by HP Mallory
"What are you going to do with me?" I asked loudly, fighting the volume and the silence between us.
"You'll find out soon enough, won't you?" he responded, glaring at me and making no motion to turn the volume down.
I didn't say anything more, but watched a small structure as it came into view. It was a rectangular shaped, one-story building without windows. It looked so small from the outside that I didn't imagine it could have more than four rooms inside. Knight pulled up in front of it and stopped the Denali, putting it into park. I assumed this building was the jail he'd mentioned earlier.
He turned off the engine and sighed, not making any motion to move. He just sat in his seat, staring straight ahead for another few seconds before he opened his door and jumped down. He walked around the Denali and then opened my door, hoisting me into his arms, only to set me on the ground. Gripping my upper arm, he forced me up the gravel entryway to the nondescript building.
He unlocked the front door and pushed me over the threshold none-too-gently. It was dark inside, but moments later, he turned on a light switch and the fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered as they lit the place in a sickly yellow. The jail amounted to one enormous room with four holding cells, two on each side. The front of the room boasted a table with a phone on it, a small television and a case of bottled waters. There were three fold-up chairs arranged around the table.
When I slowed, not sure where I should go or what I should do, Knight pushed me forward. "Watch it," I ordered when I nearly tripped over my own feet. He said nothing, but gripped my arm and turning to the first cell, unlocked it, shoving me inside. There was a cot on one side and a toilet on the other, with a small sink beside it. I turned around at the sound of him closing the barred door and locking it.
Then he simply disappeared down the hallway. I could hear him sitting in one of the chairs and throwing his legs up on the table. He turned the television on and the volume blared out. Seconds later, the volume dropped to a mere hum.
###
I'd fallen asleep. I'm not sure how long I was out, but I awoke to the sound of loud voices and heavy footfalls. I stood up and approached the bars of my cell, watching as two men I didn't recognize escorted Horatio into the room. He cursed them left and right, but they just laughed in response and showed him to the cell at the end of the hallway, on the opposite side of mine.
At the sound of more voices, I watched as Quillan walked through the front door, another ANC man behind him. Quill was silent as he stepped into the hallway. The man behind him gripped his arms and pulled him to a stop, making it known that he didn't want Quill to venture any farther. The man holding Quill glanced at Knight and I tried to make out their exchange, but their voices were too muffled. Instead, I watched as Knight took hold of Quill's arms, which were cuffed behind his back, and the other man disappeared through the front door. Then I watched Knight push him forward as Quill glanced in my direction, recognizing me immediately.
"Dulcie!" he said, his voice sounding relieved. Relieved probably because I wasn't dead. Then he looked over his shoulder at Knight, and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle. "If you so much as laid one finger on her," he started.
Knight glared at him. "You'll do what?"
"If you hurt her," he started again, a new fire burning in his eyes.
"I didn't hurt her," Knight responded stonily, his tone implying the hurt was the other way around. Neither of them said anything more as Knight showed Quill to his cell, which was right beside Horatio's. After locking the cell door behind Quill, Knight started back up the hall, refusing to even spare a glance in my direction.
I retired back to my cot and laid down, the fluorescence of the lights suddenly going dim as Knight turned them off. Well, in my part of the jail anyway. It was still bright in the front of the room, the gentle droning of the television supplying the only sound.
"Are you okay, Dulce?" Quill asked, his tone hopeful.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said softly, even as I thought I was far from being fine.
"Everything is going to be okay, Dulce," Quill said, his tone sounding sweet, but defeated. 'Course, I couldn't say I believed him. Instead, I closed my eyes and fell back to sleep.
###
When I woke up, again to the sound of voices, I was pretty sure I'd been asleep for at least a few hours. I had that feeling of dreariness you get when waking up from a deep, REM sleep. I sighed and tried to hone in on the sounds of the voices coming from the front of the room. I recognized Knight's, but couldn't place the other one. It was a woman's, the resonance and tone seeming somehow familiar to me. Yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up, trying to decipher what they were saying.
"Are you sure?" I heard Knight's baritone.
"Yes, Vander, I'm more than sure. I heard it from Caressa herself. Now stop being an obstinate ape and let me see her."
Then the sound of heavy steps—Knight's—and he suddenly came into view. His expression was unreadable. He actually wouldn’t even look at me. But seeing as how he was holding the key to my cell, I had to imagine something was up. I didn't get the chance to further consider what the hell was going on because I suddenly noticed the woman with the long, dark hair who couldn't have been more than five feet tall coming up behind him.
"Christina?" I asked, absolutely shocked.
She smiled broadly. "We meet again."
I glanced at Knight, wondering why he didn't have her in custody, why her hands weren't cuffed behind her back and, furthermore, why he wasn't escorting her to her own cell. But he just stood there, making no motion to do anything aside from unlocking my cell door and holding it wide open. I stayed put, staring at Christina's pretty face. "But, you ... you work for my father?"
She beamed then and nodded eagerly, as if about to tell me an incredibly exciting story. She stepped inside my cell as my gaze returned to Knight, who just stood there, austere in his silence.
"Yep, I do work for your father, well, that is, I did," Christina said with a soft laugh as if the whole thing were one big joke. Then the laugh died on her lips and she eyed me speculatively. "I'm also the leader of The Resistance."
H. P. Mallory is the author of the Jolie Wilkins series as well as the Dulcie O’Neil series.
She began her writing career as a self-published author and after reaching a tremendous amount of success, decided to become a traditionally published author and hasn’t looked back since.
H. P. Mallory lives in Southern California with her husband and son, where she is at work on her next book.
If you are interested in receiving emails when she releases new books, please sign up for her email distribution list by visiting her website and clicking the “contact” tab: www.hpmallory.com
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