Chapter 30
The heels of Faith's shoes dragged along the stone floor, kicking up small dust clouds of sand and dirt behind her. Her head lolled back, her strength all but gone, barely able to open her eyes on her swollen face. Through puffy slits, she saw nothing but the gray ceiling of the hallway above her pass by. A set of large hands were stuffed under each armpit, which was each attached to a large, burly man.
Oh look, more of the goon squad, Faith thought to herself. Her lips began to form a smile, but the broken skin of her lips and cheeks made her stop, close her eyes and wince, trying to hide a small whimper under her breath.
"It's alright, Miss Faith, we've reached your accommodations for the night," The big man on her right said without malice or anger, his voice thick like Georgia peach syrup. The light began to darken as the hallway closed in. Faith opened her eyes to see herself being dragged through a narrow doorway, under a familiar sign.
Whoso Entereth Here Leaveth All Hopes Behind.
I get to spend the night in Samuel Mudd's cell.
Deluxe accommodations.
The burly men brought Faith to the far wall of the small cell. They took care in putting her down, propping her up against the damp walls, and set down a small juice box next to her before retreating back through the doorway. The heavy wooden door closed solidly, limiting the fading daylight to a minuscule hole in the masonry that served as a window.
Faith felt the blood trickle down the back of her throat, her head tilted back against the wall.
You're wrong. I know you're wrong.
This was all that she could repeat, over and over again until her throat was dry and voice crackling through the tears as Jasper revealed to her what Sully had revealed to Sam that same night.
"My dear, I have absolutely no reason on this Earth to lie to you. I don't believe in lies; it blemishes one's character."
Jasper clasped his hands behind his back while he paced in front of Faith, looking like a prosecutor attacking a witness on a stand. "Was he not the one to urge you onto this little adventure? Was he not the one who greedily stared at that Bible every time it saw the light of day? Was it not he who talked you into promising it to him in exchange for information? And was he not the one that just so happened to gloss over his time in Central America while bragging about his past incarcerations? Isn't it all just a little too...coincidental?"
The sentences fell heavily, their weight compounded upon her, adding to the brokenness that Jasper had tortured into Faith all afternoon.
"I don't say this very often, Miss Spencer, but you are not a stupid woman. Look at the signs. He knew who you were. You were being used. A means to a wealthy end and a plaything besides," his voice tutting as he shook his head. "It's a shame. Really."
"No, no, no, no," Faith murmured under her breath, gently rocking against her bonds, a self-soothing mechanism she hadn't done in ages.
Jasper squatted down in front of her, his cheeks tightening against his face to mask the grimace of pain. He took the tip of her chin, streaked with blood and spit, gently between his deformed fingers. Faith let the action happen, she was just too tired to fight it.
Samuel Drake caused this. What happened to your father was his fault. What happened to your mother was his fault, and subsequently, what happened to you is also his fault.
In the small cell, Faith brought her knees to her chest slowly. The head of Jasper's cane had worked her over, leaving bruises, gashes, and burning welts on her body. She poked gently at one of the suspicious-looking burns on her thigh, the top layer of skin hovered over it, the blister already beginning to form. The surface gave way quickly to the slightest touch, making it ooze, and pain radiate up her thigh. Faith inhaled sharply, clenching her teeth.
What the fuck, she thought to herself. Jasper had interrogated Faith for hours. The head of his cane that had smashed against her had never felt hot. The small penknife he had used had also held no heat when it sliced into her on more than one occasion. There was no blowtorch or branding iron either, thankfully.
Faith sat silently against the wall, staring out her small paneless window. Silent minutes passed while she stared at the fort's large and lone cannon, which sat atop the roof across the courtyard of the concrete octagon. Its barrel, de charcoal, stood out against the muted blue hues of the sky as dusk approached.
Moving towards the corner, she slid herself against the base of the wall. Each muscle in her body screamed in harmony as she pushed herself with the heels of her shoes. Sweat dripped down her forehead and down the tip of her nose. Her eyes refused to leave the cannon.
The cold cinder wall was refreshing, curling herself into the safety of the corner, gingerly wiping the pink-tinted perspiration from her face. The cannon never left her eyesight.
Why have a cannon that never got used? Faith thought. Her mouth hung open, her body refusing to let her breathe through her swollen and most likely broken nose.
Her brain was a fog of broken images and random words. Illinois, Key West, Fort Jefferson, Samuel Mudd. She felt the answer dangling over her head in puzzle pieces trying to be put together. And somehow, she knew she had the last one as Sam's inquisitive grin sliced through the fog. She could see the quirk of the corner of his mouth and the bright hazel of his eyes full of calm curiosity. The bright aqua of his shirt clashing with the lime green object he had his hand on. A lime green cannon.
You ever think they hid anything in here?
Sam's voice echoed in her ears with perfect, heartbreaking clarity, the key that finally turned the tumblers as Faith finally figured it out.
She knew where the treasure was.
Faith chuckled.
Then she started to cry. The sobs ripped through her, coming in shallow gasps of breath as her thoughts spiraled out of control. Is it possible she could have been so wrong, such a horrible judge of character? To come out of her shell more than she had in years to the person that had helped create the shell in the first place? Was she that stupid, or that desperate for just a moment of companionship? To feel something colorful and warm in a world that had left her cold and alone. No, no, Jasper was wrong. Jasper was a liar... wasn't he?
Faith brought a knee up to her chest and buried her head in her crossed arms. Her knotted hair dusted with sand, and dirt shielded her head from the sun dying through her small window.
Between the hitching sobs, through the tears, snot, and drying blood, all Faith could do was manage a whisper. A pained plea that could barely be heard through the void of her cell.
"Help me, Ma, please help me."
