The Prison (Book 1)

Weakness

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Weakness

The urge to sleep had seemed too enthralling, too inviting to ignore, so as soon as I was left alone in the living room, I'd laid down on the couch and told myself that I'd rest my eyes for just a little bit.

That was four hours ago, if the clock hanging on the wall was to be believed.

Dammit.

Slowly, I threw my legs over the side of the couch and carefully attempted to stand, up first resting my weight on my good leg, then my other. I immediately realized I couldn't put much weight on it yet, and it would be some time before I could. Cain told me it needed sewing, which meant it could take weeks to heal fully.

Sighing miserably, I shuffled awkwardly in the direction of the patio, practically hopping on one foot while using the furniture I passed to repeatedly steady myself.

I tried the sliding door and discovered that it was unlocked. Of course, there was no reason to lock it. Even if I wasn't badly injured, there was nowhere for me to run on this godforsaken island that he wouldn't find me. In my first failed escape attempt, I'd run along the shore before heading into the jungle, but had not seen so much as a fishing boat -as if a fishing boat could carry me from here to New York. And where was 'here' exactly? Was this island in the Pacific Ocean? Or the Atlantic? Or the Indian Ocean? I couldn't even remember the other oceans' names in my state of panic.

The view outside was even more spectacular at night. The storm was gone and the grey clouds had all but disappeared, affording me beautiful, starry night view that I would have never had any hope of seeing in a city like New York. A billion glowing stars hung in the sky next to a radiant moon.

Though I could see the ocean, I could just barely make out where the beach stopped and the churning water began. The storm had left its mark on the ocean; fierce, foaming waves rolled onto the beach, and the sound of the churning ocean was almost deafening. Across the beach, torn trees and debris were scattered.

Even in disarray, it made quite the picturesque scenes, the view from paradise.

I turned away from the sliding door and scanned the living room. Cain had himself a nice 'cabin' the size of a proper house, fully furnished and decorated. It was a writer's perfect getaway home, a place that was completely secluded and distraction-free.

Somehow, I doubted Cain was a writer.

I started rummaging around the living room for some clue as to where we were. I searched for a phone or a laptop, maybe some mail with an address, or perhaps even a huge map with a red dart in it. It took a whole hour to search the area, mostly because I was limping around and I kept getting hungry and grabbing a bite from the fully-stocked kitchen's fridge. I only succeeded in finding a few magazines, a few books, a PS4 with a few games, and nothing else of consequence.

But I couldn't allow myself to lose hope just yet. The living room was probably not the place Cain would be hiding a phone.

He had to have a phone. No way was he on a remote island with me with no way of contacting the outside world.

I glanced at the room's door Cain had vanished into. As of yet, there was no sign of him. I figured that I still had time to search the other rooms in the one-story house. I counted about four of them.

A strange noise stopped me. Alert, I looked at the door again. The noise had come from inside. I tiptoed towards it and pressed my ear against the door, praying he wouldn't open the door and find me eavesdropping like in the movies. It was quiet for a few moments, and I began to think that I had imagined it. But then I heard it again. It sounded like a mix between a wounded animal's groan and a ferocious beast's growl. Then, a muffled cry-moan.

I bit my lower lip and wrapped my hand around the door handle. I knew it was stupid to try and see what the source of the sound was like this, but I couldn't help it! What if there was someone else in there who could help me?

Slowly, cautiously, I pushed the door open just a tiny bit and peered through the slit in the door.

There was no light on, so I had a hard time seeing at first. Once my eyes adjusted, the first thing I saw was Cain sitting at a monstrous black desk. He was sat in a long-back chair with his eyes screwed shut.

There was no one else in the dark room, which appeared to be an average-sized office.

My eyes zeroed in on Cain's face. It was completely drenched in sweat with veins bulging out of his forehead. And even in the dark, I could tell that his face was red, as if he were flushed with a fever. So was the rest of his body. He'd undone his shirt, exposing a chest that was also covered in sweat.

I finally realized that the sounds were coming from him.

Cain was in some serious pain.

I watched him clutch his left knee with a shaking hand and squeeze it, as if he were trying to stifle some sort of throbbing pain tormenting him. His brows furrowed and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

So, his left knee was the source of his limp. It appeared that he had sustained an injury or something of the sort that was troubling him. Was it new or old?

Well, I couldn't very well barge in and ask him.

Carefully, I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart thumping in my throat.

So, Cain had an exploitable weakness.