Chapter 20 – Beaten and Bruised

Angela blinked and she could feel the sharp sting of dried blood on her temple. Her wrists ached against the zip ties binding her wrists together, and her eyes barely adjusted to the light of the small room. Her heart raced as she took in her surroundings, searching for any detail that might offer a way out.

Across from her, a woman sat with a calm composure, legs crossed, and arms resting on her lap. She looked like she'd stepped out of a nightmare, calm, composed, and calculating. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a strict, unyielding knot, and her smile, too perfectly placed, felt more like a weapon than a greeting to Angela. Her pale blue eyes were predatory, studying her prey with a kind of twisted curiosity, as though examining her every twitch, every flicker of fear.

"Ms. Orosco," the woman began, her voice smooth yet laced with menace. "I trust the accommodations aren't too… uncomfortable."

Angela felt her throat tighten. She swallowed hard, struggling to summon whatever courage she had left. "Who are you?" she managed.

The woman tilted her head, her unsettling smile never faltered. "Ah, where are my manners? I'm Margaret Holloway," she replied with feigned warmth, her eyes narrowed, as if daring Angela to recoil. "But please, call me Judge Holloway."

Angela's heart sank.

Judge Holloway leaned forward, her tone almost affectionate, motherly. "You must know why you're here, Angela. We have a mutual friend, James Sunderland."

Angela's face paled, a sense of dread knotted in her stomach. Holloway's gaze didn't waver as she continued, voice as calm and collected as ever. "It's in both our interests that you cooperate, Ms. Orosco." she continued. "There's so much we can do for each other."

Angela steeled herself, finally meeting Holloway's gaze. But her voice wavered. "What… what do you want with… with James?"

The judge's smile widened, cold and unyielding. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, my dear. We're going to take our time."

Judge Holloway leaned back, her eyes never leaving Angela, savoring her fear just beneath the surface. She reached over to Angela's purse on the table, plucking out her wallet and turning it over in her hands with idle interest. Her fingers traced the edge of Angela's ID, pausing deliberately.

Angela shifted uncomfortably, feeling her wrists strain painfully against the zip ties. "Wait… wait. You've got the wrong person," she said, forcing her voice to sound casual, almost dismissive, despite her fear she couldn't fully suppress.

Holloway's smile barely flickered. She held up the ID card between two fingers as if appraising it. "Do I?" she murmured her tone ice cold and mocking. She shifted her gaze back to Angela, and for a moment, her expression softened, a hint of condescension in her eyes. "You don't strike me as the naïve type, Angela."

Angela didn't answer Holloway. Her mind raced as she tried to read Holloway's intentions. This was a woman who didn't waste time with empty threats. Holloway wanted something, and Angela could tell she wasn't leaving this room until the judge got what she wanted.

Judge Holloway leaned forward, clasping her hands. "Let's not play games. You and Mr. Sunderland have a… rapport, shall we say? Regular correspondence, letters that seem to delve into things no one else would dare speak of." Her voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper. "Things that could be… useful to me."

Angela fought to keep her emotions in check. "Look, we… we just write. It's nothing serious."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Holloway said, a flicker of amusement flashed across her face. "But you see, Ms. Orosco, he may care more for you than you realize. Or perhaps, vice versa."

Angela tensed, and Holloway's smile broadened, catching the shift in her body language.

"James Sunderland is important to you," Holloway continued, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming. "He's just a man, isn't he? A broken one. But he's also walked through Silent Hill and made it out the other side. Things you and James have seen that no one else has."

Angela's face drained of color, her resolve beginning to wane. "No… No…" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You don't know him… He's had enough taken from him. We both have. I'm not… I'm not doing anything to hurt him."

Holloway's smile faded and her looks hardened. She tapped Angela's ID against the table. "Ms. Orosco, I don't think you understand. James Sunderland has done something I want to avenge. And you-" she pointed at Angela, "are going to help me fix that."

