Save Point 12

Goran

I awake with a start, gasping—feeling the gag cut into the sides of my mouth and tasting blood there.

...My first thought?

The realization that my hands are tied tight against each other in my lap and legs secured with rope, below me, to two chair legs. A folding table plateaus in front of me. My pupils slowly adjust to the dark, shadowed room. Am I in a warehouse? ...A castle?

Somergot prison.

The reality dumps on me like a truckload of dirt. Those Game Warden bastards.

I pull against the thick rope across my chest, securing me to the freezing, metal chair, hearing the legs scrape and jump across the concrete floor from the force. But I can't go very far with the ledge of the table jutting into my middle.

...My second thought?

You.

Of course, it is you, Rosie.

But, by the looks of it, the world is currently against us both.

They've found us.

I'd known they were watching.

I'd thought I had it under control—that you were safe.

My stomach twists at the realization that I'm wrong. Because you are the furthest you've ever been from safe, and I am in no condition to hold the bargaining power to do much about it...

Unless...

"Look who's awake. I do believe we've been introduced."

I blink into the dim room, watching a darkened figure step out of the shadows, but not exactly into the light. I recognize his voice and broad shoulders even through the body armor he wears. The clean-cut red beard...the bald head... It all makes sense. He's always been one for theatrics.

I spit out the gag in my mouth. Whoever tightened it didn't know what they were doing. Typical of this place...

"Demetrius," I scoff, "Looks like power has been treating you well."

I say it just to get under his skin. I know he's a goodie-two-shoes-justice boy.

That's why he'd turned me in.

...And when I'd offered to reward him grandly... It was a shame, really.

The man looks clean—that's the best way to describe it. In this sordid, grimy room, his pale skin is spotless. No bags under his eyes or dirt under his nails...a sword too big for him and probably just for show on his belt... He screams 'out-of-place' and 'soft'. ...Probably like his hands. It shouldn't be a surprise. It's just like he's always been.

I watch his left eye squint, bulging slightly with annoyance at my words like I'd struck that nerve I'd been fishing for. His air of overdone moral compass still stinks like a hyenas's ass.

Loathing spirals up within me like the bile I can taste at the back of my throat.

This man made our lives miserable, Rosie. He made your life miserable. We could have had it all, but he stood in the way.

Hmmm...I suppose bygones are not bygone after all...

"Goran," Demetrius spits back, his right, red eyebrow arching.

What does this prick have to say in defense of himself? What can he say?

I evaded them for years.

I kept you safe.

"I suppose you still aren't sorry for your actions," the man goads. His face hardens to granite, "I loved Ford like a brother."

"But you weren't..." I hiss back, through my suddenly clamped teeth, "...You weren't his brother."

He swallows, his eyes glassy and hard, "No...but I wasn't the one who killed him either." His crow-black eyes sparkle with accusation. "That was all you, Goran," he snaps.

And something breaks inside of me.

Rage crashes over my head.

Lies.

I lunge for him.

They don't understand.

No one understands.

What I did.

For you, Rosie. For your mother, Rosabella.

They've twisted it all—made me into a monster meant to be trapped in these restraints, but I'm not. I know you'll see the lies for what they are if only I can find you.

The rope around my wrists and the table now pushing into my middle restricts my movements.

The chair can only go so far.

But it isn't far enough to teach the man's smirking face the lesson he needs—

With a shove, I try to grab for him—

But the angle is too much.

I miscalculate.

I fall.

My cheek plasters against the freezing stone floor.

Nearly in a water puddle.

...This is what I've been reduced to?

...This is what they've reduced us to? I hope you are in better company.

The weight of the chair on my back and the way it presses my chest to the floor constricts my breathing.

I glower at the man as his huge boots take two steps towards me.

As he lifts the sole of his shoe to press down on my face. The plastic and the dirt clinging there dig into my flesh.

You filth.

You absolute swine.

"What have you done with her?" I gasp as he forces his foot down, pain flaring in my jaw—will he break it? But I'm determined. "What have you done with Rosie?" I rasp out.

"She's about as far away from you as she can get, so that's a positive," sneers the man overhead.

"I need to see her," I snarl from under his sole, feeling my mouth distort with the desperate plea. Sweat breaks out on my forehead at the thought of you locked up or as broken as I feel. "I need to know you're not lying—"

"Oh, you mean like how we needed to know you weren't lying once upon a time, and you didn't even do us the service to let us know our King was dead—" His voice breaks.

"Would you just listen to me?!"

I lose it.

