Seventeen
RespiteFive weeks, three days, eight hours, and twenty-one minutes—that's how long the imprisonment lasted. It was near the end of March, I'd turned twenty, and we'd survived the crisis.
Five weeks, three days, eight hours, and twenty-one minutes without human contact or conversation. Music playing on an old device was the only time I heard other voices except for mine—and his. Cecil's voice continued to whisper in my ear when I slept. The noise in my head convinced me it was not a dream but a memory. How many times did I wake up in that locked, upstairs room of the old house to find him loitering about in the dark?
I'm quiet. My ears prick to the sound of footsteps and a stifled cough. Every muscle in my body twitches, urging me to roll over. I am desperate to know if the la