Angela swallowed, feeling Holloway's gaze. She was trapped, with no escape in sight, and Holloway would do whatever it took to bend her will.

Angela's heart dropped as Holloway produced a faded newspaper article, her smile sharpening. The judge's voice lowered, deliberately slow, each word peeling away layers Angela had spent years building up.

"Thomas Orosco," Holloway murmured, her tone mockingly sympathetic. "A name that must bring you… memories, doesn't it? He was well-known, a violent, alcoholic. Far from the good father, behind closed doors, he was anything but, wasn't he?"

Angela's stomach twisted painfully, she felt ready to vomit at a moment's notice. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the cracks in the floor beneath her feet, but her fists clenched against the bindings, even as Holloway continued peeling away her defenses.

"So tell me, Angela," Holloway went on, her voice was smooth but razor-sharp with cruelty, "how many years did he make you feel small, helpless, a victim? And how did it feel to finally… take back control?" She emphasized the last words, savoring each syllable.

Angela's throat tightened, her skin cold, and she began to rapidly breathe. Her mind recoiled, memories flashing against her will, the stifling weight of her father, his voice seething threats, the helplessness that had nearly swallowed her whole. And now, here was Judge Holloway, dragging every horror back to the surface.

"You're no stranger to pain," Holloway continued, her voice hardening as she leaned closer. "Silent Hill itself could only do so much to you because the worst the world has to offer had already been done to you, hadn't it? It's just as well you found James. Maybe he understands… though it seems he's done little to save you from yourself."

Angela's face remained emotionless, but Holloway saw the look in her eyes, the way her shoulders hunched, every defense braced against the onslaught of memories.

"Oh, don't look so defiant," Holloway taunted, her tone cold and calculating. "I'm not here to judge you, Angela. I'm here because I know exactly who you are and what you've suffered. And you will help me break James. Because if you don't, I'll make sure your memories become reality all over again."

Holloway's smile tightened, eyes narrowing as she watched Angela's every reaction, clearly savoring the moment. She leaned back, crossing her arms as though settling in for a story, her tone turning almost conversational.

"You know," Holloway began, her voice dripping with false warmth, "I've known many small-town cop types. They probably know exactly what happened. Small-town pillars of the community, admired, trusted, secrets safely hidden behind closed doors. And I know those who might have… turned a blind eye, out of convenience." She let her words hang, watching Angela's face pale at this.

Angela kept her gaze locked on the floor, fighting to keep her breathing steady. Holloway noticed, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she continued.

"But let's say," Holloway went on, tone shifting to something darker, "that your story was… rewritten." She leaned forward, closer to Angela, voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Beloved member of the community, Thomas Orosco, murdered in cold blood by his daughter. And not because she'd suffered for years, but because she'd finally slipped too far. An addict, a junkie, desperate for drug money. A selfish, ungrateful little girl who snapped and ended a good man's life."

Angela's face twisted with horror, and she looked up at Holloway, her eyes filled with defiance, even as her body trembled. "That's not true," she whispered, though her voice shook. "I wasn't… He wasn't-"

"Oh, but who would believe you, Angela?" Holloway interrupted. "Who would believe the addict daughter, the troublemaker, over the beloved Thomas Orosco? After all, you're just another damaged girl with a dark past." She let that sink in Angela, her smile returning, vicious and unyielding. "A town like that doesn't want complicated stories. They'd believe the version I give them, and they'd mourn your father. And you'd be the villain they'd lock away."

Angela's pulse raced, her heart rapidly beating as Holloway's words sank in. She'd spent years escaping those shadows, the pain, rebuilding herself slowly, piece by piece, and now this woman threatened to tear it all apart.

"Do you understand now, Angela?" Holloway asked, her voice as sweet as honey and twice as poisonous. "Your silence, your cooperation, isn't just about James. It's about you. And if you refuse to help me…" She gestured dismissively toward the newspaper article. "Well, I think you know just how easily the truth can be… rearranged."

