Page 107 of Hush, Little Baby

Please.

My eyes squint open to see industrial metal rafters high above me. The air smells of old motor oil, cigarettes, and mildew. Faint shafts of sunlight pierce filthy windows mounted near the ceiling. Okay, I’m in a warehouse.

I’m having a nightmare about being tied up in a warehouse.

A wave of vertigo nearly makes me sick. I swallow against the rawness in my throat, wincing. Then I hear voices.

Male.

Several.

Echoing in the cavernous expanse. I can’t understand what they’re saying, almost like they’re speaking another language.

I don’t think it’s Greek; it sounds different. I wrack my brain, trying to place it. Maybe Russian?

My gaze drifts across the large empty room to a battered folding table that sits under a flickering bulb, surrounded by four cheap metal chairs. Three men lounge around it as casually as if they were just hanging out in a buddy’s garage. Empty liquor bottles clink. Cigarette butts smolder in an overflowing ashtray. And there, amongst the mess, are two glinting guns.

One of the men suddenly glances toward me, his head tilting in my direction. He mutters something, and the other two turn. I force my eyes down, heart slamming into my ribcage.

I try to tell myself again that it’s all just a nightmare, but with every word tumbling out of their mouths, every grunt and laugh, my fear builds.

Somewhere, a heavy metal door creaks open, the men’s conversation quiets, and footsteps come closer, closer, closer. My eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that I see a bunch of floating color behind my lids.

I have a sickening feeling that if I open my eyes, I’m going to die.

I’m going to die, because this is real.

This is real.

But then a familiar voice calls my name, and I’m questioning reality again.

“Charlie,” it repeats, louder the second time.

I force my eyes open in tiny increments and gaze at the two men looming over me. The one closest to me is Constantine. I have no idea who the other is.

“Constantine?” I try to say, but it comes out as a mangled string of muffled, instinctive sound from behind the tape.

I go lightheaded with relief that he’s here, that whatever this is, there’s a plan. People get kidnapped all the time in shows and movies, right? If Constantine’s already here, maybe Nikolaus is somewhere just out of sight, negotiating my freedom.

Some sort of deal will be struck, I’ll be untied, then we’ll be on the way home. I feel unbelievably lucky that I’m already being rescued, just moments after waking up. I bet Constantine saw the tail-end of what happened in the parking lot and raced after me.

But… Constantine’s eyes don’t hold comfort; there’s guilt there. His mouth is set in a hard line, probably from the stress of the whole situation. I want to tell him that it’s okay, that I’m uninjured, and that he arrived just in time, but the tape doesn’t allow me to. I try to convey it through my eyes, but he only grits his teeth.

The man behind him—burly, dark stubble, lips wet from a drink—leans over my head, grinning in a way that makes my blood chill and my skin prickle.

Okay, so he’s clearly the bad guy.

I try to scramble backward, but the effort only jostles me slightly on the rough concrete, friction burning my cheek and the skin of my hip through my clothes.

Constantine crouches, grips where the tape is digging into my cheeks, and tugs just enough to make my head jerk in sharp pain. My nose floods with the harsh smell of glue, sweat, and panic.

He waits for my eyes to focus on him, then speaks. “I’m sorry, Charlie. You don’t deserve this. You were just the best choice.”

My brain is slogging through a swamp. The words barely manage to make it through the sludge, but I think they make sense. Sort of. Maybe.

I make a questioning sound, and the man with stubble laughs, jostling me with his boot. I twitch away, even as every muscle in my body is screaming to freeze.

Constantine holds my gaze, like he’s trying to will his words into my skin. “I wish we hadn’t gone to that club. Or that he’d picked someone I wouldn’t feel so guilty doing this to. But here we are, so try to stay calm. It’ll be over soon; then you can go back to New Mexico or wherever you want, start a new life. Some of what’s going to happen will hurt, I’m not going to lie to you. But they’ve promised you’ll get out of this alive. How much pain they give you will depend on Niko.”