Then, just as rapidly as the headache had arrived, it was gone again. Tapering off in a matter of seconds. Mohan’s heart stopped pounding, and he could finally stop biting the inside of his cheek. Nevertheless, the taste of blood lingered in his mouth.
“I guess they finished up or took the fight elsewhere,” Mohan said to himself.
Mohan sat up and took note of his surroundings. The room was dark, and with no windows, he couldn’t be entirely sure of what time it was. Letting the group know he was okay again would probably be a good idea, but enduring more interrogation for information he didn’t have could wait until later. He didn’t totally blame them; he had tried to shoot the two brothers. In his defense, those his age had plenty of reasons to be jumpy.
Getting up to his feet, Mohan grappled to keep balance and felt like he was bobbing about in an ocean.
Oh, wow. What’s up with my head?
Once the boy felt stable enough, he made his way to the door. Checking the handle as he was about to open the door, he felt the cold metal turn and took a step back. Slowly, a face appeared and put a finger up to their lips.
“Don’t worry,” the woman whispered. “They are long gone. I won't hurt you.”
“You sure?” He bit his lip and exhaled.
“I’ve seen enough of those two getting into it to know they are just getting started. It’s not usually this bad, but when tempers flare, lookout.” Lily said, shaking her head. “So, you must be proud to be such a source of contention.”
Mohan shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’m not going to pry unless you want me to. I’m definitely not in the mood for fighting; I just got the baby down to bed. Somehow, he sleeps right through all their yelling, and strangely enough, it seems to soothe him to sleep.”
Feeling more at ease, Mohan relaxed a bit, knowing she didn’t want anything from him. Lily grabbed his hand and led him to the steps so they could sit down.
“I don’t blame the guys for being mad. I did try to kill them earlier in the day,” Mohan admitted. A wry smirk spread across her face.
“Okay, okay, maybe not kill but hurt? I am a kid and all. There’s always some adult trying to use me or hurt me. Wouldn’t you do the same?”
Mohan lowered his head, looking defeated. Lily reached out and lifted his chin and stared directly into his eyes.
“You're not just a kid. Sorry, mom brain there seeping out. I am here for you. If you want my opinion—I don’t blame you for being scared. You have lasted longer on your own than I ever would've. You seem like an amazing boy, and I see why Colleen liked you.”
Mohan perked up and nodded in appreciation.
“Do you get scared?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?” she said, tilting back, “I get scared every day. Even more, now that I have my son. We brought a baby into a world that maybe isn’t dying, but it definitely isn’t getting better fast enough. I pinch myself every day, knowing I have a healthy baby that I get to watch turn into someone amazing,” She paused as an infectious smile spread across her face. “I’d wanted a baby for as long as I could remember. Nothing could've made me happier, but it’s just me wondering if I selfishly brought him into the world—a world that just might not be merciful to him.”
Lily’s smile faded, and worry seeped into her eyes.
“You're a wonderful mom,” Mohan said with a soft smile.
“How do you know? You barely know me,” Lily's eyes narrowed.
“I had a good mom. The best, actually.”
They both stood there awhile, saying nothing. Mohan finally broke the silence, “They started about a week ago. I don’t have a watch or anything to tell time but, but they feel like they happen around the same time every day. The first day they were annoying, the second, a bit worse, but I could handle it still. By the third day,” he inhaled and closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip, “by the third day, I was ready to stab someone.”
“I can now see why you were so jumpy. Well that, and my husband doesn’t always think before he acts.”
Mohan put his hands up as if to say, ‘You said it, not me.’
“Is there anything that felt off or sticks out in your mind?”
“I don’t know, other than the pain?” his eyes shifted up, searching. “They happened six times a day. I remember counting, but also noticed that some were more painful than others consistently. It felt like someone was doing it to me. I’m not kidding, three times a day, I really thought I would die.”
Lilies eyes lit up, and her mouth dropped open. Mohan wasn’t sure what he could have said to bring about that reaction. She tapped her index finger against her dimpled chin, “This is going to sound really weird but—”
“I’ve seen everything. I can do weird,” Mohan said reassuringly.
“Do you remember the times they happened?”
His eyes went down and then to the right. He tried to push his memories to the surface, “I don’t know, like I said, I don’t have a watch.”
“Just guess then,” Lily said excitedly.
“Okay, maybe 9, noon, and 3? I’m sorry I just don’t…”
Her eyes lit up again as she grabbed both his arms and looked at him intensely. “Again weird, but—was there ever any weird weather that happened at the same time.”
“No, not that I remember.”
Her face scrunched up, looking almost disappointed. She shrugged it off. “I could have sworn there was a connection.”
“To what?” He said, looking at her in confusion.
“It’s nothing. We’ve just been having bizarre weather three times a day, and it lasts for just a short amount of time. So, when you said three...”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could help you, but I never saw it.” He raised his finger, motioning in the air as if trying to put it on something, “You asked about weird; you know those cars buried in the dirt in the middle of nowhere?”
