The Ocean’s City

The car pulled up to a single adobe house, blending in with the desert scenery. Dalton opened his door with much more intended force as the wind snapped the door wide open, causing me to worry about whether the door would fly off.

Before I could worry about it too much, Hutson opened his door with the same vigor. My attention was split between the two doors, and by the time my mind went back to worrying about Dalton’s door. He had it already shut and was about to open mine.

He opened my door, ensuring it wouldn’t fly open as his door had. He grabbed my arm to guide me out, and his eyes were emotionless as his heavy glare watched my every emotion, reminding me that I was in a lot of trouble.

His hold on my hand was firm but a lot softer than I had expected it to be. The way his fingers twitched told me how much he wanted to hurt me. Fear pitted in my stomach, but I was distracted again as we walked towards the house.

Dirt flew around us, but it was clear that it was only the beginning stages of what was coming. I was mesmerized by the desert brown wall that rose miles above us.

I couldn’t help but think that the motel was still sunny and calm, except for the receptionist, who was probably, hopefully, calling the cops to search for me. I should have left more clues behind—next time, I will.

My mind started planning how to leave evidence of my capture behind while I stared in awe at the dust cloud raging my way. Dalton gave me a firm yank into the house, shutting my thoughts and focusing on the present.

He flung me against the wall, both hands gripping the sides of my arms as he heaved.

His eyes didn’t stray from mine, and I didn’t dare break eye contact with him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but as his rage grew, so did the storm outside.

He released me abruptly with a growl. He then left the house to find his brother.

I was all alone in the small yet cozy home. It had cow skulls on the wall, and the couch was decorated with knitted blankets and pillows with western zigzag designs. The wooden floor was covered in animal hide, and the place was relatively open.

I walked to the kitchen window and pushed back the curtain to watch Dalton and Hutson yell at each other. Desert sand flew between them. I noted how close the storm seemed now and felt scared of it. It appeared the storm would only get worse.

Then Hutson’s words rang in my head again. I felt numb thinking about the odd sentence. “She is putting her at risk.”

Whowas at risk? Who was her? I’m pretty sure I am she, but… who is her?

The wind whistled as Dalton and Hutson hurried inside the house with the bags. Dalton searched the room until his eyes landed on mine.

“We’ll stay here,” he snarled. The way he held his body language screamed he wanted to explode.

I searched his fuming eyes, debating whether or not I should bother him with questions right now. Instead, the question in my head repeatedly repeated, begging to be answered.

Who is her?

Hutson didn’t even bother to look my way. He completely ignored me and walked away from Dalton and me to another room. Was he giving us space or looking for space away from me?

I watched his back as he left, and the questions still willed themselves to be heard. It screamed louder at Hutson.

Who is her?

For a split second, it was like Hutson heard the question I was begging to know. He stopped at the door’s archway and turned to look at me. It was a pitiful plea that turned to frustration as he looked at Dalton.

They had a silent conversation. Again, my brain begged for the answer.

They broke eye contact, and Hutson headed into the other room while Dalton locked his gaze with mine. He seemed to have an inner battle with himself. A part of him wanted to tell me the truth.

A wicked feeling of hope rose in my stomach as I watched him struggle.

“Ssssiil—” he left only part of my name through his lips before his shoulders tensed, and he masked his emotions again.

The wicked hope rose inside of me, and I pushed it down. I knew the hope, but it could be a perilous situation if I let my mind form the thought properly.

A man who could manipulate realities… it could be accurate, but… if he can’t control that one thing and I let myself believe it, then… my mind would break.

I couldn’t afford to let my mind break.

Still, Dalton stood in the center of the living room, staring at me in the kitchen of a house that appeared out of nowhere.

I decided to ask, and whatever answer he would give would be true because I couldn’t afford to read between the lines and lose myself.

“Is... is Daniella still alive?” I asked in a ghostly voice.

His body twitched, and he thought about it for a long, agonizing moment. That hope rising in my stomach felt like the most malice thing in existence.

I knew the answer before his lips moved, but still, I refused to believe anything other than the words he spoke from his lips at this very moment.

“Yes,” he nodded with a firm expression that hinted there was no truth or lies to what he was saying. “She is.”

Hope broke through my barrier, and I felt it flood me with indescribable emotions.

Thanks for reading the twenty-second chapter of The Ocean’s City. Let me know what you think! Grammar Nazis are welcome!