Jamie
Dry, his mouth was dry. There was the taste of dust in his mouth, and the rusty taste of blood. The back of his head ached fiercely, and bile rose to burn the back of his throat. "Water," he croaked.
"Jamie?" A voice he knew drifted in through the haze. " Are you with us?"
"Mrs. Wallis?" he mumbled thickly.
"Yes, sweetie. You're hurt."
There was a caustic smell here of new paint, of newness barely disguising oldness and disuse and neglect.
"Where am I?"
"Welcome to our prison."
"Who brought me here?"
"Who's the last person you remember seeing?"
Jamie grunted in pain, struggling to sit up. "Derek Turner. He finally decided he wanted to throw down."
"His father is here too," answered Joy. "We can't get out. Kate put us here. She isn't letting us go."
"Why?" moaned Jamie.
"She hasn't told us yet. Jeanette is involved somehow, too."
"You don't know that," snarled Greg from the shadows.
"Still defending her? You really are a slow learner, Greg. She tricked you here, the same as Kate did me. Open your eyes, man."
The lightning flickered overhead, then came on fully, and Jamie got a good look at Greg Turner's unshaven face and his pouchy eyes.
"How long have you been here?" asked Jamie, cold fear drying the sweat on his forehead.
"We're not sure. A couple days, at least. We have food, and water, and...facilities. We're trying to find a way out. Kate won't tell us anything, and only speaks to us on some kind of intercom system. No doubt you'll get some kind of welcome greeting soon."
Jamie felt the back of his head. There was a sizable lump there. It was hot, and it hurt, and his ribs felt bruised. Fucking Derek had ambushed him, and Jamie was going to repay him as soon as he was free. A wave of nausea gripped him, and he convulsed, vomiting on the cement floor. He curled up in fetal agony as Joy Wallis spoke meaningless words of comfort.
"Kate, why?" he hissed at the ceiling.