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Bladder empty, I let him lift me into the bath. Warm water rose to my chin. Each slow drop from the faucet echoed the dirge of my heartbeat.

He ripped away the garment bunched at my waist. His hands moved with efficiency, lathering soap over my body and through my hair. He slowed his ministrations on my back. “I want to talk about these spots.”

Not that bullshit again. “Want spots on your back? Get me a cigarette.”

He clenched his jaw and finished washing me in silence.

In my cell, I returned to the corner. He sat on the outside in a moonlit square and dug in his pants pocket. A pack of cigarettes dropped on the floor before him.

I was in no mood for mind games.

Sometime later, he reached in his pocket again. My battery-powered bullet appeared next to the cigarettes.

I hid my surprise. “Shove it up your ass.”

He placed my MP3 player next to the bullet. “I retrieved your pack from the truck at River Tweed. I have all your personal items.”

Paper rustled in his hand. I straightened. He laid the stained letter next to the other items. Scrawled words glared back at me. Words poured from Joel’s heart.

My hand shot to my forearm, seeking a dagger, fingers curling at its bareness. “You have no right.” I scrambled to the bars, reached for the letter. He inched it back.

“It’s yours when you eat.” He nodded to the plate of food on the bed.

So began my sentence on Malta. Three times a day, the doctor bribed me to eat, taking away the letter when I wouldn’t. Every day, after midmorning prayer, the Drone brought an empty vial. And every day, he watched with hungry eyes as the doctor pricked my vein. When the vial was filled, he snatched it and rushed out without a word.

Between visiting hours, I fantasized about Annie and Aaron’s world. I knew it didn’t exist. Still, I would close my eyes and look for their smiling faces. I would look for Joel and Roark too. But it was always so dark. I’d stretch out my hands and feel nothing. Then I would call out for them, sinking deeper. I thought I came close sometimes. The tide would fade. The wind would still. The tightening in my chest would uncoil. And just when I thought I found them, the doctor would drag me back, forcing fluids down my throat or dropping me in the bath.

Every night, I curled in the corner and plugged my ears against the sea. I let my skirt bunch at my thighs and watched the spiders dine on my legs. Often, the doctor would show up and chase them away. Always, he arrived at dawn to nurse my bites and give me a bath.

I didn’t fight him. My fight died with Roark. I kept my gaze on the abyss. Until one night, I fell into restless sleep, and the abyss gazed back.

Grasshoppers chirped. Ice settled in my mint mojito. Perspiration teared on the glass lip and I caught it with my tongue. Something splashed in the pool, drenching the sun warmed towel beneath me.

I leaned over the coping. Annie cut across the crystal bottom with lithe strokes. Her blurry figure approached. My smile widened as she came up for breath.

Her face broke the surface and stared into mine with all-white eyes. Black gore drooled from her broken teeth. A pincer clamped my throat, cut my scream. Water burned my nose as she dragged me in.

The pool darkened. We spiraled down, farther and farther. A sea of ink, the bottom never came. The water began to spin and roar around me.

I stood in the center as it gravitated away. Gravel dug into the soles of my feet. Annie was gone.

Clank. Clank.

The darkness receded into the purple shade of twilight. The post in my father’s vineyard emerged. Chains suspended Joel’s body to it. Metal links hung from Joel’s waist, clanking on the post like a dinner bell. A glowing figure clung to his body.

The distance between us blurred. My hands closed over the aphid’s mandible. I yanked. The hole in Joel’s chest puked flesh and bone. The insectile mouth slipped in my hands. I tightened my grip, bowed it at a right angle.

The point snapped. I twisted my wrist and stabbed it through the gaping mouth. A spout of blood choked its shrieks.

I moved to the post in the next row, dragging the aphid behind me, and knocked my father’s viticulture tool from the hook. The muscles in my arms quivered as I raised the aphid by its head and pushed.

The hook’s rusted tip punched through the forehead. I jerked it free and repeated. The hook bobbed in and out of the head. Ribbons of black leaked from its pulped orbs. My arms gave out. The lifeless body slid to the ground.