Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I ripped at my bindings as the man approached me with the pliers. Then my world became painful again.
The questioning continued eternally. That was what it felt like, but I didn’t reveal the truth.
If I told Lamorgese that Amelia had brought food down to me, he would punish her, and I would lose the only person who might be my friend. The idea was unbearable. When they dropped me on the floor of my cell later, I stayed exactly where I was. My fingers were stiff from bruising, the pain still very prominent but getting better to handle. My face was swollen, and my ribs ached.
How was I supposed to survive days or weeks like this? What if weeks turned to months?
I waited anxiously on the upper landing, looking down at the floor below, hoping my father would emerge from the basement soon. The steel door was soundproof, so I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I worried he was hurting Nestore.
When Father finally came out and crossed the foyer below, my belly dropped. Blood covered his white shirt, and he was wiping his hands with a cloth. What if he’d killed Nestore?
My pulse sped up, my belly clenching so tightly I worried I’d throw up. I bounced on my heels, driven by the need to check on him, adrenaline making me almost lightheaded.
Father’s steps came closer as he ascended the staircase. I hid behind the library door, which was dark since it was night.
I held my breath when Father’s heavy steps passed the door and moved up the next staircase, then waited for the bang of his bedroom door before I dared to peek out. The hallway was cloaked in darkness. Only light from below allowed my eyes to make out my surroundings. My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I crept out into the hallway, then down the sweeping staircase.
I carried a bag with food, water, and a book for Nestore. I wasn’t sure what he liked to read, or if he liked to read at all. But life in the cell must be boring, so I wanted to help him keep his spirits up.
When I snuck down the narrow staircase to the basement, my breathing was shallow. It didn’t even allow me to extend my arms all the way without touching the rough concrete walls. I didn’t know if a guard was stationed down here. It seemed unnecessary given that no one was getting out of those cells without the keys.
The moment I reached Nestore’s cell, my body froze with pure fear. Nestore lay on the floor, curled into himself. He wasn’t moving.
I gripped the bars, licking my cracked lips. “Nestore?” I whispered.
He didn’t move. One of his hands rested on the floor outstretched. It was covered in blood. Blood splatters also dotted the floor from where he lay to the basement door. Heat pressed against my eyes. “Nestore?” I whispered louder.
“Nestore!” I snapped my lips shut as my voice echoed in the dank chamber. Nestore stirred, then rolled onto his back.
I gasped, my heart jolting. The left side of his face was entirely swollen, his eye a black-and-blue bump and crusted shut. His other eye opened, and for several moments, he merely stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling slowly before he rotated his head toward me. He grimaced. “Hey, Amelia.” His voice was rough. From screaming? The thought made me want to wail.
“I…” I cleared my throat. “I brought you food and a book.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to read tonight. My head is spinning.”
I nodded, my chin wobbling. “Yeah. You look…you look really—” I wasn’t sure what to say. He looked like hell, like my father really wanted to kill him.
“This is nothing.” He pushed into a sitting position, his expression tightening with pain. He moved his hands stiffly and kept them hanging limply at his sides the moment he stood. When he moved to the bars, I finally got a good look at his hands and immediately wished I hadn’t. He didn’t have any fingernails. Left were swollen nail beds and half-moon-shaped wounds. My belly dipped with a heave, but I quickly swallowed.
Nestore leaned the less beaten-up side of his face against the bars and smiled, or at least he tried, but the swollen side didn’t move properly, so it looked like a grotesque grimace.
“I wish…” I felt a wave of immense guilt. I wished I could help him, not just with food or books.
“Yeah, me too.” He motioned at the bag. “Let’s see what you got.”
I pulled out a couple of bananas, a protein bar, and a small pack of chips. “The cook threw away the food before I could pack some for you. I’m sorry.”
He ate the bananas first, then handed me the peel. “It’s better if you bring me stuff that doesn’t leave a trace. Your father noticed the plate you brought down here last time.”