a purposeful past | s.s

Chapter Eleven

Lane huffed out a deep breath the moment she opened her eyes, unbelievably annoyed, struggling around in the ropes keeping her tied to the chair. "Well, third time's tha charm."

Frisks snorted, leaning on the side of a wall. "If you was lookin' fa any sort 'a luck, don't think yer gonna find it he-ah."

"I don't think I'll be needin' much luck," Lane replied. "I've noticed ya took me knives. Too scared aft-ah what happened last time?"

Frisks rolled her eyes, and Lane gazed around, taking in her surroundings, seeing that all the other Refuge kids were there as well, just staring at her. But she was only worried about one thing.

Where was Race?

"Dat boy shouldn't be any 'a yer concern unless ya plan ta do what we say," Frisks commented dismissively, having seen the look on her face.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Frisks was quiet for a moment, thinking through something. She then looked up and sighed. "Bring him in."

Lane's pulse quickened as a kid scurried out of the room, and a few moments later, in came her brothers with the blond, broken boy. Race met her gaze once, before his eyes quickly dropped in shame.

He was black and blue all over, bleeding from too many places to count. A cloth was tied around his mouth, preventing him from speaking. Her brothers yanked on his arms, causing him to grimace in pain. Her only consolation was that her brother's seemed to be a bit bruised up as well.

"Let him go," Lane commanded in a low, measured tone. "Please, let him go. He ain't tha ya want."

"Yer right, he ain't," Frisks agreed. "Dat's why he's he-ah, genius. Yer tha only reason he ain't free."

Race blinked, and a single tear fell silently down his cheek as he raised his eyes to hers and shook his head. She clenched her jaw to prevent any emotions from showing on her own face.

"I think she's seen enough," Frisks said silently, waving the boy away. But before her brothers could haul him out again, she stopped them with a hand. "Actually, I want both 'a ya he-ah. Kit 'n Howl can take him."

Kit grinned wickedly as he went forward to grab the boy, while Howl seemed more reluctant, more solemn, as he did the same.

And Lane knew what she had to do.

"Look at yer-selves!" she shouted at them all. "Jus allowin' yer-self ta be pushed around by dis witch! She don't care bout ya! She nev-ah has! She killed Ticks, who was jus a boy, jus 'cause she-"

She wasn't able to continue, as Frisks had stormed over and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head down into the chair's hard back. Before Lane could do something like spit in the girl's face, she slammed an arm into Lane's windpipe, causing her to gasp at the sudden lack of oxygen.

"Yer nothin'," Frisks snarled quietly. "Ya nev-ah have been. What makes ya think dey'll listen ta ya?"

"'Cause ya wouldn't be tryna shut me up if ya didn't think dey would," Lane managed to choke out.

Frisks considered this, and eventually let go, turning away as Lane filled her lungs with the musty air of the Refuge. "Alright, den. Continue."

Lane glared at the back of her head, before meeting the gaze of everyone in the room, even Laces, who glowered. "She don't care 'bout any 'a dese kids. Ya all think yer safe wit her, but is ya really? Ya think you'll finally be able ta get yer revenge, but what is it woith? Yer lives? Yer souls? I mean, look around! Yer sittin' in tha same room dat had people torturing' ya fa ages, 'n now yer all okay wit dat? Ya might think yer all free, but a polished cage is still jus a cage. Wake up, please. I don't ask dat ya join me 'n tha newsies in what wese tryna do, but I jus ask dat ya go find a bett-ah way 'a gettin' rid 'a dat need fa revenge. Dere is a bett-ah way, I swear it. I'd know, 'cause I found it."