Page 15 of Hysteria Rises (Dark Falls Hollow #1)

TEN

DELILAH

I’m awake, I think. But my head thumps so viciously I kinda wish I were dead, and there’s a vile taste in my mouth that just won’t quit no matter how I try to swallow it down.

Squeezing my eyes tighter, I groan as I ponder the swift dive my life has taken off a cliff since I left the roadside.

I’ve gotta find a way to escape this place and the creepy-as-fuck people who live here.

My entire body hurts. Maybe from the strain of fighting off one asshole after another, but also whatever I’m lying on is hard as a rock.

It makes me wish—though foolishly—for the cot in the little room I’d awakened in last night.

But the older men—they made it clear I’d lost that privilege when I tried to defend myself this morning.

Yesterday morning? How am I even supposed to know how much time has passed?

What was I supposed to do? That mean fucker—Kiefer, I think his name is—had walked right into the room, and without so much as a hello, put his hand on my thigh. Slid it upward. Touched me.

My lips twitch into a faint smile. I bet he’s regretting that move right about now. He deserves every scar he’ll carry. And maybe when he looks at himself in the fucking mirror, he’ll think twice before putting his hand on someone without their consent.

My eyes remain gritty, even after I pry them open and begin to blink in hopes of clearing my vision.

What the hell did they give me to knock me out like that?

More of the same shit they gave me the night before, or so I was told.

But what was it? Something Hazel Eyes injected directly into my arm.

I heard them say it would only last a few hours.

And they might have to come give me more. Fuck. No wonder I feel like shit.

I groan aloud, and the sound of my own discomfort makes me feel worse.

With a glance around, I’m positive I’m underground.

There are no windows, and the walls are constructed of cement blocks on three sides, but the final one is lined with bars.

Like I’m in fucking jail. It’s definitely a holding cell of some sort, only unlike the tiny room I’d been locked in upstairs, this is way more like a fucking cage.

It’s never been clearer than it is right now—I’m a prisoner.

And what I’ve been lying on is actual stone.

Sure, there’s a blanket beneath me, but just below it, the chill of the floor seeps through the thin cotton shift they’ve dressed me in.

I shiver, convinced I’ll never be warm again.

My brows furrow as I pick up on the whir of a machine chugging away somewhere.

It stops. Pauses? Then picks right back up.

I roll to my side, my head thumping as I cast my eyes in the direction of the noise.

I suck in a breath. “Someone! Help me! I’m locked in!

” I pause, waiting for any sign that I’ve been loud enough to be heard, but there’s nothing.

I try again. “Let me out of here! I want to leave! Right the fuck now!”

I almost weep with relief when I hear someone approaching. A moment later, though, my eyes practically bug out of my head. It’s a child. They might be three or four, I’m unsure. Biting my lip, I sit up, beckoning them closer.

Now that I’ve had a better look, I can tell it’s a little boy, though his hair is on the long side. He’s blond with a sweet face. When he gets to about a foot outside the cell, he stops and stares at me wide-eyed and curious.

Wait. Sifting through the faint memories I have of being hauled down here against my will and drugged half out of my mind, I think I remember seeing him.

I pause, my forehead creasing as I attempt to force recall.

Yes. I know I saw him. This little one had spoken with one of the men who’d been charged with bringing me down here.

What was the little guy’s name? My forehead wrinkles in concentration, causing it to ache.

Something with an S, but whatever drug I was given seems to have made my memory foggy.

I do know he called out to the one they call Arrow.

My middle-of-the-night creepy stalker. “Hey,” I whisper, “come talk to me.”

He cocks his head to the side, studying me with inquisitive, pale-blue eyes.

“You have a mama … right?” I wince when he doesn’t answer, because I’ve not seen a single woman.

Taking a chance, I rephrase my question, hoping for a better result.

“Where’s your mama?” My brows lift as he shuffles on his feet, and I hold my breath.

Then finally, he bobs his head ever so slightly.

