The File

The File ~ Chap. 25

Tate

The nightmares got worse, now that I knew Cole was dead.  Over and over, all I saw was the knife put up to Cole’s throat, and then Mac slashing it open.  The blood spurted and Cole fell to the ground, his dead eyes staring up at me, asking why I didn’t save him.

Every hour, just like I had two nights before, I woke up screaming.  Each time, I waited for Cole to cover my mouth with his hand and wrap his strong, comforting arms around me, whispering calming words to me.  But each time I was left empty handed, and after a few hours, scream-less.  I wore out my vocal cords and lost my voice.  Things couldn’t get any worse.

When I looked at the clock and found that it was six thirty, I decided to give up on anymore sleep and get up.

For a prisoner, I was treated very well.  My quarters were nice and clean, nothing out of its place.  I had a comfortable bed—that still didn’t help my sleeping habits—a dresser that I would obviously never be able to use even though I actually did have my bag of supplies with me still.  I had found it in my room when Davis took me there.  In the room there was also a television, but it didn’t get many channels, not that I really cared about TV at that point; there was also a bathroom connected to the bedroom—the window bolted of course.

I took a fifteen-minute shower, standing under the water for most of the time for relaxation purposes.  I washed myself as well, but being clean wasn’t my first priority.  I just had to find a way out of this place and try to avenge Cole’s death in the best way I could.

But first, I had to avenge my dad’s.

To do that, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.  Cole had been the one to come up with most of the plans, and I had actually started to rely on his ideas to get me through everything.  But there was no input on that matter, even when I had brought up the subject.  He had just said that I couldn’t kill Reg because I couldn’t become a killer.  It wasn’t who I was.  But losing a second person that I cared about had changed that possibility.  I wasn’t afraid of the consequences of murder.

When I was done showering, I stayed in the towel, because I just didn’t have the energy to go through the motions of putting on clothing.  Instead I looked around the room.  I had looked around before, but just at the outside appearance.  I didn’t know if there was anything I could discover in the nooks and crannies.  Something to use as a weapon, a secret door, stuff like that.

I checked the bedside table, but the drawers were empty.  In the dresser, I actually found some more clothing, but I wasn’t quite sure what to think about them.  They were new and neatly folded, so I wondered if there had been another recent occupant.  I doubted that.  They were probably a bribe for me.  I thought that maybe there was something hiding inside them.

I unfolded and shook every piece of clothing.  There was nothing suspicious that I could see, so I replaced everything as best as I could.  Then I looked under the bed, but there was nothing there either—not even a dust bunny!

I gave up on searching for anything useful or interesting.  I didn’t know what was going to happen to me now that I was here, so then I didn’t know what it was I could do afterwards.  Would they let me walk around? Probably not.  Could I find someone to get me some food?  Maybe.  Would they make me wait for another interrogation?  Definitely.

Not that I had anything else to lose if they brought me in again.  Dad was gone and now Cole was gone.  All that was left was my mom, and I desperately hoped that they wouldn’t try to use her as well to get an answer out of me.  I knew for a fact that she would tell me to let her go and keep the secrets to myself, and I would lose everyone.  I couldn’t handle something like that.