Shadowed

XIX. The Dungeon

"Drew!" I call, my heartbeat beginning to race. It sounded like him. I'm nearly sure of it.

"Rowan?" he answers, wrought with confusion.

"Drew, it's me, it's Rowan," I say, quickly pressing my ear against the wall. Angella follows suit, keeping her fingers clasped around my wrist. "I'm behind the wall."

"What?" he says, incredulous, his words trembling just the slightest bit. 

I know that particular brand of fear all too well. He's scared he's losing his mind.

"It's really me. I'm here," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "There are doors cut into the walls of the cells. Feel around for the cracks. They're not really visible."

Silence. Only the screams, faraway and piercing, reach my ears. For a moment I wonder if he's given up, decided my voice was just a hallucination created out of desperation, out of longing for some shred of hope.

And then the door in front of me starts to move.

Slowly, it slides open, and Angella and I scramble back. He's breathing heavily. The door creeps forward an inch at a time, and with every push on the door, his breaths grow more labored.

"Help me," he grunts when there's a sizable crack between the door and the wall. Wordlessly, Angella and I hook our fingers around the heavy stone and pull.

I brace my heels against the ground and yank, gritting my teeth. My head is spinning. If I don't get more food soon, I might pass out.

The stone door creaks as it drags against the floor. We give it one final pull, and I stumble back, drawing in a tense breath. I'm trying to ignore the violent pangs of hunger in my stomach and the pounding of blood in my ears.

Drew staggers out of the door, one disfigured hand clutched over his chest. He looks terrible. His eyes are half closed, knit up in pain, with dark circles underneath. His blond hair is a mess, tangled and matted. Dried, crusted dark red blood covers the side of his neck, where the needle that they used to sedate us went in.

He looks like he hasn't slept in days. I can't imagine I look much better, but still he seems to perk up when his green eyes land on me. 

I shoot him a smile, strained but genuine. He returns it, his eyes full of heart-wrenching relief.

I don't deserve that. I don't deserve his relief. I'm the one who got him into this. I'm the one who trapped him in that cell.

A scream racks the air, louder than most, and I jolt. Angella's fingers tighten around my wrist.

Drew's eyes flick up and down nervously, taking in his surroundings. I can see the reality of the situation start to hit him. He tenses as someone else screams faraway, the sound full of agony, and finally looks up at me, eyes wide with fear.

"What the hell is this place?" he whispers, and I try to silence the voice at the back of my mind that's screaming This is your fault. You're the one who put that terror in his eyes.

Angella answers before I can. "We always called it the Dungeon," she says.

"Aptly titled," he mutters, managing only a small smile before it fades off his face. Consumed by the sheer eeriness of this place.

We stay in silence for a moment. I shudder. If we don't manage to get out of here soon, we'll be drained completely. Emptied of every emotion, every thought, everything that makes us ourselves. We'll be screaming husks in the dark.

Angella nudges me with her elbow. "Let's go. We've got a lot of cells to search."

Drew looks at me, eyes alight with hope. "Does she mean—"