When he doesn’t move after that, I wonder if I’ve imagined things.

Frustrated, I rub my hands over my face.

I’m getting nowhere with him, not really, so I wet my lips, preparing to ask the questions that begin to flood my mind.

Are there more children? And if his mother isn’t here, who takes care of him? Can he go get them?

But before I can utter a syllable, he shakes his head, then whispers softly as he brings a chubby forefinger to his lips, “Mama thinks you should be quiet.”

A shudder rolls through me from head to toe, and I stare at him, completely perplexed.

So, his mother is somewhere around here …

but where? And she thinks I should be quiet?

Why? I frown when a moment later, he takes off in the direction I’d heard sounds coming from earlier, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor as he runs.

What the hell? I’m beginning to feel like I’m losing my mind in addition to being mentally exhausted from everything I’ve endured in the last several days.

Dragging in a ragged breath and trying not to cry, I shout, “Hey!!” Then, when no one responds after a minute or so, frustration gets the best of me.

I lose my shit, shouting as loudly as I can manage.

“Someone had better come let me the fuck outta this cage! I’m not a goddamn animal! ”

I wait for what feels like interminable minutes more while the silence and the idea that I’m really alone begin to infiltrate the logical part of my mind. Maybe they’ve left me here to rot.

But wait. That’s silly. I know someone has to be here. It’s not like they’d have left that tiny little boy running around unsupervised. Would they? Frowning, I purse my lips. And then, inspiration strikes.

I throw my head back and shout, “I have to use the bathroom!” Pause. Suck in a breath. “Hey! I know you’re here somewhere!” I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, willing someone, anyone to come around the corner.

It seems like an eternity that I wait, but then there’s a shuffling noise. And a woman appears.

She’s of average height, her blonde hair pulled into a severe bun, the style of her clothing simple.

Now that I really study the garment, it might even be handsewn.

She stares as she shuffles closer, eyes roaming from my face and downward, then back up to meet my gaze—all without so much as a twitch of a muscle in her face.

I can only imagine what she must think of me, though.

I feel unclean at best, grungy and disgusting at worst. I have a sneaking suspicion the eye makeup I’d applied before leaving the home days ago is a mess.

And this woman and I simply are not from similar walks of life.

She stops on the other side of the rusted bars that make up one wall of the cage I’ve found myself in, and I get to my feet. “I have to pee.” I wait. She stares. It’s the most awkwardly confusing few seconds of my life. I almost cry when she walks away without a word, but she doesn’t go far.

It’s not long before she’s back, and with her, she carries a small bucket.

I shake my head, fighting panic. “I can’t use that.

Isn’t there a toilet?” This is some messed up shit.

True, asking to be able to use the bathroom had been a ploy to plan my escape.

I figured I could get an idea of whether there’s an easy way out of here, but apparently that’s not in the cards.

I take in one steadying breath, then another, willing myself to remain calm.

All I really want to do is scream, but my head hurts like a bitch.

Finally, I put a few fingers to my temple, rubbing in circles as I debate what I could possibly say to make this woman help me.

My nose wrinkles in distaste. “Forcing me to use a bucket is inhumane.”

She seems to consider my words for a few seconds, then shrugs, stepping closer. It catches me off guard, and I jerk backward, unnerved by the odd look in her eye. It’s both uncaring and almost pitying. I warily follow her movements as she reaches into her pocket for something.

A key. I watch in anticipation as she fits it into some sort of lock on the outside of my cell.

But the key doesn’t open a door, like I was hoping, only a rectangular section of the bars on a hinge.

I’m confused until a moment later, she sticks her arm through the opening, extending the bucket toward me.

No. No, no. I take it from her to get it out of my face, but toss it to the ground, letting the clatter echo like gunfire.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shake my head, frustration leaching from my every pore.

“Please? Will you ask someone to come down? Maybe one of the guys who brought me in here?”

