Ghost Towns

Twenty

Rye awoke without realizing that she had ever passed out. It was the damp that she noticed first, making the summer feel much colder and wetter than it should have been. Rye bolted up into a sitting position, panicked by the fact that she didn't know where she was.

Slowly - too slowly - her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Memories of the fight came back in a flood. Her silent, stoic guards dragging her through the woods. The blood and teeth and claws in the clearing. Silver fur. Rye's heart pounded in her chest and the breathing became quick and ragged.

No. No. She had to stay calm if she wanted to survive this.

Steeling herself, she swept her gaze over her surroundings. She was laying atop a ragged sheet, bitten through by moths. The walls were made of large bricks, grimy where they connected with one another. Too high for her to reach were the bars of a very tiny window, maybe a foot wide. It was because of the light diffusing into the space that Rye knew it was daytime now. Everything smelt like earth. Was she underground?

As quietly as she could, Rye rose and tried the knob on the door in the corner.

Her face fell as it refused to give. It was locked.

Distantly, she could hear voices, but it was too far to tell what they were saying.

She paced the tiny space, practically just spinning in circles for how small it was, trying harder now to fight the panic.

So she was being held prisoner. When she had given herself up to the Onyx, she had known this was a possibility, but of course, nothing feels real until it is.

"It's fine," she said to herself, flinching a little at the squeak in her voice.

Jax would come for her, once he had help. Once he figured out where she was. Once he found a way to break her out without incurring the notice of however many Onyx were around this place. Suddenly "figuring it out" seemed a lot more improbable that it did.

Rye reminded herself that Jax was alive, though, and to her that made anything worth it.

She sat on top of the poor excuse for a blanket, this time with more dignity, and leaned against the wall. All she had to do was wait. And she could quench the anxiety of that if told herself that Jax was alright. Wherever he was.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking gently. The sunlight grew more golden than white, indicating the passage of the day into afternoon.

Her head began to ache, and she wondered if it was residual pain leftover from before. Had they knocked her out? If they had, had she forgotten anything important?

Rye drifted in and out of sleep, because there was little else to do. She relieved every moment with Jax in her head, over and over. It felt like her memories were the only thing they couldn't touch. The only thing they couldn't take from her.

She had just settled on the fact that she might have to go hungry another night when the heavy locked door burst open, sending her jolting from her place in the corner.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart!" It was the one called Alex, who she least wanted to see.

"It's nearly night," she responded, rubbing the drowsiness out of her eyes.

He grinned, "whatever. Get up, we're late,"

Rye narrowed her eyes, "late to what, exactly?"

He said nothing, leaning against the doorframe expectantly.

Slowly, afraid to bring the pain back into her head, Rye got up and smoothed her dress. It was hopelessly crumpled and the bottom was muddy though, so she would not look presentable either way. Not that it particularly mattered what she looked like going to her death, of course.