Lily nodded her head up and down.
“Maybe it's nothing, but the headaches started the moment I saw them.
Thirty-Six
Colleen
“Marisha!” Colleen screamed as she spun in a circle, just barely keeping her balance, trying to see anything that would give her an idea of where they had taken her.
She made her way to the cable that she now knew was a makeshift zipline for whoever had taken her. The fraying metal cable looked as if it could unravel at any moment. The cable ended at the top of the theater. Too many holes littered the white-domed surface, and it was just too far away for her to see anything inside.
Frantically, she searched around for something she could use to ride down. Leather, metal, even a thick rope that might last just long enough—that is, if the cable didn’t snap first.
She checked all the doors leading inside. They were either locked or too rusted to move. Her heart pounded in her ears, and every muscle ached.
“Think, think, think,” she said, slapping her forehead.
“Let’s slow this down. Panicking isn’t going to save her.”
Colleen took a deep breath, “Ok, so obviously, whatever they used to ride down is gone, but what if they had a backup, a failsafe, something like that?”
Methodically she checked all the doors, the corners, anything she could think of. All the while pushing down that voice, telling her that if she didn’t hurry, she might never see Marisha again.
Colleen approached the railing and looked down to the floor below. The frayed zipline had also been anchored to that floor, presumably to provide additional strength. And just like that, hanging from that cable was a chain with a lone carabiner fashioned with a nylon strap.
The stairs connecting the two floors were behind the locked doors. But she could climb over the railing and drop to the next floor, and a VIP ticket to Marisha would be hers.
Without another thought, she climbed up on the railing, straddled it, and swung both legs over. In one motion, she dropped, nearly misjudging her footing. Colleen turned her b
ackpack around and slid her arms through front ways. She pulled the straps tight and reached up to tie the carabiner to the thick canvas and rubber handle with a square knot; a knot that got tighter the more you pulled on it.
She held her breath and jumped. In what felt like an eternity, Colleen dropped, only to be jolted once the rope's slack was gone. The backpack went up, but as her large frame tried to go with gravity, her arms nearly slipped out as she struggled to hold on.
“This was a terrible idea.”
She could feel every sensation times ten. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and her rapid heartbeat slammed against her sore chest. Her muscles went into survival mode, clamping down.
She choked up on the rope, easing the tension. Although slow at first, her speed increased. Faster and faster, her fear of falling had vanished, only to be replaced by another: how would she stop?
Colleen reached up but quickly pulled her hand back, realizing what a horrible idea that would be. With the dome fast approaching, she braced for impact, pulling her legs up and making herself small. Colleen felt like she had to pee with all the pressure of gravity against her frame. The cable was mounted to a pole, and at this speed, any impact would paralyze, if not kill, her outright.
She grabbed the knife around her neck and let go.
Both arms slipped from the backpack, and she plummeted. She felt like she was going to die as her body slowly fell, to be crushed by the impact.
If you could get over the idea of bleeding out internally as your body rag dolled off the pavement, then the sensation of falling was euphoric.
Closing her eyes, she braced. But the pain was far less than she would've expected as her body crashed through the fiberglass tiles that domed the theater. Instantly, all the air in her lungs was pushed out. She was jerked to a stop. Her pants had become caught on something as her legs dangled inside. Colleen put her palms down, then kicked, trying to find something to gain a foothold.
Her body rested half in and half out of a white roof tile filled with a layer of pink fiberglass insulation. Underneath, a lattice of aluminum formed the backbone of the structure. With every minute movement, the tiles further cracked and groaned, hinting at collapse. Colleen continued to search for a handhold or anything to stop her from falling into the blackness below, well aware that the only thing keeping her alive would eventually give way.
With one hand, Colleen unsheathed her neck knife. She stabbed down in front of her, hitting something hard, and pulled tautly.
Crack
Everything was giving way. Her whole world became quiet as her body slipped through the flimsy roof. With one hand firmly on the knife, she let go and windmilled her arm around to grab it in her other hand. Colleen pulled herself forward. The muscles in her already spent core flexing and contracting, the knife holding firm against the rigged aluminum skeleton. She only moved a few inches at first, gaining ground with each successive effort. With her torso out now, Colleen stabbed the roof again and kept pulling until her depleted body was facedown on the outside.
Twenty feet away was the pole she had jumped to avoid colliding with. Below the pole rested a ladder that led down inside the theatre.
“That’s got to be where they’ve taken her,” she said to herself.
Massive holes littered her path to the ladder, requiring her to crawl on her belly like a snake, helping keep her weight evenly distributed on the fragile roof. Once on the ladder, she stood up and stretched her legs. Next plan—how to get the backpack that dangled from the pole ten feet above her head.
Colleen knew the best way up—climbing the pole, but she certainly was in no mood to do that right now. Her muscles were on fire, and every joint ached from the impact as the adrenaline had worn off.
She knew it had to be done as she rolled the small neck knife between her fingers. Every weapon I need is in that bag, and I’m going to need them if I expect to have a chance.
