Trapped (A Ticci Toby Story)

Chapter 9- Fear

I didn't realize this until I went back and reread this story, but this information was unintentionally left out. Toby, Jane, and the kids are all sharing a cell now to keep warm during the winter because there is no heating. Just Incase anyone was wondering.

Days drift to weeks and weeks blend together into a length of time I can no longer decipher.
I don't care to try anymore.
Each day is the same hell, just repeating itself twice over.
Now, I am walking on the edge of my sanity. Without Jane here to help me--distract me, I am falling deeper and deeper into my own self destruction.
The labored breathing of the child I hold against me is driving me insane.
I am desperate.
How could I let this happen?
What did I do wrong?
Wasn't protecting him from them enough?
He's sick--why couldn't I learn what Jack--I can't save him.
I can't save him,
He'll die because I can't--because of me.
I can't--
I wince and bare my teeth when his body is racked with a gut wrenching cough. Each one followed by a rasping gasp as he tries to breathe. It seemed like an eternity before his head finally falls back against me and I am left feeling as if my life was drained out of me.
This was cruel.
I rest my hand over his back and I feel the tension in my chest relax with his, but I hold still.
I can't move.
I can't wake him.
It's only worse when he's awake.
Jane and I do what we can to let him sleep--to heal, we take turns holding him and giving him warmth, we jump to Cheryl's needs to keep her from disturbing him, to shelter him and marco from Cheryl's sight and keep them away from Tom's blunt hands.
But it wasn't enough.
With Sam falling ill, there was nothing I could do for him.
And it was killing me.
I wait for his breathing to fall back into a rhythm before I allow myself to open my eyes.
Only a few moments of strain against the over luminescent light before they fall down to his sleeping body.
His dark mess of hair hangs over his eyes and his pale cheek is pressed hard against me.
His fingers are curled tightly in the fabric of my shirt, still clinging to me from his last fit.
I let out a shaky breath and drop my head back against the concrete wall.
Marco shifts and spreads out across my out-stretched legs. His movements are so lose and heavy with sleep that I have to put my hand up so he didn't accidently kick Sam.
He was restless,
And so was I.
Jane was out there with Cheryl.
Completely and utterly alone.
Every minute that ticked away was another unbearable thought that fueled a familiar sense of dread inside me.
My body itched to move...
Never able to sit patiently and wait for an outcome I didn't want, to be given to me, a drive put deep into my mind to solve the problem first and ask questions later.
Protect without mercy,
murder with humility,
and to serve those who I deem worthy.
A drive that I've ignored for so long.
Maybe it was because I'm terrified of the pain that comes with loss and failure.
Maybe because I don't have those who held the same drive beside me,
Because, maybe I know I'm not going to win this battle.
Regardless, without a choice, I held still and waited.
And waited.

The buzz of the light,

Sam's breathing.

My heartbeat growing louder and louder the longer my eyes hone in on the rusty metal door,

A flicker of light,

A shuttered gasp and a small cough.

A movement in my lap--
"Toby?"
Startled, my eyes flick down to Marco.
"Is Tham getting better?" He asked, pulling the blanket from his head and wincing slightly against the light.
When I didn't answer, he sat up into a sitting position and look for himself.
His shoulders sank. "...oh."
He reached over and gave Sam's shoulder comforting pat.
Sam shuttered in response and Marco pulled his hand back and squeezed his hands together between his knees.
"Sowy" he ducked his head bashfully. "My hands are cold... Thee?" he smiled a wide smile and placed his fingers on my cheek.
I hesitated, unsure of how I'm supposed to respond.
I couldn't feel the temperature of his fingers, I didn't know the response that was acceptable for this situation even if I wanted to give him the satisfaction.
Thankfully, he pulled away and said, 
"Oh!" he reached into his pocket and fumbled with an odd shape before he managed to get it out.
"I think its weally cute!" He holds up a small figurine of a cow standing next to a metal bucket on a plot of flowery grass. "I like cowth," he explains. "They weminds me of my dad... Well, my papa isn't a cow, but One time, my buther told me that cowth make chocolate milk if you feed them chocolate bars, because they are allergic to the yummy stuff in the chocolate, but I don't think thath true... Um." He looks around nervously.... Almost as if he forgot where he was going with this in all his excitement. "...My dad works on a farm too, but... But a good farm... not like this one. He let me pet the cows... Like thith." he stroked the cow's tiny white snout with his index finger.
I lifted my hand and did the same, taking comfort in the innocence he projected onto it.
The glass was rough and textured with tiny indents for fur.
I tried to ignore the fact that the figure was a still-life of happiness that seemed out of place here.
In this dirty, freezing, gray cell.
All the reminder of the danger we were in.
I lowered my voice when I spoke.
"You stole that from Cheryl's kitchen, didn't you? She'll hurt you if she finds it."
Marco's shoulders sank. "I know..." his brown eyes flicked to my oddly healed arm. "Did.. Did you steal too?"
I thought back on that night and remembered slamming the ember covered log into Tom's face.
"No." I admitted, suddenly feeling sick. "You need to put it back before she sees it."
His frown deepens and he studies it briefly, worry clouding over his soft brown eyes.
"I can't... Tham needs it to get better..."
I creased my brows in confusion, but he rushes to explain himself.
"Like the necklace-thingy from The secret of nimh movie that made Timothy feel better... I stole this from a evil person too, so it'll fix him."
That didn't ease my confusion.
"It doesn't work like that--" I tried to reason, but he was already on the defense.
"Yeah-hu!"
"No, Marco, it won't--"
"Yes it will!"
"A glass cow isn't going to--"
"No!" he shouted definitely, throwing his hands up to cover his ears.
I pushed harder, the anxiety and fear that sat in my mind only fueled the sudden anger I felt for his false sense of hope.
His passion towards something so ignorant.
How could he be so dense?
He's risking himself for that?
Did he really believe there was anything that can fix this?
"Listen to me! This-" I force the figurine from his hand, he pulled his hands away from his ears only to fight for it briefly, "Isn't going to help anyone!"
"Yes it is!"
"No! He needs medicine! He needs help, He needs he needs a doctor!"
"But Chewl isn't going to give him any!"
I opened my mouth to snap at him again, but stopped when I see the angry tears rolling down his olive cheeks.
My anger falls to sadness and sadness deepens to regret.
I screwed up.
He was trying to save his friend in the only way he knew how.
In being so blunt, I've secured the fact of Sams impending death in his mind.
I crushed his spirit.
I run my free hand through my hair and stare up at the light, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to fix this.
Can this be fixed?
He wipes the tears from his face with the back of his hand and looks away.