Page 95 of Yours on the Canvas

Ray’s arrogant grin finally faltered, his breath catching in his throat as he stares into my cold eyes.

“I built the light he’s walking back into, and you are nothing more than the shadow I’m erasing.”

I pull the trigger. The gun kicks back, but I hold it firm.

It’s done.

* * *

The rest of the house is a ghost town, but my gut pulls me toward the back hallway behind the kitchen. Tucked at the end of it is a heavy, bolted wooden door that is at odds with the rest of the place.

Reaching for my sidearm, I stare at the thick steel padlock securing the deadbolt. I don’t waste time looking for a key. I raise the barrel of my gun, aim straight at the lock, and pull the trigger.

The deafening blast echos through the enclosed hallway, the metal shackle shattering into pieces. I kick the door open, revealing a steep set of stairs descending into absolute, suffocating darkness.

“Jack!” I shouted into the void.

No answer. Just the damp smell of mould and dampness.

I descend the stairs two at a time, my boots clattering against the stairs until my feet hit the basement floor. Deck flicks on the flashlight mounted to his rifle, sweeping the beam across the room.

“Oh shit, what the fuck is this…” Deck says, his voice low, a tone that simmers with a cold, quiet rage.

I look as the light cuts through the gloom, illuminating a nightmarish scene.

In front of us stands a heavy steel cage, filled with free weights and a blood-stained heavy bag.

But my eyes doesn’t stay long on the cage, they lock onto the narrow cot pushed against the concrete wall and the broken body laying there.

Jack.

He’s curled up, his back to me and he isn’t moving.

Nothing

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp, violent pain slicing through my chest. I reach the cage door, but it was locked. I roar in frustration as my fingers grip the chain link, my face against the mesh.

“Jack!” I scream, begging him to turn.

He doesn’t move as I feel CJ step up to my side. “I found keys. Move, Rook.”

I move slightly, never taking my eyes off my boy, the feeling of sheer panic that I’m too late screams through every fibre of my being as CJ unlocks the door.

I push past him the second it clicks open and race to the cot.

My hands move to touch him, but they freeze at what I see. His clothes don’t hide the fact that he is skin and bone, his pale skin covered in a sickening tapestry of purple bruises, black eyes, and raw, bleeding welts across his back and thighs where whips have torn him apart. I turn him slowly, and the sight of his body kills me slowly with each blink. His shirt is stained with blood, both fresh and old, and when I lift it to see his skin, what hits me makes me turn, vomit spilling onto the floor.

His stomach is torn, shredded as if he was in a fight with a wild animal. Bruising, cuts, and shredded skin greet me as tears stream hot and fast down my cheeks, as I choke on the tightness in my throat.

I suck in a deep breath, “Jack..”

His breathing is shallow, a faint, rattling wheeze that barely sounds human.

“Dove…” I whisper, the word tearing out of my soul as I drop to my knees beside the cot.

My hands hover over him, terrified that if I touch him too hard, he will shatter completely. I gently brush the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. His eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, staring up at me like a ghost who couldn’t believe the light had finally reached him.

“Sol…” he breathed, his voice a cracked, broken whisper.