Holloway leaned back, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her pale blue eyes as she watched Angela's growing horror. She paused for effect, letting her words sink in, then leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a cold, conspiratorial whisper.

"With the right story… a little push here, a little nudge there… the town would look at you like something out of a horror film." She smiled, the look both eerie and predatory. "Worse than the Menendez brothers, Angela. A pariah. Because people don't just believe what's true, they believe what they're told. And I happen to be very good at telling stories."

Angela's face blanched, her lips parting slightly, but no words came. Holloway's eyes sparkled with cruel delight as she continued.

"Just imagine the headlines, Angela: 'Drug-Addled Teenage Daughter Murders Beloved Father in Cold Blood.' You'd be a villain before the trial even started. And with me prosecuting?" She let the question hang in the air, then leaned back, crossing her arms. "You're looking at 20 years to life… if you're lucky. Perhaps the death penalty, if the jury's particularly incensed."

Holloway knew that the state of Maine had abolished the death penalty years ago. But she had decided to keep that information to herself.

Angela stiffened, her wrists ached against the bindings as the threat loomed over her. The death penalty. She didn't know if it was true or not, but Holloway said it with such certainty, with such a chilling confidence, that she couldn't question it.

"It doesn't have to be that way, though," Holloway continued, her voice softening back to sweet. "You could help me, Angela. And all of this… unpleasantness would disappear. No one would ever need to know about you or Thomas Orosco, or our little chat here today. You could walk free, with a clear name and a fresh start." Holloway's lips curled into a thin smile. "All I need from you is cooperation."

Angela's throat was dry, her body frozen with dread. She felt caged, like a cornered animal, the walls closing in as Holloway's threats wove themselves into her mind, binding her as tightly as the zip ties at her wrists.

Holloway's expression turned harsh now, any softness left behind drained from her voice as she spoke. "I don't think you're understanding me, Angela. I want everything you know about James Sunderland." She let the words hang in the air, watching Angela squirm, and her tone unyielding.

Angela turned away, her mind racing. James had done for her what no one else ever had, he'd been a stranger, sure, but he hadn't flinched when her world collapsed, when the nightmare that took her father's shape had come for her. He had faced that monstrous shadow, her shadow, without judgment. And he had defended her. While no one else ever had, and the thought of betraying him, of handing him over to this woman and her twisted agenda, made her sick.

"I… I don't know where he is," Angela replied. "We haven't spoken in person for years. I just get the occasional letter, nothing… nothing he hasn't told anyone else."

Holloway wasn't amused, her patience began wearing thin. "Do you think I believe that, Angela? You two walked through Silent Hill together. The bond you share, whatever it is… it goes far deeper than some 'occasional letters.'" She leaned in, her eyes sharp and accusing. "I know he means something to you. You can deny it all you want, but I see it in your eyes. And that makes this very simple: either you give me what I need, or we explore the more… unpleasant options."

Leaning in closer, her tone went cold, unyielding. "I want everything you have on James Sunderland. Every detail, every thought you've shared in those letters. It's time for you to stop thinking about your past and start focusing on your future."

Angela's heart quickened, her mind screaming at her to stay silent, to resist. "He… he doesn't know anything that would help you," she replied, her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. "And even if he did, I'm not… I'm not going to betray him. James has been through enough."

Holloway's face hardened a flicker of anger in her eyes. "You're going to test my patience, then? Protect him, despite everything I've just laid out for you?"

Angela stared back at her, summoning a shred of courage she had left. "James has… he saved my life. He faced things. And… he's the closest thing to a friend I've ever had." Her voice wavered, but her gaze didn't break. "I'm not giving him up."

Holloway's jaw clenched, and for the first time, a sliver of genuine irritation cracked through her normally polished composure. She stood up, looming over Angela, her shadow stretching across the room. "Then perhaps," she said coldly, voice filled with a barely contained fury, "you need a reminder of just how little power you have here."

