Page 113 of Dawn of Hope
Fine.
If I don’t have any weapons, I’d have to use my hands. Brynne and I had sparred without weapons plenty of times for occasions just like these.
I run at him, my arm pulling back, ready to throw an upper cut. I land it on his back, and a grunt escapes him. He spins around and wraps his thick arms around my torso, pinning mine to my sides and moving so his front is to my back.
“Stop!” He yells. I ignore him, leaning back into him and kicking my feet into the air, trying anything I can to get free.
“Haven’t you noticed,” his voice strains, and he grunts as he works to keep my thrashing body contained, “that I’ve done nothing to hurt you? Nothing to strike out at you, despite you deliberately attacking me this entire time? I wonder why that is.”
My feet still as his words sink in. He still holds me tight, not risking loosening his grasp just because I stopped moving for a moment. My chest heaves, my limbs tired from all the exertion while he seems completely unaffected.
“It’s not me you need to protect yourself against.” He pauses, the roar of the cave deafening. “I’m going to let you go now. Please don’t hit me again, princess.”
I hold still as his arms loosen and he releases me. Goosebumps rise on my flesh from his missing touch.
He takes quick steps toward the back wall and I stay where I am, glued to the spot, watching him.
He places a hand on the wall and stands, looking back at me.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice breathless.
He ignores me. “You aren’t getting Fin back. I hope with time you’ll understand.” He pushes on the wall and it opens under his hand.
“No!” I scream and sprint toward him, but I am not fast enough. The stone closes in front of me, as it had last time. I pound my hands on it and let out a scream.
Everything I have been feeling, all of my pent up rage comes out as I scream and pound on the wall. My anger toward my father, the loss of my mother, my childhood. The loneliness I felt my entire life, finally mended during my time on Dawnlin, only to have it ripped away by this man. Weston. This man who, when we are alone, seems to differ from everything I have been told.
He is right. He hadn’t ever tried to hurt me, despite everyone telling me he is the one I need to protect myself against.
He had saved me. He made sure I was breathing. He only defended himself againstme.
Why do I feel like this night turned everything I know about this place upside down? What is right? What is wrong?
Who is telling the truth?
My face burns.
No. How can I be so stupid?
Weston is the king of mind tricks, and I fell for them, his sly words causing me to doubt everything I know.
He brainwashes any Voyager he captures, turning them against the rest of us. Within a few minutes I let him turn me as well, questioning who is telling the truth when I know it isn’t him.
I hate him, and I don’t know what to do now.
His final words lead me to believe that he isn’t planning on meeting me again, that I won’t be seeing him. If I don’t see him, and have no clue where to look for him, I have no way of forming a plan to get Fin back.
I have nothing, except for an answer where he has gone, and a million more questions swirling about Weston and things he said.
I know Fin is with the Castaways, and I need to call off our search.
I make my way to the top of the rock bridge, drifting along the paths in the dead of night. It isn’t raining anymore, but my boots still stick inthe mud. I remain on edge, still glancing over my shoulders, waiting for a Castaway to jump out and attack me. The emptiness at the small of my back makes me feel vulnerable and unsafe.
It’s not me you need to protect yourself against.
If he was telling the truth, and he wasn’t dangerous, then what was he talking about? Is there another Castaway that is more dangerous, that is responsible for the abductions?
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut.