Blessed By The Moon

Chapter 4

One week later.

The moment we arrived, they blindfolded us. Thick fabric tied tight across our eyes, wrists bound in cold, biting cuffs, we were led into the darkness without a word. It was my punishment for breaking Uriah's jaw when he tried to kidnap me. Gem tried to defend me, as in cried while begging them to let me go. For that, they counted her as an accomplice. A gesture I was grateful for, though guilt gnawed at me—she didn't have to get involved. She didn't deserve this.

They threw us into a cell that felt like it hadn't seen light in decades. The walls were dark, damp, and reeked of stale air and rot. There were no windows, no cracks, no hint of time. I don't know how long it's been—days? Weeks? They'd said they'd come back when they "found our new jobs." That was ages ago.

At first, I counted the seconds, tracking every heartbeat, every drip of water that echoed somewhere beyond the walls. But eventually, I lost track. The seconds slipped away, and time became a blur. My eyes burned from the darkness; my limbs ached from the cold. I was too terrified to close my eyes, though—each time I did, I feared I'd wake up alone, or worse, back in that house. Alex's room haunted my nightmares—the sight of his broken, handless body... the bloodstains that seemed etched into my mind.

Gem's presence is the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling. She's been crying on and off, her breaths shaky, and her whispered reassurances meant more for herself than for me. Still, it's company. Even though we're starved and desperate, at least we're together.

When I do sleep, the same nightmare comes, creeping into my mind like a twisted lullaby.

I see myself carrying that old juicer to the garage. I hear the thuds of fists on the punching bag before I see him. Alex stands there, no hands,  his wrist hitting the punching bag, his gaze burning with hatred. "Why did you let this happen to me?" he growls, voice raw, as if he's struggling to speak. His words echo like a ghostly accusation, a question I can't answer. He stares, lips curling in rage, as he mouths the words, You have to remember.

His words slice through me, sharp as glass, filling me with a dread I can't explain, a guilt that doesn't make sense. I open my mouth to respond, to deny it, to scream, but no sound comes out. He's so close now, close enough that I can see the dark, endless void in his eyes, black as death itself. He leans in, his broken, ruined face just inches from mine.

Every time, I wake up with my heart racing, feeling sick with guilt I can't understand.

Gem was sleeping,  curled against the wall, her face slack with exhaustion. She'd asked the guard for a pillow, maybe a blanket. They just laughed, cruel and mocking. They don't treat prisoners like humans here.. which is ironic considering we are human and they are not.

My stomach growls angrily, the pain a constant reminder that I haven't had a real meal since... I can't remember. The stale bread and murky water slid under the door barely keep us going, but I clutch my arms around my middle, breathing through the hunger, trying to ignore the aches.

I curl up on the cold floor, feeling myself slipping into sleep again. But suddenly, the silence shatters. There's a loud clank and a grinding sound as the door creaks open. I barely register the shock, blinded by the sudden dull light flooding into our cell, even as faint as it is.

The first sign that anything was happening was the sound of heavy footsteps clicking down the corridor, echoing sharply like a metronome marking time. The door swung open, and a woman in her mid-fifties, with eyes sharp as glass and shoulders pulled back in rigid posture, scanned us both with a brief, dismissive glance. She seemed to appraise us, then, without a word, turned and left. Moments later, two guards entered, cuffed our hands behind our backs, and forced us out.