Angela braced herself, but she didn't let her gaze falter. Whatever this Holloway had planned, she would face it. Because some people, like James Sunderland, flawed and broken as he was, were someone worth protecting.

Holloway walked over to Angela, and leaned into her ear, voice dropping to an insidious whisper, each word carefully placed to slip through Angela's skin like a knife. "You may think you're strong now, Angela, but imagine this: a courtroom filled with strangers, each one eager to hear every detail of that night. Every accusation. Every whispered secret. And trust me, they'll believe any twisted version I give them."

Angela's face paled, but she bit her lip, determined not to react. Holloway caught the flicker of fear in her eyes and pressed on.

"Picture the prosecution, painting a portrait of a daughter deranged. Desperate." She smiled coldly. "A girl who snapped and took a life not because of pain, but out of greed, for a few miserable dollars to feed her habits. They'll say you were spiraling out of control, unstable. The media and public will nod along, convinced you were just one bad day away from snapping, and that's why you killed him."

Angela struggled harder against the zip ties, but Holloway's voice carried on.

"Or maybe," Holloway continued, glinting with malice, "I'll talk about how you loved the power of it. How, after years of playing the victim, you finally felt that rush of control. The ultimate defiance. The court will eat it up, Angela. They'll paint you as a monster, a drug-addicted daughter who murdered a father who only wanted to help."

Angela's face twisted with horror, unable to contain the flood of painful memories Holloway was dragging to the surface. "Stop," she whispered, voice trembling, "Stop," but Holloway ignored her, pressing on with a sick sort of satisfaction.

"And just imagine your neighbors, and coworkers from that art store, all those familiar faces, listening as I recount every single detail. As I twist the knife deeper with every word. They'll see you as a vicious, heartless girl. A lost cause. And they'll leave the room certain of your guilt."

Holloway leaned back, revealing a cruel smile as she watched Angela, clearly reveling in her helplessness. "Now, tell me, Angela," she said, voice softer but still laced with menace. "Is James Sunderland worth that? Worth losing every last shred of your name, your dignity, your freedom?"

Angela's breath shuddered, her being caught between terror and defiance. The thought of betraying James, of feeding him to Holloway's ruthless plans, felt like a betrayal of everything she'd fought to hold onto. But as Holloway's words rang in her ears, vivid and damning, she felt her resolve give away, her strength slipping.

Holloway's smile stretched wider. "Or maybe there was more to it. Perhaps you weren't just a desperate daughter. Perhaps you were… willing to do other things, whatever it took to get what you wanted. Maybe there were… other transactions," she said. "A girl like you, broken, lost, wouldn't have much to barter, would she? Just imagine the court's reaction when they hear that."

Angela's heart pounded in her chest, her head spinning with rage and shame. She recoiled as Holloway's words clawed their way into her mind. "Stop!" she choked out, her voice breaking. "Stop! That's not-" Her voice wavered, her words caught in her throat, but she forced herself to meet Holloway's gaze, her eyes blazing. "Please, just… stop."

But Holloway's satisfaction only deepened. "Oh, does that bother you, Angela?" her voice now a hiss. "Because I can go on. I can shred every bit of dignity you think you still have until there's nothing left but the story I tell. Or you can finally give me what I'm asking for."

Angela's hands shook as she fought back the tears, her spirit was battered but refused to give in. But Holloway's threats pressed down on her, every accusation feeling like a fresh wound.

"Or…" Holloway's voice softened, cold and calculating. "Will you finally tell me everything you know about Mr. Sunderland?"

Holloway watched Angela with unblinking intensity, her words final. "Last chance," she murmured. "Betray Sunderland… or…" She let the unfinished words poise over Angela's head.

Angela's resolve wavered, her vision blurred as Holloway's threats bore down on her, each twisted accusation hammering away at her defenses. Memories of James drifted through her mind, his calm presence, the way he'd defended her without question, without judgment, against horrors she couldn't even speak of. He was more than a friend, he was her one reminder that she wasn't alone in this world.

