Dante-angel? Wake up. Please wake up." Chloe's voice pats against Dante's consciousness like the fingers against his face. Her words sound small and scared and hoarse, like she's been saying them over and over and over.Papa Prejean's voice slithers through his memory: Aw ... ain't this sweet? Y'all wanting to protect each other from what y'all got coming.Dante's eyes fly open. Chloe's tearstained face meets his gaze. "Dante-angel," she hiccups, wiping away her tears with the heels of her hands."What's wrong, princess? You okay?" Dante's words feel fuzzy, his voice too thick. He doesn't feel like he's waking up at twilight, alert and hungry; he feels more like he does at dawn, when the need to sleep rushes over him like black water and he can't keep his eyes open no matter what.Beyond Chloe, he sees a white ceiling instead of the shadows lurking in Papa Prejean's basement. And he doesn't feel the bite of metal around his wrists, doesn't smell dank stone or moldering cardboard boxes or the musky sweat of the pervs who visit him in the basement."Where are we?" Dante's eyes shutter closed again; he can't seem to keep them open.
