Imprisoned by J. D. Jacobs

Author:J. D. Jacobs [Jacobs, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-15T08:00:00+00:00

25.

I wake up to the feeling of a cold cloth touching my neck. My right eye has barely opened up enough for me to peek through my eyelid, and I see Mrs. Margaret squatted down close to me.

“I thought he killed you,” she whispers to me, her voice gentle and calm. “You hadn’t moved since I brought you breakfast.”

She’s not against me. She’s just like everyone else in the city: scared. I’m disappointed it took me this long to realize it.

“Which side were you?” I ask her through my raspy, broken voice. “Were you already in the city or did Ricardo let you in?”

“I was one of the ones he let in,” she says as she delicately rubs the damp rag over my battered face. “But once he took over, it didn’t matter what side you were on. He hated anyone who questioned him. I kept my mouth shut and did what he said. That’s why I’m still alive. And like you said, that’s why you’re in this room.”

“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” I let her rub the dried blood off my sore face, her soothing strokes comforting me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’ve been too scared to help you. Mr. Ricardo is ruthless. The slightest deviation from his system and… It’s not pretty. I believe you saw it yourself yesterday with your friend, Mr. Plunket.”

“What did Stewart do to get killed?” I ask her.

“I wish I knew… The last time visitors came, it happened after they were shown the research lab, and the same thing happened with your group. I’m sure it revolves around that.”

If that’s true, I wonder how long it’ll be until I see Jenkins being brought out into the Atoning Arena. Or Cody. “Have you seen my friend since I’ve been up here?”

Mrs. Margaret turns around, making sure that Ricardo didn’t sneak though the open door behind her. “I haven’t, but that’s a good thing. For him, staying hidden is better than being found.”

Not very helpful, but definitely not the worst thing I could’ve heard. “Okay. What about Camila? Do you think you could bring her up here so I can talk to her?”

Mrs. Margaret’s delayed response tells me that neither no nor yes seem like viable answers. “It’ll be risky, but I’ll try. No promises.”

“Thank you,” I wholeheartedly tell her, hoping she accepts it as my apology. She gives a hopeful grin, places my lunch plate on the ground close to my face, and leaves the room.

I stare at my plate of food for half an hour before I actually nibble into it. The throbbing taste of blood in my mouth is sickening, and the tomato sandwich does nothing to rid of it. My mouth aches terribly with every bite, and it even hurts to swallow. I eventually crawl to my bed where I can properly sulk on something much more comfortable than a floor.

I think about my life now: how my impending death is going to be nothing compared to the

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