Get them before they get you.
That had been one of her mother’s favorites. She used to impart that wisdom to her daughters regularly. At least, she did before that day when she hung herself in the bathroom.
Corin Campbell could still see her mother’s feet spasming and searching for a foothold. The kicks slowly died down as her mother’s face turned purple and her eyes rolled back in her head. Corin had been four years old, but she still remembered the event in vivid detail. She supposed it wasn’t the kind of thing a person easily forgot.
She had tried to kill her mother’s memory many times, but her current ordeal had exposed how alive and well that pain truly was, how closely it lay below the surface. Although, even her worst memories of her previous life were preferable to this hell.
The door creaked open, which was strange. She normally heard his heavy footfalls echoing off the concrete walls long before he opened the door. This time, she heard nothing.
Light blinded her. She held up an arm as her eyes adjusted. Instead of the man in the skull mask, a young woman about her age or a little older emerged angelically from the light. The angel laid a tray in front of her. It held a bowl of water, some wash cloths, and a pile of white silk, which looked to be some sort of house dress.
As her vision cleared, Corin saw that the Angel had dark skin and curly black hair pulled up into a utilitarian bun. She wore a white dress and a pair of fuzzy brown house slippers. When the figure from the light spoke, she didn’t sound at all like an angel.
Her voice was hoarse and dry, as if she had been screaming or crying or perhaps hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time.
The woman standing over her said, “Wash up. Change your clothes.” Then the angelic figure turned to leave.
Corin said, “Wait. Are you … Who are you?”
The woman’s gaze fell to the floor. “Just get cleaned up, and then we’ll talk.”
Watching her leave, Corin wasn’t sure how to react. She stared at the bowl of water and the clothes. When the woman left the cell, she neglected to shut the door. Corin twitched with anticipation. She waited a couple of seconds and then crawled over to the opening. She was growing accustomed to the pain of her broken shins.
Corin peaked around the corner of the door. It opened into a concrete service corridor. Conduits and pipes ran along the ceiling. A single bare bulb lit the barren space that smelled of mold and rot. The dark-skinned woman in the white dress was ten feet down the concrete corridor, smoking a cigarette.
Her dress shimmered in the sparse light. The woman shook her head and said, “Get yo ass cleaned up. I’ll bring down a wheel chair when you’re ready. You don’t want to hurt the baby crawling around on the damn floor.”