Colleen straddled the metal pole and pulled herself up, inching her arms and legs along and pausing only to rest for a few seconds. The cold metal rubbed against her thighs through her now tattered jeans. With each movement, she felt her body calling out to her, each injury amplified.
Once at the top, she sliced the nylon strap, and the backpack fell into her hands. Satisfied, she slid back down and took a quick inventory, finding everything still there. She slid her mother's 9mm Glock in her waistband and hooked the knife back around her neck.
Pausing before she descended below, Colleen placed her ear to the opening and listened.
Nothing.
No running, no yelling, no signs of anyone anywhere. They couldn’t have gotten too far in just a matter of minutes. As Colleen took a step down each rung, she listened, hoping for signs of life.
She flicked her everspark and looked down. Directly below was a catwalk that stretched from one end of the ceiling to the other, and at each end was a door. Everything was black, no color anywhere. Even the light of her flame seemed to get sucked up.
“…and you're not it,” she said, randomly selecting a door to try.
The door on the left opened much more easily than she had expected. Colleen was on the right track. Through the door and down more steps into another black room. At the end were three windows and another door.
“This is getting old. If I see another ladder or staircase or—" she growled, “I swear I’ll—”
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
On the other side of the door, she heard the sound again, followed by a faint voice. Whoever it was on the other side was doing an awful job of hiding. She pressed her back to the wall and listened again.
“Idiot… knows… here.” A silvery, quiet voice said, “What did… tell you about going… during the day?”
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” another person responded, only their voice sounded wheezy, almost breathless, “But I saw her, and I had to see for myself up close.”
“You know how things ended the last time she was here. It got ugly, fast. The last thing anyone here needs is your drama. It was hard enough dealing with you moping about when she left the first time. Marisha made her choice, and her presence brought nothing to our group.” Quinn's voice was kind but commanding, trying to save the other man from another mistake.
Colleen leaned out and took a glimpse through the window. The two men appeared similar in the shadows, right down to their facial hair, hiding permanent scowls.
“I know why you feel that way, but maybe things will be different this time.”
“Doubtful,” Quinn said, in a tone meant to end the conversation.
“Come on—”
“No, Garrick,” Quinn shot back. He stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest, “The last thing we need is whoever she was with to come looking for her.”
Garrick waved the idea off with the flick of his hand, “We’ll be fine.”
Colleen squatted, not wanting to be seen.
“You sure about that? I hear she’s ranting and raving again.”
“You know,” Garrick snarled, “You can be a real ass sometimes.”
“Someone has to make the tough choices around here,” Quinn said. He paused, taking several audible deep breaths. “We don’t know which Marisha we’re getting, and by the sound of things, you don’t either.”
“Fine, but I’m not leaving her. You don’t have to lift a finger.”
“You do you, but we leave first thing in the morning. She can go, but the first inkling I get that she’s going crazy again—I put a bullet in her head. You got that?”
Garrick responded with a simple, “Yes.”
Now, go make sure no one followed you and your band of thieves in here.”
Colleen slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp.
Who is she and what’s wrong with her? What hasn’t she been telling me? I’ve got to get her out of here.
Something above her creaked and groaned. Someone was coming.
She spun around, heading back up. Hand over han
d, she cautiously pulled herself up to each rung, careful not to make a sound. Once to the top, her hand wildly searched for a handhold, finally landing on the shaky railing of the catwalk.
It wouldn’t matter. They had been right behind her, watching the whole time. Before Colleen could react, a boot smashed into her face. Her nose erupting in searing pain.
“What did we tell you about coming to look for her?”
Although she had held on through the first kick, the next one was too much for her to handle. Her grip loosened, and once again, Colleen was in freefall, only stopped by the floor below. The impact was unlike anything she had felt up to that point. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, and worst of all, she was beginning to lose her mind all over again as her world faded to black.
Thirty-Seven
Marisha
It was weird being back in this place, even if nothing seemed specific. This place had a name, just on the tip of her tongue, escaping her. Marisha was almost certainly convinced she knew precisely where she was. The smells, the sounds, the feelings that just being here brought back to her, even if most of them made Marisha want to vomit. There had been some good times, some hard times, and a whole lot more times that, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember. Dark memories only came back in fits and spurts; nothing came through clearly, except sadness.
Rarely does your brain let you forget the good memories. It usually held on to them, embellished them, and shot them back to you when the time seemed right. At least this was true in a sane person's mind, but she wasn’t entirely sure that she was still sane.
The real question was how she had gotten there. The most recent cohesive memory she can put together is of her in the garden staring at her parent's grave, but then the reels of memories were spliced and cut up, fast movements coming in and out of focus. Anger building up like water pushing against a damn, ready to burst through.
All around her bed was a black curtain stretching from floor to ceiling. A faint breeze entered, making a soft whistling noise, ruffling the fabric. The sounds of people talking felt distant, almost ghostly. The smell of smoke was strong, telling her it wasn’t too far off.
The Maddening: Book 2 in the Terror Saga Page 20
