The Endless Night

Chapter 32

It's very bright. Well, sort of... There's a bunch of orange, flickering lights all around me. They feel really close to my eyes (I guess that's why I closed them). My hands are tied with rope behind me, my ankles are tied with rope beneath me, and I think I'm lying on the ground on very hard stone. Not until I try to moan from stiffness do I realize that my mouth is gagged. Trying to be calm, I focus on breathing deeply through my nose and listening for any sound of Nessie or my daddy or anyone I know (even Piddle would have been a huge comfort).

Then a voice reaches my ears through the dar— Through the light. “I'm sorry about all this, but you do have to be bound up... I tried to make them let you be, but... you know how adults are: they don't listen to 'children'.” The voice belonged to that of a girl maybe between mine and Nessie's ages; she spoke the word “children” with such contempt it makes me feel uncomfortable. Then her voice changes and she sounds nice again. “They're trying to find your friends. Well, I guess they're your friends... Anyways, I know this probably all seems pretty confusing to you right now, but that's okay! It'll make sense soon... I hope...” I can hardly hear the last two words. She goes on rambling sometimes cheerful, sometimes mad. “I think you're the first one they've gotten. And you don't have to worry about the others—your friends I mean—they're safe as long as we're here. The only reason I'm here by the way is because I'm an 'important daughter'—whatever that means... I'm sorry, I'm probably annoying you like crazy, it's just that... well... I haven't seen or been around someone my age in such a long time!” She starts to sound desperate, and I start to feel sorry for her and what she must have been through with... whoever it is. “They won't let me talk either... I have to be silent and only speak on the rarest of occasions.” She sighs. “I hate it. I really do.” I don't get a single word she's saying.

After a few moments in silence I feel small, damp hands at the back of my head fiddling with my gag. I gasp as it drops from my mouth; the ropes around my ankles loosen as well. A shadow falls across me and I try to open my eyes, but then a soft cloth is being wrapped over them.

“I am truly sorry, but you're not supposed to see any of this.”

Suddenly, a faint alarm blares. The girl gasps. “Hurry! Come on! They need you!” One of the small damp hands grabs my arm and helps me up. As the ropes on my ankles fall off, the girl takes my hand and starts running through what feels like underground tunnels.

I stumble so many times that I lose count. Before she can warn me, the ground abruptly slopes sharply downward and we both shriek as we tumble down the slope. At the bottom, I stand up feeling dizzy. “This way!” The girl's voice has gotten quieter.

“Wait,” I find the courage to speak for the first time. “What's your name?”

She stops so suddenly I fly forward and land awkwardly on my still bound arms. “Sorry...” she mutters. After what feels like a century, she whispers barely audible, “Mallory... Mallory McIntire...”

Mallory McIntire then shoves me through a doorway that I didn't know was in front of me. There's one sole light ahead and I can sense movement around me.
Then I hear voices. I try to pick them out, and finally I think I recognize one... “NESSIE!” The cry never gets to leave my mouth because at that moment another gag is forced into my mouth, hurting my teeth, and strong hands are holding me down on the floor in the shadows—where Nessie can't see me.

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My mind feels fuzzy, and I can't seem to get my bearings. I'm vaguely aware of soft fur brushing up against me and, opening my eyes, I see Piddle cuddled up next to me. There's no sign of Mr. Marsh. Or Skylar. There's not hardly any light, and I can barely make out the white tips of my converse. I try to call out to Mr. Marsh and Skylar but my mouth is gagged. I would get it out except for the fact that my hands are tied. Plus, my shoulder is still too weak and it's good to finally get some rest... I need to help my sister, but I'm kind of isolated at this point and Piddle's purring is lulling me to sleep... And I think to myself, It's good to rest...

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My shoulder feels awful. My head hurts. My stomach feels too empty. The most important thing is that I'm utterly alone. That, and I have to pee. But mostly, that I'm alone. I'm in a dark place that has a few dim lanterns on the walls so I know someone else did have to have been there. I just don't know who. Or why. Or where Jason and Mr. Marsh are. I try not think of how I've lost Nessie even more than the others.

I've got to get out. The thought courses through me and I hold on to it as if it were the only thing I had left. All of a sudden, I hear feet shuffling around me and blurred voices. I can't make any of them out; at first they just seem far away but I come to the conclusion that I'm probably drugged.

Forcing myself to focus, I concentrate on the voice and manage to make out some very deep words, “This one's hurt.” Whoever it is sounds shocked. I want to tell him that of course I'm hurt, that I have been for a few hours now, and that I am still hurting—but I can't.

A new voice intercedes, “I'll go get the stretcher.” There's awkward silence between me and the first guy until the second guy comes back, which thankfully is soon. I can tell that they are moving me onto what I guess is the stretcher but I'm still a little groggy from the drugs (but conscious). I feel one of the two mystery men breathing on me as he lifts up the stretcher. I hate when people breathe on me. This makes me mad at him. I think I'm going delirious... Like Nessie...

My left arm bounces off the side of the stretcher and I bolt upright with a shriek as pain courses through me. The crazy thing is, when I sat up I accidentally hit my head against the guy's chin. He grunts and says, “Lie back down, miss.”

“Shut up!”

I didn't even know I said it. I'm still really confused as we enter into some room where more hands push me back down. Yet another set of hands reaches for me, this time with a needle. I try to struggle but can't force my body to move fast enough. The syringe jabs my thigh; the last thing I see before I pass out again is one of the men, grinning over me. He says something to me, but I can't hear him anymore. I'm already out.

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The strange man takes a step towards me, hand outreached. As my brain sees the motion, tries to register what is happening, what is coming, something clicks. A searing pain bolts up from my injured foot and through my leg. I cry out in utter agony and tumble to the floor like a sack of flour. “Bring in the medics!” The voice is too loud in my ears. I see faces and lantern lights flash in front of my eyes; then there's a sharp glint as a needle descends towards my arm. After a brief moment of more pain, it all subsides. My body goes numb and I lose control of everything. I'm pretty sure I smile, but I don't really notice—I'm too loopy. I flop around like a rag doll as I'm placed onto a sort of stretcher and am rolled away into some weird room. There are lots of bright flashes and background noises and at some point, I'm blindfolded.

I'm pretty sure they drugged me with the strongest stuff they had.

I struggle to stay awake as the medics go to work on me. I fail. Miserably.

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I feel as though I've only shut my eyes for a few moments, but common sense says otherwise. Fortunately (or unfortunately, I'm not sure which) they did drug me pretty hard. Blinking desperately at the bright lights that are glaring into my eyes, I struggle to sit up and get a bearing on my surroundings. All I can make out is this:

I'm sitting on a little table, I'm in a little room, I feel little pain in my ankle, and I feel as though I'm in a hangover. (Not that I would really know what that feels like, so don't get the wrong idea about me.) When I shift around on the table I notice something heavy holding my right leg in place. It takes me a minute of staring at it to figure out that I have a walking cast on.

I swallow as an itch trails like a vine up my leg from my ankle. Instantly, I start clawing furiously at the boot but the itch just seems to get worse. Not thinking, I cry out and start beating furiously at my leg. “Get me out of here! Please! I just want to go home! Please let me go home!”

A group of three medics dressed in crisp white uniforms rush into the room. All I can see are their swift-moving hands as they swirl around me. My head hits the table with a painful thunk and I cry out in exaggeration as another needle is shoved into my arm.

Once again my world turns black as the drugs take over.