I brushed it away with the back of my hand and then peered through the darkness, trying to figure out where I was. A tomb of some sort? I held panic at bay and sat up. Touched the cold thing weighing one wrist. A shackle. Just one. I felt along the chain to where it was attached to the cement wall. It was short. Too short for me to stand up straight. But I managed to crouch and reached up enough to assure myself that the ceiling was high. And I couldn't touch the walls on either side of me no matter how far I stretched, so the room wasn't small. Good. You can deal with this. No need to freak out. A deep inhale filled me with the stench of burnt meat. I pitched forward on hands and knees and lost the little that remained in my stomach. The image of Mitch burning out Vince's eye played over and over, like a scratched DVD, stuck on that one scene. What Cyrus had done to him was worse than anything that had been done to me. Had Vince survived it? The smell didn't go away. Which meant I probably hadn't imagined it.
