Page 20 of A Sorrow of Truths
Fine. I’m not fine. I’m anything but fine. I feel lost again, as if the world has gone mad around me and the only thing that makes any sense is a castle surrounded by snow-capped mountains. The image of them makes me pull away from the body holding me softly and gaze into the night, fingers splayed out on the glass. I want to go home, back to that place and that time and arms that held me tightly, severely. And I want the bed and warmth, whispered words and comfort.
Weight on me.
Gray.
It’s only after I’ve thought about him clearly that I begin to recognise the car we’re in.
“Of course, Sir. I won’t leave the room.”
“Where are we going?” I mumble.
He doesn’t answer me. Barely even acknowledges the question when I turn listlessly to look back at him. I remember him then. Jackson.
“Where are you taking me?”
No answer again. I don’t suppose it matters where I’m going, as long as I’m not going back to that apartment full of memories. I thought Malachi was coming for me, though. Jackson isn’t Malachi’s. He’s Gray’s. And Gray threw me out. So angry.
So cold.
I stare out of the window, occasionally tracing patterns in my breath on it, and watch as the roads change. Smaller roads. Roads that twist and wind. Pretty darkness. Only fog and mist staining my view. My finger taps, heart searching for thuds out there. So tired. Exhausted. I should sleep some more. Find solace in that until morning breaks and sense comes back.
The car slows down and the lights from the freeway dulls to barely anything at all. I don’t know what that means. Better, though. Darker skies and darker views. Rabbit holes. I smile faintly at it all. It makes more sense to me. Silent and dark. Indistinct.
Tap, tap, tap.
A maze. It’s like a maze with no colours or edges, no timelines or trails to follow. I trace more patterns in the mist on the window, watching as the drips fall down in small streams.
Down, down, down.
Eventually lights start on the horizon. Low lights. Dim and flickering. I stare at them, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and then fall back into the confines of the car. Frightening. Scary. Lights mean people, conversing. I’m not ready for that. Don’t want it. Unless it’s the castle. Is it?
I scramble back to Jackson, using him as an anchor to something. Anything. Can’t be the castle. No planes. I don’t think there have been anyway. My thoughts scatter around, hand tapping my head. Might have been a plane. Can’t remember.
“It’s alright, Mam,” he says. Is it? How is it alright?
A sense of fear permeates, filling me with panic and fright. If Gray’s not there it can’t be alright. Maybe it’s Malachi. No. Gray’s car. Jackson. My head shakes, body pulling rigid and then sinking into as small a shape as I can manage.
The car seems to stop before I know what’s happened and a man opens the door. He’s old. Dressed like a doorman. “Mrs Tanner,” he says.
How does he know me?
My gaze flits around him, taking in the huge place and the bright lights. I shrink back into Jackson again, only to feel him push on my back and help me out of the car whether I want to go or not. My feet scuff the floor, as I’m part dragged towards the door. Fight. I should fight. Get away. This isn’t right. I could run. I’m good at that. Used to run a lot. Keep fit. Stay fit for Rick. I don’t know here, though.
Still, my feet brace, arms yanking to get me away, but the second I try, the very moment I attempt attack, or flight, or fight, I’m lifted from the ground and carried over the threshold.
Rooms blur by me, lots of them, colours and furniture lost in a haze of panic and fear, swirling carousels of images and things. And then a woman is beside us before I can understand what’s going on, a mask covering her mouth and glasses resting on her nose. Something pricks my arm. Painful. I try screaming, try moving, but everything’s gone limp, useless. No running anymore.
The last thing I see is her dropping the mask to smile at me.
“It’s alright, Hannah.”
Black.
Chapter 9
Gray
Iweave roads quickly, fuelling myself on to get through downtown traffic and ignoring reds as they come at me. I don’t have the time or care for them, and I’m too fucking wound up to give a damn what havoc me driving like a mad man might cause.