Origins of Evil by Danielle Vega

Author:Danielle Vega [Vega, Danielle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2017-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I can’t see the blades in the dark, but I feel them hovering centimeters from my skin. I’m afraid to move my hands away from my sides.

“Help!” I try to scream, but my voice comes out sounding thin. I’m too nervous to inhale any deeper, worried the blades will nick my chest or stomach. I press my lips together, imagining Hope asleep on the couch. She wouldn’t hear me, anyway.

I don’t know how long I stay frozen like that. It feels like hours, but it could be minutes. Time doesn’t make sense inside that tiny black box. Sweat rolls down my forehead, leaving my skin itchy and damp, but I don’t dare raise my hand to wipe it away. A dull ache forms in my left hip, and I start to shift my weight to the right—but then I picture a razor-sharp blade sliding into my leg, ripping through my skin, and I force myself upright again. My leg wobbles beneath me.

Pull yourself together, Brooklyn. I’m not getting out of here if I start panicking now.

I concentrate on breathing in and out, in and out, like I’m in a yoga class from hell. I close my eyes and focus on the air filling my lungs. It seems thinner than it was in Hope’s room, but I can’t tell if there’s really less oxygen or if I feel light-headed because I’m losing blood.

Throbbing pain moves through my gut, reminding me of the stab wound just below my ribs. I want to touch it, to see how deep it is, but fear keeps me still. I imagine blood oozing past the ragged edges of my skin, gathering in the waistband of my jeans. I don’t know how much longer I have before my legs give out and I collapse onto the jagged knives in front of me. I feel weak. Any second now, I’ll stumble.

“Please,” I whisper. I don’t know who I’m talking to. Myself, maybe. Keep standing. Stay strong. I won’t let this sick freak get the best of me.

My knee buckles, and I sway backward. A blade slices through my T-shirt, nicking the skin on my back. I gasp, forcing myself still.

A floorboard creaks on the other side of the closet door. I’m suddenly alert. The pain in my leg and my gut fades to the back of my head. My muscles tense.

Open the door, asshole, I think. If he thinks I’m going to cower in here all weak and scared, he’s got another think coming.

My breath sounds ragged and loud in the silent space. My heartbeat is a slow, steady drum. I flex my fingers, waiting. Seconds stretch into minutes. My muscles relax. I heard wrong. There’s no one there.

Then—a click of metal as the door is unlocked. A sliver of dim, golden light appears. It hurts my eyes, and I shrink backward. A dozen blades prick my back at the same moment, forcing me upright again.

Pastor Joe pulls the door all the way open. “Have you enjoyed the sinner’s room, Brooklyn?” he asks.

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