Here by Denise Grover Swank

Author:Denise Grover Swank
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: On the Otherside Book One
Published: 2011-11-07T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

When I wake, I’m still in the tiny room. I close my eyes with a grunt of dismay and fear. Why have they locked us up and treated us like we have the Black Plague? What did Evan do?

The thought of Evan pools tears in my eyes. Where is he? What are they doing to him? I wonder if he had any idea any of this would happen.

The door slides open and a man wearing blue scrubs and a surgical mask enters, carrying a tray. The door closes behind him. His presence makes the room feel even smaller.

I jerk upright and scramble to the back corner of the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chest. “Please. Don’t hurt me. I didn’t do anything.”

He’s frozen, his eyes wide, as though my appearance frightens him. “Julia?”

He knows my name.

My chest tightens. I had hoped that this was a mistake, that they took the wrong person.

With his eyes on me, he absently places the tray on the floor. He leans forward, his eyes widening even more. “Is it really you?”

“Who are you? Why am I here? What are you doing to me?”

He sits in the chair stunned, as though my rapid-fire questions assault him. “What has he done?” His voice breaks.

“Who?” I ask. Then it hits me. “Evan? Where is he? What are you doing to him?”

He clears his throat. “Evan is fine.”

I’m pissed that he thinks I’ll just accept his answer. “You have no right to do this! No one even read me my Miranda rights.”

His blue eyes narrow in confusion. “Miranda rights?”

“I may only be sixteen, but I’m not stupid. We learned about Miranda rights in American Government. You have to tell me my rights, like my right to an attorney. And I want an attorney!”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes shiny and bloodshot.

I bend forward. My palms press into the mattress and it sinks with the shift of weight. “Are you listening to me?” A warning sounds in my head that I’m in no position to be hostile, but my anger pushes me farther. “I demand that you let me call my mom!”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” He stands and walks to the door, his shoulders sagging. “There’s food on the tray. Eat and I’ll be in later to speak to you.”

The door slides open and he exits between two men flanking the opening. The door shuts, sending me back into isolation.

I bury my head into my pillow and cry until I’m exhausted. I’m scared and want to see my mom or at least Evan. The thought of Evan brings anger on the heels of my self-pity. Crying won’t get me out of this situation. I need a plan.

My stomach grumbles. Food might help the dull ache in my head, as well as give me strength to escape. I lift the tray onto the cot and remove the lid. The plate contains three dry beige wafers, a circular piece of what looks like pressed meat, and some green beans.

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