Page 41 of Not Her Day to Die

“What’s going on?” Darius hardens his shoulders, clenching his fists.

“Surely you can make a guess. You know the girl lost me money. It’s time she earns some of it back.”

I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs outside the room.

Darius curses, spinning to me. His eyes are wild, worry etched into the set of his jaw, the thinning of his lips. “Sunday, I’m so sorry. Why did you come here?” His voice breaks.

“Darius?” My happiness from seeing him is churning into a different emotion entirely.

Curdled.

He doesn’t have a chance to answer before large sweaty hands wrench him from me, another pair landing on my shoulders. I don’t have time to take in their appearances before a hood is thrown over my head.

“Lead them to The Play House.”

“ThePlay House?” There is pure fear in Darius’s words. “You can’t do this. The FBI is already on your case,” Darius argues, his voice is fainter now, the thick black bag over my head muffling it.

Sterling laughs but doesn’t respond.

“Come on.” The man who is holding me applies painful pressure, shoving me forward.

I can’t see anything.

Not my feet. Not Darius. Not the purple strand that connects us.

But I can hear as we all make our retreat, feel as I’m pushed down the stairs, and I do my best not to trip.

We continue marching until we are outside. The muggy air is still hot even in the beginning of October, but I ignore it. I try to focus on the sounds, on the direction we are going.

But it is impossible to tell; I am discombobulated.

“Sunday, when they take the hoods off, I need you to promise me not to look. Focus on my back, you need to block the rest of it out.”

“Shut up!” one of the men holding us barks, followed by a thud and a soft groan.

I want to reach out, to take hold of Darius, to use him for comfort.

But I refrain.

And so we continue our march through the woods, the crunch of leaves under my socks, the twigs occasionally poking up, piercing me.

Eventually, we slow, and a loud creaking metal door is tugged open. And then we are going down. And down. And down. The temperature decreasing with every step until I am nearly shivering.

A loud whirring overtakes my ears, painful and continuous.

But worse than that is the smell.

Copper and decay.

Feces and vomit.

Bleach and ammonia.

It is that and more, an assault to my nose. It takes everything for me not to gag. I want to breathe through my mouth and I try to, but then I amtastingit.

Bile.

When we finally come to a stop at the bottom, my hood is tugged off.