I admit it; I lose it at the incompetence of this asshole and the fact that I don't know where you are or if you're still in one piece.

I scream at the man.

My face shakes even under the weight of his shoe.

And I wrench my chin out from under him, seething at his huge shadow above, nearly blocking out the one lightbulb hanging in the room.

I'm a failure. I failed in protecting you—my last promise to your mother...

"Show me proof that she's okay."

"I can't—" he complains.

But I see through the act. It's my guess from the pristine state of his clothes that he still has sentry access, if not more.

"You can," I growl, "I know you have the list. Show me."

...It's a guess, but my assumption pays off. Because I watch the man's expression weaken and hedge with the uncomfortable itch of making a decision. And he winces as his eyes dart around the room, checking to make sure the metal door behind him is sealed, before his fingers swipe horizontally in the air and the blue box I asked for appears:

My heart rams even more rapidly against my chest as my eyes scan the names and locations. I swipe quickly down the list, looking for your name till I...

I find it:

You're here, Rosie?!

Only just a level below this floor?

...And two guards at the door.

...Two more down the hall.

I quickly make a mental note of their positions.

But hope leaps in my chest.

You've given me hope.

And a reason to get out of here

"You lied to me," I snap, addressing Demetrius to allow for some time to think my plan over, "you said Rosie was far away."

"You don't have much bargaining power here," the man retorts back, righting the chair I'm tied to with a sweeping motion of his arm and pushing my legs back under the table where I'd started. He scowls down at me, "I showed you she's alive, that's all I'm willing to do for scum of your likes. Drop the pathetic act. Eat your food here, mind your manners and, maybe, you'll get out in a lifetime—"

I laugh.

A hollow sound.

Brimming up from my core.

It's funny.

It's funny that, after growing up together and seeing The Game through similar eyes, he still has no fucking idea of how anything works.

"You don't believe that, do you?" I scoff.

His eyes constrict.

Maybe he does.

Maybe he really does.

Luckily, for both of us, Rosie, I know the truth.

...And I'm going to get you out of here no matter what it takes.

A plan forms, solidifying in my mind as I rub the rope of my wrist restraints against the sharp, metal underside of the table.

I feel the thick fabric of them start to split.

I rub faster, gritting my teeth and hoping Demetrius won't notice.

I need a ploy...

"Come here," I tell the guard.

I keep my voice light and casual.

But he's resistant to it; I see it.

He shakes his head, "No."

"Demetrius," I coo, really working the act; I even smile "We were old friends—you remember."

"I told you," he growls back, "I remember Ford."

Touche.

"I do too," I go off-script a little. Like a professional. ...And, for a minute, I even believe it myself. I let my eyes swim with memories and regrets. ...Memories of my kid brother's laughter. ...That look he'd get in his eyes running through the woods... The way his hair blew up in the wind...and the way he'd slap my hands away from animals, taking such care to scoop them up and craddle them in his hands when he knew I had far more fun seeing what they'd do if I threw them—

"He was a prince of a man," I start, nodding, "He really was—"

"A king," Demetrius interjects, lifting his chin with glowing eyes.

"Sure," I amend, shrugging.

"But he had a fatal flaw." I purposefully lower my voice, "He had one thing that led his position to fail. One thing he couldn't master."

My jaw gets tight remembering.

Dry.

"I'll tell you," I nod at the man who now has wide eyes, watching me. I feel the rope cuffs break off my wrists under the table... "I'll tell you right now," I promise, "I'll spill it all so you don't make the same mistake."

The man's hooked now, I see it in his eyes.

All he's ever wanted is to be acknowledged—to be seen as powerful...to be loved by the people who never gave two shits about him.

He leans forward.

I gesture, "Come here—"

Like I'm going to whisper it in his ear.

Just a little closer—

There.

BANG.

I move.

Lightening fast.

Bringing my hands up.

Bringing his head down.

Smashing his skull on the corner of the table.

Practice pays off.

The man crumples beneath my hands like spaghetti, his despondent face drooping to the ground. Blood pours out of a broken nose.

He should have already known the answer to my brother's fatal flaw; everyone else in this place does.

"It's me," I crow gleefully to the silent, watching walls.

The man's unconscious body is close enough to lean towards. I reach down, grab a handful of his shirt and yank his heavy frame towards me to grab the dagger at his belt. My fingers wrap expertly around the blade's handle.

Two, swift saws and the rope falls off my ankles too. I take a minute to rub at the raw, red skin there before standing.

And facing the one door out of here.

This has to work.

I have to make this work.

I have to get to you, Rosie, before they do.