The Guardian Demon [A Taron Egerton FanFiction]

22: The Light At The End

Mallory couldn't recall how did she end up where she was. Her head throbbed with a wicked pain, she must have hit it during the collision. Her body ached in different places, bruises and cuts covered most of her arms and legs. Her eyes burned as they spilled tears over her face, the delicate skin of her cheeks stinging as the little drops ran over it, it must have been scrapped as well, but she couldn't see her reflection to be certain of that.

Looking around her, Mallory realized that she was sitting on a mattress in a windowless, dim room. The walls around her were off exposed bricks, holding a single, grayish fluorescent light tube, a thick, metal door stood at the edge of the room, the floor and the low ceiling were of cold, uncovered cement. There was a small table holding an old-looking television that showed continuous episodes of some cartoon, a larger one sat in front of it, holding a box of fast food that she didn't bother to check its contents and half a dozen of water bottles, a metal chair was situated beside the table. A toilet seat on the far corner of the room, surrounded by a worn-out curtain to resemble some sort of privacy.

Taron's words rang in her ears like a bell. He lied to her, kept her in the dark all that time. She trusted him, believed in him, convinced herself that he was the one to pull her out of the darkness to the light, that he was the only one who could bring out the goodness in her, yet, all that was just a giant lie, a reason for him to reach his goal.

But where was he? He certainly wasn't with her in that room, and she couldn't tell if there were any other rooms similar to hers out there, she didn't remember anything, her heart fell at the bad thoughts that started to accumulate in her mind.

The creak of the locks startled her as the metal door rumbled open, revealing a shadowy, large figure. Squinting her eyes, Mallory tried to identify it as the light from the outside lashed her vision.

"You're finally awake," the figure cheered in a distinctive accent, Mallory instantly knew who did it belong to. Boris.

"I was starting to worry," he continued as he elegantly stepped inside, leaving the door open behind him.

Mallory's body had the temptation to shrink back, but her mind refused to give that order.

"Here," Boris said, offering the young woman a steamy mug, "this will help with your headache, it must be bad."

The Russian looked as he always did, his tall, built-up frame towering over Mallory as he was clad in a sharp, bluish suit. The only difference was that his eyes weren't these warm, welcoming, colorful orbs she used to see every time she was at the hair salon. That time, they held a dark, malicious gaze as they looked down at her with a hint of a smirk playing over his thin lips.

Mallory didn't accept the mug, instead, she slapped it off his extended hand, watching it as it crashed and spilled its liquid on the ground with a heated glare.

"Wild," he snickered as he took a step back, grinning down at her like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey, "now you'll have to clean this."

"Where is he?" Mallory hissed, glowering up at her capturer.