But as Holloway's gaze bore into her, cold and relentless, Angela felt herself break. She lowered her head in shame, shoulders slumping as every ounce of resistance drained from her. Her voice was barely a whisper, each word dragging painfully from her throat. "Alright… I'll tell you what I know."

Holloway's smile returned, sharp and satisfied. "There now," she purred. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Holloway reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a digital recorder, and placed it on the table with a soft click. She pressed a button, the device blinking to life, and folded her hands neatly, waiting.

Angela's stomach twisted as she stared at the recorder, the red light glared up at her like an accusation. The words came out slowly at first, reluctantly, as she recounted her and James's exchanges, places he'd mentioned visiting, thoughts he'd shared in letters, and the rare glimpses he allowed her into his world. She hated every word as it left her mouth, each one feeling like a betrayal she'd never be able to undo.

When she finally fell silent, Holloway reached forward, stopping the recording with a decisive click. She leaned back, a look of satisfaction on her face. "See, Angela?" she said, her voice smooth and condescending. "That wasn't so hard."

Angela looked away, her eyes down as shame and guilt gathered in her chest, and tears began welling up. Holloway picked up the recorder, tucking it carefully back into her coat. "Now that you've proven how useful you can be," she said. "I think we'll be seeing each other again very soon. Thank you for your… cooperation, Angela. You've been most helpful."

Holloway's laughter filled the room, sharp and mocking, growing louder until she was nearly doubled over, wiping tears from her eyes. Angela stared, stunned and horrified, as the woman caught her breath, her laughter gradually fading into a cold, twisted smile.

"Oh, Angela," Holloway said, barely able to contain herself. "Did you think you had a choice?" She shook her head, the satisfaction in her eyes almost gleeful. "You never needed to tell me anything. The Order already has Mr. Sunderland. James? He's been in our custody for days."

Angela's heart sank "What?" she whispered, barely audible.

Holloway grinned, clearly relishing Angela's confusion and despair. "Oh, yes. He's been watching you this whole time, sitting in another room, forced to see every last word you gave up." She leaned closer again, voice dripping with malice. "Breaking you was never the goal, Angela. You were just the tool to break him."

Angela's chest felt tight, and her thoughts spiraled. The betrayal had settled over her, but now it wasn't just her guilt that haunted her. It was the realization that James had been watching, seeing her surrender everything, forced to witness her breaking point.

"And you know the best part?" Holloway continued, in a conspiratorial tone. "James isn't even who we want. He's merely… leverage. Just like you." She let the words sink in, watching Angela's face pale as the full horror of the situation unfolded.

"So, thank you, Angela," Holloway continued. "You played your part wonderfully."

Angela trembled, her vision blurring as the tears welled up in her eyes. No one had ever reached into her past like this, dredging up the worst of her traumas and wielding them against her as a weapon. People in the past would always just pity her if they knew. She didn't want anyone's pity. But this was the first time she'd met anyone who'd weaponized her trauma. It felt as though Holloway had torn open old scars just to watch her bleed, and now, with a look of satisfaction, she was about to turn Angela's entire life into a twisted lie.

Holloway's voice broke through Angela's haze, each word a fresh blow. "Now, Angela, let's talk about that prosecution." Her tone was calm, almost businesslike. "You may have come here clean, but that's not how this story will end. To sell a tale of a desperate addict, well…" She sighed. "I'll need a little time to prepare. A little dose here, a little dose there… just enough to paint the picture I need."

Angela recoiled, pressing herself back into the chair in horror. "You… you can't do this," she choked out. But even as she said it, she knew it was futile.

Holloway smiled as though savoring Angela's fear. "Oh, but I can. And I will. After all, who would question it? A former addict, traumatized by her past, finally spiraling out of control… It'll all make sense to them." Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "I'll make sure it does."

