soap once every three days.

  Water. I need water.

  I feel like I'm wilting from the sun. It's beating down on my neck, and I know I'm going to burn. It's bad enough I'm blonde and pale, but after no sun exposure in so long, my skin is probably going to blister.

  I find myself breathing heavier as we continue, and I really want to know where we're walking. "Five more minutes until we're there," Sin says. I don't ask where there is. I don't want to ask after dealing with his whiplashing mood. Even if I did ask, I'm sure he won't answer me. "See that?" He points ahead of us. I squint to see what he's looking at, but the sun is reflecting off of the horizon, making it look like gasoline is rising from the dirt. I think I see something now, though. It looks like more sheds.

  He turns to me. "Do you remember the rules?"

  "Rules?" I repeat softly.

  "Stay behind me and don't say anything, please." Wow. I get a please this time. "We're about to enter the other part of Chipley." That's the name I heard Snatcher say. I was right about it being the town.

  As Sin turns back down the path we're walking, he grabs my wrist and holds it tightly against his side. "Let's go," he says.

  The closer we get to the sheds, I notice they're different. They're made of stone. They're like the one I was in, but more confined, even a little sturdy. If my shed were made of stone, it wouldn't have blown down in the tornado. There's one shed after another, lined up perfectly with less than twenty feet or so between each structure. We're walking down a path between two rows of them. I've never seen a town like this before.

  After passing six or seven sheds, a door opens on one of them in the distance, but I'm close enough to see a middle-aged woman walk out—she's dressed in a grey, rag gown, which looks torn above the knee. Her hair is long, dark, and bone straight—it hangs over the side of her face, concealing her features like she's hiding.

  The woman closes her door tightly and turns down the path we're walking on, and I see that the back of her dress is tied together with thin, white cotton ribbons. It almost looks like something a patient might wear in a hospital, but a little more form fitting.

  A lump feels like it's forming in my throat as my nerves prickle against my skin. My curiosity and thoughts are causing a bad feeling in my gut. As if Sin can sense my feelings, his hand tightens around my wrist, making me a little more nervous.

  Another shed door opens, but on the opposite side this time. Again, I watch to see who comes out. This time, it's a man. He's completely bald, dressed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. No shoes. I look ahead of him at the woman, and she's not wearing shoes either.

  "Sin," I hear from the distance. "Sin." His name sounds like a hiss more than a word, but I can clearly hear someone calling him. I look around in every direction, not seeing anyone. But as I keep looking, I notice movement in between two of the sheds on the left side. There's a man lying on the ground, wrapped under a burlap blanket with only his head poking out. His hair is greasy and long around his ears. His beard looks well over a month old and his face is covered in dirt.

  "Who's that?" I whisper. "Do you know him?"

  "Yes. I know him. That's JJ," Sin
says under his breath, pulling me at a quicker rate. "Shit."

  "What?" I ask. But my question seems to get lost in the midst of the clatter of several shed doors opening. Men and women pour out onto the path we're on; all of them dressed the same as the first two people I saw. "What's happening?" Most of them are walking at a fast pace while others are running.

  A loud flutter sounds from the sky, and I look to see if there is a plane up above, wondering where it's coming from and where it's going. The right direction might point us toward a nearby city. Regardless, there's an aircraft, which means Sin and I aren't completely lost in the middle of nowhere. Not as it seems anyway. A helicopter finally appears on the horizon behind us, and heads in the direction we're walking. The sound of the propellers biting at the wind becomes painfully loud as it flies over our head, and the rush of air nearly knocks me over. I can't help but wonder why it's flying so low over this town.

  "Bad timing," Sin says. He stops suddenly and drags me off the path and behind one of the sheds where no one can see us. Over here, I see trees in the distance. They're the first trees I've seen—maybe it means there's a road on the other side of them.

  "Should we go that way?" I ask, pointing toward the green blur of leaves.

  "No. That's not the right way," he says. Sin squats down, pulling me down with him until I'm resting on my knees. "Listen. In the next few minutes, you might see things that scare you, and when you see what I'm talking about, I'm going to need you to remain calm."

  "I am calm." Not necessarily inside, but I'm good at pretending.

  "I know you are easily excitable, and I can understand why, but right now, it's important that we stay calm." He places his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "Do you understand?"

  My skin tingles beneath his touch, even separated by the thin material of my shirt. "Please tell me what's going on."