Lucas 

“Lucas, please. Open your eyes,” she begs, her voice raw and thick with emotion. “You can’t leave me like this. Do you hear me? You need to fight. You promised me you would fight!” Her anguished screams pierce through the darkness like jagged echoes of desperation.

What I wouldn’t give to do as she asks if only to catch one last glimpse of her beautiful face and those whiskey eyes. But after weeks in this underground hell, half-starved and at the mercy of men determined to break me, my body is done. Battered. Broken. Tortured just to the edge of imminent death. I know it should scare me. The near certainty that I’m close to the end of my life. But after being chained to this wall—left to sit in my own filth with the stench of blood, decay, and desolation all around me—the threat of my demise feels like the ultimate escape.

“Lucas please.”  

The agony in her voice slithers its way up my skin. The discomfort helps to break up the mental fog that clings to me like a vise. Try as I might, I’m too weak to open my eyes, let alone give her a sign that I’m still here. It’s like I’m paralyzed. Frozen and trapped under the icy claws of impending death. A sensation that comes as a welcomed reprieve, for there is comfort in the knowledge my time in this place is rapidly coming to an end.

With nothing but my thoughts and regrets to keep me company, I can’t help but reflect on my life. Starting with my amazing parents. The picture-perfect childhood they created for my sister and me. How one seemingly inconsequential mistake in my teens caused their deaths and ripped it all away.

My dark thoughts then shift to the men who entrusted me with their lives. They depended on me to make the right choices. My job was to get them through the mission so they could return home to their families. That I failed them. That they suffered for my mistakes and that it’s because of me that their loved ones will never see them again… the guilt is like acid burning me up from the inside. 

It’s worse than the physical torture I endured. It’s the same all-familiar pain that has plagued me since my parent’s death all those years ago. That someone with my track record would step up to be responsible for the lives of other men is downright unforgivable. It was foolish to assume it was my path to redemption, and now, because of my hubris, they too are dead.

It’s another reason I deserve the end that’s coming to me. I’m not worthy of another chance in this life. Things like marriage. Children. The white picket fence. I’ll never do any of those things, which is for the best, but then the ball of regret expands as I picture the faces of the people I’ll never see again. Pastor David, the man who saved me from the streets and offered me a different path. My sister Jenny, whom I abandoned years ago with the promise that someday I’d return for her. And my Embree. The only woman I’ve ever loved, and whose heart I surely shattered when she woke to find me gone the morning after I took her virginity.

I wonder if they know where I am. Do they have any idea what’s happened to me?

“Lucas, please try. For me. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Like a beacon of hope in the dark, her plea breaks through to that part of me that’s never been able to deny her. After everything I’ve done, after everything I ruined, don’t I at least owe her this one thing? Even if it hurts like hell. Even if it kills me.

Tapping into what’s left of my reserves, I fight for control over my body. My throat is too dry and sore from dehydration to speak, so I make one last-ditch attempt to at the very least do as she says, and give her my eyes. What I find through the cracks of my swollen lids nearly steals my breath. A lone tear escapes from the corner of my eye when her angelic face materializes from the darkness and sharpens into view. 

God, what have I done? Why the hell is she here? She doesn’t belong in this place.

“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper, even as the effort sends pain radiating through the broken ribs in my chest. When she leans down to kiss my forehead, I close my eyes, hoping to soak in as much of her warmth as I can.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. I just need you to hold on because I can’t lose you. Not after everything that’s happened. Now open your eyes again, Lucas. Please,” she sobs, “don’t you dare give up on me now.”

Summoning every ounce of strength I have left, I do as she asks. The intense fear coming from her rips out my heart and slices yet another wound of contrition onto my soul. I did this to her, which is how I conclude that I have no other choice but to give her this as well. I have to fight. Somehow, I must find the will to survive. To push my failing body beyond the brink, if for no other reason than I can’t fathom the thought of leaving her alone in this hell.

“I-I’m here, s-sweetheart,” I rasp painfully, trying to reassure her. “Not going anywhere.” The effort it takes to speak is thankfully rewarded when, through tears, she gives me a sad smile.

Taking my hand, she tells me, “That’s right, just hold on to me. Together, I know we can get through this.”

Exhausted and comforted by her faith, I close my eyes and fall back into the dark recesses of my mind. The numbing fog that surrounds me feels an awful lot like the worst sickness I’ve ever had. I can tell my body is at its limit. The internal injuries on top of lingering infection from untreated wounds have left me so depleted that it feels like I’m slowly rotting away.

Still, I do what I can to cling to her voice, which has somehow tethered itself to my life force. A life force that grows weaker and weaker with every breath that I fight to take and for the first time, I’m afraid. As tremors wrack through my body, I’m overcome by the devastating realization that survival may not be in the cards for either of us. 

Like my search for redemption, the hope of a second chance is nothing more than a fool’s dream. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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