Angela's tears finally fell, and her entire body trembled with helpless anger. Holloway straightened up, smoothing her coat as though this were just another day's work as a prosecutor. "I'll leave you to think about what's coming, Angela," she said, her voice tauntingly gentle. "Once I'm finished with you, no one will ever question the story. You'll become exactly who I say you are."

With that, Holloway turned and walked out of the room, leaving Angela alone to think about what was to come.

"You're even worse than my father. You… demon."

Back in his cell, James sat hunched over, his hands tightly bound, watching the screen in front of him. Angela's image flickered, her tear-streaked face worn and defeated, as she spilled every last detail of their conversations, every scrap of information she had on him. Even though he knew it was trivial, nothing that could lead anyone to him, seeing her unravel, forced to betray whatever small bond they had, left him with guilt.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to scream, to tell her it didn't matter, that none of it mattered. But Holloway didn't care about the details, she only cared about tearing Angela down. James could see it in her smug, calculated cruelty, each word a knife twisted in old wounds. This wasn't about him, it was about making Angela crumble, breaking her as a means to break him.

He jerked against his restraints, straining, to break free, to smash that damned TV and stop this. But the ropes held fast, digging into his wrists.

In his mind, he cursed Holloway, cursed himself for being so helpless, and cursed the town that seemed to haunt him at every turn. All he could do was watch, forced to witness Angela's suffering, with no power to stop it.

The sharp click of Holloway's heels echoed down the hall, growing louder until she stepped into his cell, a smug smile plastered across her face. She stood before him, hands on her hips, as though she were sizing him up like prey.

"That wasn't hard at all." she said. "You'd be surprised how quickly people break when given the right… incentives." She let her words hang in the air, watching his face for any sign of reaction. "Sometimes, I need to play the part of the devoted cult leader." She smirked. "And other times, I'm the concerned prosecutor, doing my duty to protect the community from so-called murderers."

James tensed as he glared up at her. He wanted to lunge at her, to wipe that smug look off her face, but the ropes bound him to the chair.

Holloway's expression softened to mock concern. "You know, James, the community needs people like me to keep it safe from people like you and Angela. All it takes is the right framing, and they believe anything I tell them." She leaned in closer, her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Just like Angela believed that spilling everything about you would save her."

James's fists tightened, his knuckles white against the bindings, burning with fury. Holloway chuckled, the sound cold and clinical.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said, shaking her head with mock pity. "You've been in our sacred place, Silent Hill. You know how it works. People like you bring out their suffering." She leaned down, her face inches from his, her tone lowering to a whisper. "And I'm more than happy to help… draw it out."

Fury burned in James, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His vision narrowed, focusing only on Holloway. Angela didn't deserve this. She'd suffered more than anyone he knew, haunted by traumas that should have broken her long ago. And now, after everything she'd been through, Holloway had dragged her back into that nightmare, twisted her past, and turned her pain into a weapon against him.

"You…" he snarled, barely able to get the words out, seething. He could feel his pulse pounding, every nerve in his body on fire. "Angela… is innocent." His voice broke. "She didn't ask for any of this. And you… you used her, just to get to me?"

Holloway raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the display of rage before her, the fire in his eyes. "Oh, James," she said, feigning disappointment. "So naïve. You think this is just about you?" She gave a hollow laugh, circling him slowly. "I couldn't care less about your feelings. You and Angela, you're tools, James. Pieces on a board. And I'll use you both however I need to reach my goals, to reach Adam."

James wished he could rip free, knowing Holloway was savoring every second of his frustration. The thought of her breaking Angela down, tearing into wounds that had barely healed, made his blood boil.

"Angela isn't a pawn," he spat. "She's a survivor. She's stronger than you'll ever know."

Holloway tilted her head. "Perhaps," she said, as if considering a minor inconvenience. "But strength won't help her now, not with what's coming. She's already fallen, James. And I'm not finished yet."

As she turned to leave, her words hung in the air like a taunt, echoing in his mind.

