Forced (1st book in The Forced Series)

Thirty Nine

"Being on the verge of death, looking into Death's eyes, can only make one see what was always right in front of them." -Natasha Clemetson

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Thirty Nine

A prism of memories flashed before Hazel George-Steel's eyes. They seemed to be on replay, not stopping no matter how she tried to make them end. Each time the film would slow down, snailing it's time over the worst periods in her life; making her feel again and again how bitter, empty and absolutely terrified she felt those years isolated in Chicago. 

And then there was the snaring pain from her side. Every inch of her body ached, and withered in turmoil whenever he stepped into the dank room to play. Hazel felt disgusting every time he burnt her, every time he licked her lips and blood like the sick manic he was. He made her aching skin crawl. But not only that. None of those things were the worst of what she was going through.

The worst was the disconnect she felt with the baby. She couldn't feel her bundle of joy. Hazel didn't even allow herself space to finish the thought, but she feared her light, the one thing that made her feel connected to Van and loved; she feared her baby was dead.  

Her concept of time was warped. Hazel wasn't sure if it was just hours after she was attacked or if it was days. Silently, she prayed for Van, for a miracle of sorts, to set her free and put her the one place she could call home; Van's sunny smile, his musical voice and tender, adoring touch. She prayed to feel his arms wrapped around her, even if she died then, at least it would be in his arms. Not in the cell she was locked in, soaked in her own rotting blood.

And in those moments when the memory film stopped rolling and her brain wasn't completely fogged with pain, Hazel George-Steel was sure that she was in love with her husband, sure that she couldn't and wouldn't imagine the last few months without him. Van taught her that good people still existed. That not everyone just used others. He taught her how to live. And even if her fairy tail had to end so soon, she was glad she spent some time living before Jeffrey Davis came calling as he promised that he would have.

×forced×

Van stood frozen in front of the display. He had been prepared to face Dean Foster, not the demon who was the master mind behind one of the most violent and stomach turning massacres in US history.  In fact, he had prayed for it to be Dean Foster. Instead, the last riddle led him to a warehouse with Dean, a mare puppet, strung up just as the manic had described; with artsy red, blue and yellow threads going in and out of him, the words greedy smeared in his own blood beside him, a set of lips printed in them. Van shivered, horrified. What could Hazel had done to deserve the rage of this man?

"I like to think of myself as, the man of justice. A, radical change. You see I don't like bad people. So I get rid of them. Hazel was a bad girl -very bad indeed- so she must be punished; and so must you."

No matter how hard Van tried, he couldn't get a horrid image of Hazel out of his head. It was as if Jeffrey Davis was holding onto his life thread itself and was about to cut it. Van wasn't prepared to lose Hazel, not then, not ever. His sole purpose for living had become waking up to see her beautiful, serene and tender face every morning. He wasn't sure what he'd do without. Even with the elephant of them not actually getting to know each other, he was pretty sure he knew her better than anyone else. And for even that fact alone, he loved her.

"Vanny boy, you're finally here."

Van's head came up so fast he was sure he was whiplashed, to meet the wild eyes of Jeffrey Davis. They were green, yet dark; like he hadn't seen the sun for years. Van was sure he hadn't either.

"What did Hazel ever do to you?" Van yelled, his body shaking.

"Let's see- she witnessed my art and told tales."

His voice -gruff and raspy- sent chills down Van's back, and sent his skin crawling,"You said you would let her go."

"Yes, yes I did. But I lied."

"****ing let her go,dammit!" Van bellowed, throwing himself at the oily haired man.

Van grabbed at his collar, pushing the man's head down as he launched a punch into his jaw. Davis sank his dirty nails into Van's arm, drawing blood while he pulled out a phone from his pocket.

"Not so fast, Vanny boy, our little Hazelnut is still with me."

"Let me go.... no! Please just let me go. My baby, please-."

Van paused listening to Hazel sobbing. He glared at the man before him,"Let her go!"

"Josey wouldn't you be a dear and burn her again."

"No!"

A blood curling scream fermented the air, twisting inside Van's stomach, urging the food he'd eaten two days before to come up again. Not that there was anything left after all the times he'd retched in the last thirty eight hours.

"Do you get my meaning?" Davis asked,"She was just a way of killing two love birds with one stone." He chortled at his own joke.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you, and your jolly friends to die. But first, I'm sure you'd like to see Hazel die."

With that said, a door to the far left opened and out came a skinny woman pulling Hazel like a sack of flesh. Van stiffened, looking longingly at her paler than pale skin, bloodied clothes and bloodshot eyes,"Haze..."

"Say hello to the man you killed." Davis said, yanking up Hazel's chin to force her to look at Van.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry. S-so sorry." she hiccupped, looking at Van pleadingly. Her eyes seemed heavy as she struggled to look at him for even one last time.

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