Michelle Rowen - Countdown

“It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

Very true. Two years. Felt like forever—yet, at the same time, it felt like only yesterday. “My name’s Kira.”

“Well, Kira, where we are is anyone’s guess.”

I pressed back against the hard wall.

We could be anywhere, and there wasn’t a damn thing to give me a clue where that was. Except for the main drags, the city was so vacant that we could be in any one of dozens of abandoned warehouses or factories. And nobody would ever find us.

I’d heard about kids who’d vanished from the streets never to be seen again. I was sure they weren’t stories with happy endings.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Who brought you here? Are you chained, too?”

“I don’t know who brought me here. And, yeah, I’m locked up real tight.”

“Who would do this?” My voice caught on the words.

“Try to relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

I banged the back of my head lightly against the metal wall and hugged my knees in close to my chest. “You sound relaxed enough for the both of us.”

“What can I say? So far this is a lot better than where I was scheduled to go in a few days.”

“Oh? And where’s that?”

He was silent for a moment. “You really want to know?”

Not really. I didn’t care. “Sure.”

There was another lengthy pause. “Saradone.”

My blood ran cold. Saradone was the maximum security prison just outside the city limits. Only the worst criminals were sent there; some for life, most for death. Horrible people who’d done horrible things. Luckily, they didn’t put girls who stole shoes there...yet.

He laughed at my answering silence. “Guess you’ve heard of it.”

I was in the same room with somebody bound for Saradone—so that meant he was dangerous. Criminally dangerous. Panic returned to swirl through me, constricting my chest, my breath.

Both of us were chained. What was this? What was going on?

A cold trickle of sweat slid down my back.

“Why were you going there?” I tried to make the question sound flippant, as if I was making conversation about the weather.

“My days at St. Augustine’s end in a couple days when I turn eighteen.”

St. Augustine’s. That name I also knew. It was a juvenile detention hall located on the west side of the city. If I ever got arrested, that might be where I ended up.

I’d heard that it was hell.

I hesitated to ask, but couldn’t help myself. “What were you at St. Augustine’s for?”

“Murder,” he answered simply.

“Oh.” My stomach churned as I tested the chains again. They were too strong. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Was it self-defense?”

“No.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now. “But what do you care?”

“I don’t.”

But I did. Of course, I did. I cared because I was trapped in this room with an admitted murderer—stuck in the dark with him, just as I’d been when my family was murdered.

Maybe I was just having a really bad dream. Maybe I’d fallen and hit my head in the mall and was passed out cold in front of the understaffed burger place in the food court. Maybe some gorgeous rich kid would find me. He’d fall instantly in love with me, kiss me like Prince Charming did with Snow White, wake me from my deep sleep, and we’d ride away into the sunset, away from my past and into a bright, exciting future, just the two of us.

I blinked against the darkness.

No, I was awake. Definitely awake.

Too bad.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Rogan said. “Don’t want to talk anymore?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why not? Because you’re scared of me now?”

Pretty much, but I wasn’t going to let him know that if I could help it.

“No. Mostly because I’ve decided that you don’t know anything that can help me.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

“Rude?” I felt a flare of anger and then settled back, trying to remain calm. My ass hurt from sitting on the hard metal floor so I shifted to cross my legs. “Yeah, I’m so rude. Sorry about that. I guess you’ve been treated so nice at St. Augustine’s that my behavior’s a real shocker. Besides, sounds to me like you deserve rude. Or worse.”

He was silent so long that I felt even more uncomfortable than I had been to start with.

“And are you so innocent if you’re here with me right now?” His words were clipped, sounding as if I’d struck a nerve. “What did you say your name was...Kerry?”

“Kira,” I corrected. What a dick this guy was. “I’m not innocent, but I know I won’t end up at Saradone.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

I guess I could thank this jerk for keeping my mind off my fear of the dark. He was getting me angry enough that fear had moved a couple notches down the list.

I chewed my bottom lip. “I haven’t murdered anybody.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They’ve got you now. They’ll make you do whatever they want you to do, and don’t kid yourself. You’ll do it.”

“They? Who are they?”

Rogan went silent.

My heart pounded in my ears. “You can’t just say something like that and not say anything else. Who are they?”

“The ones who put you here. Who put me here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know who put you here?”

“I have an idea.”

“Want to share?”

“Maybe not. You’re not all that nice.” It sounded as if he was smiling now. Was he mocking me?

“I’m not all that nice?” I repeated.

“Is this a surprise to you? Do you normally charm the pants off the boys you meet? Because you’re failing big-time with me.”

“Who put us in here?” I said it flatly. I wanted him to realize I wasn’t joking around. If he didn’t tell me, then I was going to scream and keep screaming until they—whoever they were—dragged me out of there.

“They gave me a choice,” he said after a moment. “Go to prison for the rest of my life, or come with them and play their sick little game. At least here I might have a chance. A small one, but a chance. As soon as I agreed, they knocked me out. And then I woke up a few minutes ago to have this fascinating discussion with you. And...and I think they did something to me when I was unconscious. To my shoulder. I’m hurt pretty badly, but I’m not sure how. Or why. Probably to slow me down.” He snorted. “Playing fair isn’t exactly their style.”

“I didn’t agree to this.” I pulled at the chain until my wrist felt raw. “I want to leave.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you. Just like that. Sure.”

“You said they gave you a choice. Why didn’t they give me one?”

“I have no idea.” He paused. “You said your mother was dead?”

“Yeah.”

“And the rest of your family?”

“All dead.” My voice broke as I said it.

Silence again. “So you’re on your own.”

“When I have to be.” He didn’t deserve more of an answer than that.

I’d been on my own for the past two years, since I was fourteen. Before that, I was safe and relatively happy and free to do what I wanted with the love of my family to support me. But once they were gone, I had nothing.

The courts had wanted to put me into foster care, but I’d run instead. A friend of mine had gone into foster care a few years ago, and I never heard from her again. Not even an email.

“Why would they pick you,” Rogan said, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me, “other than the fact that you have no family? What did you do?”