James felt the anger inside him twist into something unexpected, a dark, ironic amusement that found its way to the surface. It started as a soft chuckle, then grew into a full laugh that filled the cell, echoing off the walls. The sudden shift in his demeanor caught Holloway off guard, her expression morphing from smug satisfaction to perplexity.

"Stop that!" she snapped. "What's so funny, James? This isn't a joke."

But James only shook his head, his laughter uncontrollable. "Oh, it's just… it's just funny," he gasped between breaths. "You think you're in control, that you have the upper hand, but this is all just a terrible joke."

Holloway's frown deepened as she crossed her arms. "You're not making any sense. Stop laughing and explain yourself!"

James leaned back, his laughter slowly subsiding into a smirk. "What's the point?" he replied. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? You're the powerful prosecutor, the big bad wolf in this story. But at the end of the day, what does it matter? You can't control everything. You think you can twist us into whatever narrative you want, but the truth has a way of breaking through, don't you think?" He paused.

Holloway looked irritated. "You think this is a game?"

"Angela? A drug addict?" he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's a joke and not a funny one. You've read our letters, right? You know she's not that type. She's stronger than that. After everything she's been through, she'd never touch drugs."

Holloway's expression darkened. "You think you know her?" she challenged, crossing her arms defensively.

James' grin widened. "It's funny. You throw around terms at her like 'addict' and 'murderer,' yet there's something you might not have considered." He let the silence stretch. "How long have your symptoms been showing, Holloway? All this control, this obsession, you're projecting. Aren't you?"

"What are you saying?" she demanded.

James couldn't help but chuckle again. "Come on. You've been at this long enough to know that people like you don't just decide to become who you are overnight. Uppers, Holloway. You're not fooling anyone. Tell me, how many times have you chased that next high to keep up appearances? How many pills have you swallowed just to keep going?"

The smug confidence that once adorned her face faltered. James seized on the opportunity. "You think you're the one in control, but you're spiraling. And deep down, you know it. That's why you're so eager to tear everyone else down. It's easier than facing your demons, isn't it?"

Holloway's expression hardened again, but he could see the cracks forming in her carefully constructed facade. "You think you're so clever," she hissed.

James smiled. "No, I just know how this works. I've been to meetings. I've seen the signs in others. And trust me, the last person you want to call a drug addict is the one who's found a way to survive."

James's eyes had caught the subtle twitch in Holloway's fingers, a sign that her composure was fraying. It was almost imperceptible, but to someone who had been through the cycles of addiction and recovery, it screamed for attention. The way she flexed her fingers against her thigh, a nervous habit she couldn't quite suppress, told him everything he needed to know.

"It must be a while since your last pill," he remarked. "You're clearly on edge, trying to hold it all together. But the truth is, you can't. You're losing your grip, and you know it."

Holloway's expression shifted from indignation to something darker. "You don't know anything about me, Mr. Sunderland" she snapped back.

"Do I not?" James challenged. "You're so focused on controlling everyone else's narrative, yet your own is unraveling. It's almost sad. Here you are, casting stones at Angela while you're living in a glass house."

A smirk formed on his lips. "But I suppose it's easier to attack a victim than to confront your shortcomings. You'd rather break someone like Angela than face the fact that you're just as trapped, just as desperate. All that posturing… it's just a mask, isn't it?"

Holloway's fingers twitched again, and he could see the frustration in her eyes. "You think you're clever, James. But you have no idea what you're up against."

James shook his head. "Oh, I think I do, Holloway. I've seen how people like you operate. You hide behind power, but you're just as scared as the rest of us. And sooner or later, that fear will catch up to you."

As he spoke, the tension in the room thickened. James felt a strange sense of satisfaction, even as his situation loomed over him. Holloway was powerful, yes, but she was also fragile, one he had exposed. And that made him feel, for the first time since he'd been captured like he might have a chance.

Holloway's expression hardened at James's words, but then something shifted in her. A chuckle escaped her lips. "You know, it's fascinating how people cling to mementos," she began. "We all have our little tokens, don't we? Things that remind us of who we are, or perhaps who we want to be."

