the words out. They could count my whispered mutterings as Ryland’s groans if I said them fast enough. “They beat you if you talk. I am okay. I love you.”
I wish I could have said more, and I knew the time would come that I would be able to, but now was not it. The scream of agony I had grown used to opened up through the jail. The sound echoed and grew, Sain’s whispered pleas adding to the noise as Talon clung to my hand, his fear at the sound evident.
“It’s okay,” I said through the yells, hoping it was loud enough for Talon to hear but no one else.
“She’s okay, Ryland. No one is hurting you. You are safe. She is safe. Joclyn is safe. She loves you, Ryland. It’s okay.” Sain repeated the phrase continually, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. The footsteps were already approaching, Sain’s words halted as he backed away from his friend.
The grind of metal, the whimpering, the crying and the sound of flesh on flesh , I heard it all, and I felt Talon’s tears as he heard it for the first time. As silence took over the cell, Ryland’s breathing equalized, the whimpers leaving him and unconsciousness took over. The grind of metal repeated, and then there was silence, the long silence that stretched into the black. I clung to Talon as Ryland’s breathing changed to the deep pulse of sleep. Sain joined him, and reluctantly, even I fell into sleep, the darkness giving me no other option. The brutal reality of my life gave me no other escape.
It was the first night I dreamed since I had been imprisoned. I would have expected the dream to focus on the brutal torture of the little girl, but no, it was the meadow again. The girl danced through the daisies and poppies, her dress spinning as she twirled.
I watched her as her image moved from one scene to another before it shifted to an old-style market. I fought the urge to laugh, my dreams taking me to a medieval fair. The girl ran before me, her hair laced with wildflowers as she weaved her way through the crowd, her body jumping around as if I was watching a scratched DVD.
“Mama!” she yelled happily, and my heart clenched. Her voice was beautiful, so sweet and innocent. “They have chocolate, mama! Papa, papa, come see!”
The image jumped. The Henry the Eighth wanna-be flashed as he smiled at me, his lips moving, but once again no words coming through. He suddenly appeared several feet in front of me, standing next to the little girl, pieces of chocolate in his hands.
Papa? Mama? I fought the confusion that threatened to overtake me. I pushed the need to know more aside and just focused on the girl, desperate to take something beautiful with me from the dream. I needed something happy to hold on to when morning came and I awoke on a cold stone floor.
“Here, Wynifred,” the man said, suddenly closer as he handed me a large piece of chocolate. He smiled , and I felt my cheeks turn up in a laugh. No, no laughing. I wanted to look back to the girl, but I couldn’t, there was only the man. Once again, I had no control.
The vision jumped again. This time the man was by my side, the girl back dancing in the meadow.
“We should go,” he said, his voice repeating what I had already heard. This scene, those words, this imagery, I had already had this dream before.
“Go where?” my voice said. I tried to fight the words, but they came automatically, whether I wanted them to or not.
The image of the girl jumped a bit, her dancing moving statically as she appeared and reappeared.
“We can run,” he said, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. My body turned to face him, the pleading in his eyes cutting through me, but I knew the emotion wasn’t my own. I wanted to yell at him for taking my eyes away from the beautiful girl again.
“He would find us,” my voice was simple, defeated.
“He will kill her.”
“I know.” My vision flashed once, twice, and again and again. The images changed from the market, to the man in the meadow, a walk
I wish I could have said more, and I knew the time would come that I would be able to, but now was not it. The scream of agony I had grown used to opened up through the jail. The sound echoed and grew, Sain’s whispered pleas adding to the noise as Talon clung to my hand, his fear at the sound evident.
“It’s okay,” I said through the yells, hoping it was loud enough for Talon to hear but no one else.
“She’s okay, Ryland. No one is hurting you. You are safe. She is safe. Joclyn is safe. She loves you, Ryland. It’s okay.” Sain repeated the phrase continually, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. The footsteps were already approaching, Sain’s words halted as he backed away from his friend.
The grind of metal, the whimpering, the crying and the sound of flesh on flesh , I heard it all, and I felt Talon’s tears as he heard it for the first time. As silence took over the cell, Ryland’s breathing equalized, the whimpers leaving him and unconsciousness took over. The grind of metal repeated, and then there was silence, the long silence that stretched into the black. I clung to Talon as Ryland’s breathing changed to the deep pulse of sleep. Sain joined him, and reluctantly, even I fell into sleep, the darkness giving me no other option. The brutal reality of my life gave me no other escape.
It was the first night I dreamed since I had been imprisoned. I would have expected the dream to focus on the brutal torture of the little girl, but no, it was the meadow again. The girl danced through the daisies and poppies, her dress spinning as she twirled.
I watched her as her image moved from one scene to another before it shifted to an old-style market. I fought the urge to laugh, my dreams taking me to a medieval fair. The girl ran before me, her hair laced with wildflowers as she weaved her way through the crowd, her body jumping around as if I was watching a scratched DVD.
“Mama!” she yelled happily, and my heart clenched. Her voice was beautiful, so sweet and innocent. “They have chocolate, mama! Papa, papa, come see!”
The image jumped. The Henry the Eighth wanna-be flashed as he smiled at me, his lips moving, but once again no words coming through. He suddenly appeared several feet in front of me, standing next to the little girl, pieces of chocolate in his hands.
Papa? Mama? I fought the confusion that threatened to overtake me. I pushed the need to know more aside and just focused on the girl, desperate to take something beautiful with me from the dream. I needed something happy to hold on to when morning came and I awoke on a cold stone floor.
“Here, Wynifred,” the man said, suddenly closer as he handed me a large piece of chocolate. He smiled , and I felt my cheeks turn up in a laugh. No, no laughing. I wanted to look back to the girl, but I couldn’t, there was only the man. Once again, I had no control.
The vision jumped again. This time the man was by my side, the girl back dancing in the meadow.
“We should go,” he said, his voice repeating what I had already heard. This scene, those words, this imagery, I had already had this dream before.
“Go where?” my voice said. I tried to fight the words, but they came automatically, whether I wanted them to or not.
The image of the girl jumped a bit, her dancing moving statically as she appeared and reappeared.
“We can run,” he said, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. My body turned to face him, the pleading in his eyes cutting through me, but I knew the emotion wasn’t my own. I wanted to yell at him for taking my eyes away from the beautiful girl again.
“He would find us,” my voice was simple, defeated.
“He will kill her.”
“I know.” My vision flashed once, twice, and again and again. The images changed from the market, to the man in the meadow, a walk
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