Ghostwriter

Chapter 26

I cough and shiver in the dark. One of my eyes swells shut, and the other itches. My entire body throbs. I just want to sit down, but the chains keep me standing on the balls of my feet. Blood trickles out of my nose, drips down my cracked lips, and drops into an ever-growing puddle on the floor.

They haven't even asked me anything yet, and it's been at least two days.

This has all been revenge so far.

The boy's words echo in my head, and his uncle's corpse screams at me.

You forced the innocents to die.

An oversized white (well, not white anymore) tee is the only protection I have from the cold, damp air. It smells like sweat, salt, and scented candles in here. My hair knots around me like a bird's nest.

Two candle-lights flicker, each in the far corners of my cell. They provide the only light. A single bolted door stands between them. My bloody handprints drag down the frame.

My breath hits my ears like a drum.

I knew the risks when I started writing the Ghostwriter blog. I knew my capture or death could happen. It's why I waited so long, because I was so afraid it would. I was so afraid of being here, of not being with Colton.

Jason will take care of Colton. My son might grow to be a vigilante like his example if that's the case, but at least he'll be alive. That's enough for me.

I'm still so afraid to die.

I'm too young...

"I died once."

It's one thing to piece it together for yourself. It's another to have it confirmed as you're being thrown off a balcony by your apparent soulmate.

Then again, this is Jason. How else would he have told me?

I wonder if it hurt worse than I did back at that party, all those years ago. I wonder if he felt like I do right now. I wonder if he was scared, too.

I sigh. My wet tongue slides across the back of my cold teeth.

Leave it to me to figure out that he's been telling the truth right before I get kidnapped.

Soulmate.

I have a soulmate. He's alive.

He'll come.

The thought weaves through my mind and fills the small cell with a rare warmth. I close my eyes and let myself hope for rescue.

The doorknob turns, and a man steps in. I raise my head. The same green tattoo that the guy from the party had covers not only his face, but his entire hands. He has a high rank, known as a "Transender".

Two simple green ninjas—I've learned they call themselves Transformers, which, if not for my circumstance, I would laugh profusely at—walk in behind him.

One carries an oil tank and a paint brush. The other carries a fire extinguisher.

In my fear, my mind goes blank.

"Fire, as most people see it, brings only death and destruction." The Transender gestures with his hand, and the Transformer with the gasoline walks towards me.

The Transformer dips the paintbrush into the oil, coating all the synthetic hairs with the thick black substance. I gag as the smell hits me like a hammer. He twirls it in the bucket, waiting for further orders.

"Except, fire also brings purification. It brings life! Did you know that forests need fire to survive? Recently, man has taken it upon himself to help the forest survive with such methods. They call them controlled burnings."