I’m overwhelmed by the bizarre turn the last few minutes have taken and the fact that this woman is still intently staring at me.

Sweat slicks over my skin, making my crude nightgown stick to my back even though it’s damp and cool down here.

The longer this bizarre exchange goes on, the more nervous I become.

Forcing myself to speak calmly and quietly, I leave my pride on the dirty stone floor and plead with her. “Just please tell me where I am. If you let me out of here, I’ll leave and won’t ever come back.”

Her lip curls, and she slowly shakes her head. I don’t even realize my hands are fisted until the nails dig hard crescents into my palms at her lack of response. The absence of simple human kindness is astounding. This place is so fucked.

I exhale through clenched teeth before huffing, “I won’t cause any more trouble. I fucking promise!”

Fast as a lightning strike, her arm shoots through the space between the bars, and she grabs hold of my face between fingers and thumb, squeezing hard enough that I cry out.

The stern look she levels me with is terrifying.

She stomps a bare foot on the stone, putting a finger to her lips and swiftly shaking her head a single time.

She … I think she means business.

From somewhere on the floor above, footsteps sound.

Are they coming closer? Coming down here?

I look upward, straining to hear, and I can’t help the way my face crumples as a sob wrenches from me.

“Please, help me. You could get rid of me so easily. Just show me where to go!” Hands trembling, I plead with my eyes.

She offers me nothing—not a word—but pulls a stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper from her pocket.

My brows dart together as she begins to hastily scrawl. What the hell is she doing?

When finished, she holds it up, and I reach through the bars to have a look at whatever she’s written. She yanks it out of my reach before I can grab it.

More footsteps. And they’re closer now, until I’m almost certain they’re on the set of stairs that leads down to this hellhole. The blonde insistently gestures to the paper.

“Now you want me to read?” I hold back my exasperation. Focusing, I let my eyes wander over each crudely scratched word.

If you want any chance at making it out of here alive, you’ll learn to be quiet.

You won’t make noise. You won’t speak.

By the time I get to the end of the note, the blood has chilled in my veins and a violent shudder runs through my body.

I open my mouth but snap it shut again so quickly my teeth click audibly.

This isn’t all that different from the warning I’d received last night from that Arrow guy.

I’m still processing what all of it means when the woman slowly tears the corner off the note and stuffs it into her mouth.

My heart rate picks up, thumping madly. What.

The fuck? I blink, staring in rapt fascination, half in a daze.

She blinks tired eyes back at me, all while her jaw shifts from side to side.

She quickly repeats the process several times, all in eerie, stony silence.

One dry, scratchy bit after another, her throat works overtime with each pulpy swallow.

Skin growing clammy, I can’t do anything but stare, the shock of what she’s forcing herself to do nearly sending me to my knees. Why? Why would she eat the note?

Pausing, she tilts her head to the side.

And then … I hear it, too. My eyes widen.

Yep, someone is definitely coming. What the hell will happen when whoever it is sees she’s been communicating with me?

Sweat trickles down my spine, but all I can do is wait with bated breath.

Because as much as everything in me screams to rebel, I simply don’t think I want to find out what the repercussions might be.

The faster she moves, the more nervous I get. Because holy fuck. There’s no denying the fear in her eyes as she puts the last bit of paper into her mouth. She swallows, then lets out a ragged exhale.

“I don’t understand.” I shake my head feeling a bit wild while my gaze flicks from the woman to the other end of the hallway.

For every step closer the unknown visitor comes, my heart rams harder behind my rib cage.

“Please,” I quietly urge her, “please tell me what I should do.” My bottom lip trembles.

They’re coming. Closer. Ever closer.

They’ve stopped right outside the door.

Desperate for answers, my attention returns to this strange woman on the other side of the bars from me.

I plead with her in frantic, silent whispers, begging her to tell me how to get out of this mess.

Our eyes connect. Her mouth drops open to reveal a dark, tongueless cavern that sends terror jolting through me.