James frowned, unsure where she was headed. "What's your point?"

Holloway continued, "For example, I carry this lighter with me everywhere." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sleek, silver lighter, flipping it open with a practiced flick. "It's from my days in the military. A disgusting habit, I know. Gives you cancer and all that nonsense. I never should have started." She held it up, examining the flame.

James watched cautiously. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," she replied, slipping the lighter back into her pocket. "It's not just a tool for smoking. It's a reminder. The familiar weight in my pocket grounds me. It reminds me of the fires I've lit and the ones I've extinguished." Her smile widened. "And sometimes, when you have the right spark, it can light a fire that changes everything."

James felt a chill run down his spine. "You're not implying…"

"Oh, but I am," she interrupted. "Mementos are powerful. They can bring comfort or chaos, depending on how you use them. You see, James, I have a particular way of using my mementos. They remind me of the control I hold, the power I wield."

He narrowed his eyes, piecing it together. "You're trying to make a point about manipulation?"

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Just as I keep this lighter to remind me of my past, I have other tokens, other tools, ones that allow me to ignite fear in others. Just like you and Angela. You both have your traumas, memories that haunt you. But they can also be turned into something else entirely."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Holloway leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It means I can use those memories to twist the narrative. To control the flames of your past and shape your future. Just as I choose when to light a fire, I can choose how your stories burn."

James felt a knot form in his stomach as he realized what she was getting at. "You're sick."

Holloway straightened, a satisfied smile creeping across her face. "No, James. I'm just being pragmatic. The world is full of mementos, and I intend to use every last one of them."

With a calculated slowness, Holloway reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photograph. As she held it up to the dim light, James's heart dropped. He recognized it instantly, it was the photo of Mary, his late wife, the only remnant he had left of her smile, her warmth, and everything she once meant to him. The lost love they had shared was captured in one photo.

"Ah, your sweet Mary Shepherd," Holloway with mock tenderness. "You've held onto this for so long, haven't you? A little memento of your past. But I think it's time to let it go."

James felt panic rise within him. "No! Don't you dare! That's mine!" He struggled against his restraints, desperate to reach for her, to stop her before it was too late. "You can't! That's not yours to destroy!"

Holloway's expression was eerily calm as she brought the photo closer to the lighter, its surface glinted ominously. "Why not? It's just a piece of paper, after all. But to you, it's a crutch. A reminder of what you can't let go of."

"Please, stop!" James yelled. "You don't understand what that means to me!"

But Holloway paid him no heed. With a casual flick of her wrist, she slowly lowered the photograph into the flame. The edges began to curl, and a faint smoke spiraled upward, carrying the scent of burning paper.

"No!" James shouted. "You're sick! You can't do this!"

But Holloway merely watched, eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as the fire consumed the photo, devouring the image of Mary piece by piece. "Look at it burn, James. Look how easily it turns to ash. Just like your memories, just like hope. It's all so fragile, isn't it?"

James's heart pounded in his chest. "You're a monster! That's all you'll ever be!"

Holloway chuckled softly. "Maybe, Mr. Sunderland. But I'm a monster with power. And I can use that power to shape your reality. This is just a taste of what I can do, James. You've already seen how I play with people's lives. I could burn your entire world to the ground if it serves my purpose."

As the photo crumbled into ash, James felt a piece of himself disintegrate along with it. His past, the good moments he had clung to, the love he shared with Mary that he had fought so hard to remember, reduced to nothing but ash.

Holloway flicked her wrist, scattering the ashes of the photo into the air like confetti. "Now I'll give it back," she said, her tone dismissive as she turned to leave.

James's fury finally erupted, a scream. "When Angela and I are done with you, you're going to beg us for mercy! I swear it! I'll see you in Hell!"

Holloway paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder, her expression an unsettling mix of amusement and disdain. "Send Mary my regards when you get there first."