Portia
Murmurs and quiet whimpers are the sounds I hear. The smell is dank, like sweat and something else, something rotten. When I'm jostled violently, those whimpers swell to a joint scream followed a few moments later by the sounds of someone retching.
I blink. Turn my head. My neck is sore, my shoulders, back and arms aching. I groan, try to bring my hand to my face but my wrists are bound behind my back. As my eyes open and the room comes into focus, I remember why.
I remember Fernando. Remember my uncle.
And Fernando killing my uncle.
I move backward through time and memory, remembering farther back to the room at that house. My bath. Cutting my foot on the shards of glass from the bottle Callahan destroyed.
Our wedding night gone up in smoke.
Callahan accusing me of being a w
