Page 43 of Intrepid

The breaking of his voice and the desperation in his words brought tears to my eyes, and told me whatever they’d done to him in the other room had finally broken him. To come up with some grandiose story about his father rescuing him was as unstable as telling me that dragons would fall from the sky and sweep us away to safety.

His father had been locked up in Jackson prison, though I didn’t have a clue as to why. Equally baffling was why Eli looked up to a criminal, but I guess when a person’s world consisted of liars and thieves, it helped to blend in.

“What is the secret? In the car?”

“I can’t tell you.” His breaths arrived hasty and shaky between the nonsense. “You’ll tell my mom. I know you talk to my mom about me, and if you tell her my secret, it’ll ruin everything. It’ll ruin her. It’ll ruin me!” The bedsprings rattled with his excitement, and I would’ve given anything to see his face. To look at his eyes and see if they were as crazed as his words. “And then my dad will have to come after you, too.”

Though his babbling made little sense, it proved one thing—his mother was right. Something had happened to Eli in the last couple of months, and if it was bad enough to write a letter to his father in prison, then I probably didn’t want to know. I didn’t quite understand the connection with what we were suffering right then, or why he’d dwell on something else while stuck in a real-life nightmare, but I knew Eli well enough that asking him questions wouldn’t get me any of those answers. If he felt threatened, or backed into a corner, he’d shut right down, and I couldn’t risk that.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” I whispered.

The ache of lying on the metal grates and holding my knees bent up into my chest kept a steady cadence of misery, even if I could ignore the pain of their tortures. The suffocating heat weakened my muscles, begging me to sleep. I couldn’t sleep, though. It was a tug of war inside my body, with only one certainty—I would fight until the end.

The heavy clop of footsteps echoed, beating against my nerves, until they came to an abrupt halt.

Eli whimpered again, but I stayed quiet. Waiting.

A click led the long and tired creak of the door, and even the soft glow through the cracks blinded me, forcing me to shield my eyes.

More footsteps. Shadows slinked over the walls of the room beyond my cage, and the pantry door in front of me squealed open, letting in the rancid scent of rotted fish. Something landed on the bedsprings, spilling over the side, while a cold object smacked against my shins. I kicked back, peering at it in what little light bled through, before he closed my door and opened another.

“W-w-w-water and tuna, shitheads.” The stuttering kid hadn’t said much during our tortures. A few cheers from the sidelines, but mostly his presence seemed inconsequential. He was nothing more than the big dumb kid who lured in other kids and then turned his cheek. If I had to guess, our imprisonment meant less beatings for him.

I cracked open the bottle and guzzled the cool fluids. They soothed the burn, as they slid down my throat, trickling out of the corner of my mouth. Pausing for air, I lowered the bottle and wiped my wet lips across the back of my hand. Tuna had to be my least favorite food, but I half sat up, patting around for the bowl he’d left, and scooped handfuls of the slimy fish into my mouth. The sour flavor stung my jaw, but I clamped my eyes, forcing myself to swallow it.

“I’d rather be a shithead than a Pawn,” I muttered.

When I was ten, my father taught me how to play chess. He told me the pawn was the weakest piece—disposable. Used to advance the more important pieces in the game. That was how I felt about the stuttering kid. I couldn’t even remember his name, lost in the clutter and shock of the last few hours. In my head, he was Pawn, and that gave me perspective. He was weak. And if they could manipulate him so easily, maybe I could, too.

“I’m no p-p-pawn.”

“A pawn does what he’s told. Nobody really cares about him because he’s not the most important game piece. And in the end, he’ll take the fall to make sure the king survives.”

Through the hole, I watched his jaw shift with contemplation, as though literally chewing my words. “I’d be c-c-c-careful. The last kid didn’t m-m-m-make it through the week.”

Eli howled with a sob, and the Pawn disappeared. Seconds later, the low hum followed by rattling metal, elicited more cries from Eli’s box.

“Shut up! Sh-sh-sh-shut the fuck up!”

Sharp thuds from somewhere to the right of me told me we’d gotten under his skin. If I could pin him against the others, maybe I could make him see we were on the same side.

“They hurt him, just like they hurt you.”

The slamming stopped, and I could hear his forced breaths.

“They don’t h-h-h-hurt me like that no m-m-m-more.”

“They will. Once we’re gone. They’ll hurt you.” I curled my fingers around the metal grates to settle my nerves. “We’ll help you.”

“H-h-h-help me how? You’re s-s-stuck in a cage.”

“No. He’s right,” Eli chimed in, as if part of his brain had connected back to reality for a minute. “My dad has connections. He’ll hurt them.” And then it disconnected again. “He’s coming for everyone.”

“Y-y-you don’t have a dad.”

The Pawn’s words chilled my blood. Of course Eli had a dad, but he wasn’t around. He hadn’t been for years. But how did the kid know he wasn’t in the picture?

“Fuck you! My dad is the most dangerous criminal at Jackson prison! You’re all going to die!”