Ashes to Ashes

Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ Ｔｈｉｒｔｅｅｎ

Chapter thirteen

-

"You say that you're no good for me

Cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve"

-

Cola Maybel

***

I sit hunched up on the roof, the cold air whipping my face, blowing my hair in my eyes, but I don't notice. Not the cold, or the icy slates of the roof or the numbness in my fingers. I stare unseeing out at the city, the small specks of light blurred into the bleak night sky.

Behind me, the metal slates creak as weight is added to them, and someone slides down to sit beside me.

Demos doesn't say anything, and I am glad, because I don't feel like talking.

It's all your fault, I keep thinking. You weren't quick enough. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault.

But in the end, I can't stand the silence, so I say; "Do you think there's any chance she's still alive? - that i made a mistake?"

Demos doesn't answer for a moment, then slowly, as though it cost him great pain he says, "No."

I sit frozen as another wave of numb shock washes over me, momentarily stunning me. "So you think she is dead."

Demos presses his lips together, "Yes," he says eventually. "She is dead."

The sentence is left hanging in the air, and it seems wrong. Unheard of.

This can't be happening.

Subconsciously I finish the sentence. "Dead because of me."

***

"She's dead!" I scream for about the thousandth time. My voice is horse from yelling and I can barely even get the words out.

My arms are stretched over my head, bound at the wrists to the plank of splintering wood I'm lying on. My ankles are tied to together so tightly that I can't feel my feet.

The light in the room is so dim that I have to squint to make out the men towering over me, one holding a whip, the others a massive tub of dirty water. A tube spurts from the lid, dangling hipnotisingly over my face. Even though I can't see it, I know the dark grimy floor is covered in glass shards and pools of alcohol from the bottle that was thrown at me earlier.

The man with the whip lashes out again and I writhe in agony, screaming as it cuts further into the cut made by the knives.

He seemed to be the leader, for the others would only act when he gave them instructions.

I hadn't given the answers the man wanted, no matter how many knives he threw at me, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know the answer. Caitlyn was dead. Why couldn't they just believe me?

But they didn't give up. I wondered how much longer I would be able to survive.

I didn't even know who they were. Another gang maybe. One who wants something from the Stones? I haven't even got the energy to be angry with them.

"Tell me the truth!" the man screams again, but I just twist my head back and forth on the hard wood, sobbing hysterically.

He leans down towards me, his breath smelling sickeningly of smoke and whisky, his greasy un-kept hair falling over his bloodshot eyes. "Come on," he growls softly, leering at me horribly. "Tell me the truth, kitten. You can't keep lying forever."