A low moan escaped as her muscles tightened and protested not only the cold, but the weakness inflicted upon them by so much death and sickness. Pain had long since lost any meaning to her. What she felt couldn’t really be considered pain. It was worse. She couldn’t feel anything but the desolation of hopelessness and despair. The knowledge that she would probably die from the horrors inflicted upon her. And perhaps she deserved it, for she hadn’t been able to help all who had been thrust upon her.
Her escape had been a fluke. An explosion had decimated the cell where she’d been held. She’d managed to get out before the men charged with her care had been able to respond. Or maybe they had perished. She couldn’t bring herself to feel any regret. They’d shown her no regard. She’d been treated like an inanimate object. Some magic wand they waved at a wound or an illness and expected her to make it all disappear.
She hated them for that. Hated them for their callousness. For using others as they’d used her. Pawns. Objects to provide them with information. They weren’t even people. Just numbers.
Another shiver rattled her teeth and settled deep into her bones. She simply couldn’t imagine ever being warm again. She curled her feet further into the blanket and tucked the ends securely under her chin.
She was severely weakened by all she’d been forced to endure. For all she’d been made to heal. Even now she didn’t know where she’d found the strength or the will to make her escape when the opportunity had presented itself.
But now she’d run out of strength. She had nothing else left. No reserves. And her resolve was faltering just as everything else had done.
Closing her eyes, she tried to find some solace. Some measure of peace.
She missed her sister, Shea. Ached for the comfort of her touch. The brush of her mind and the image of her smile. She hadn’t ever really understood and hadn’t ever taken Shea’s decision for them to separate seriously. Until the day she’d been captured, and she realized that if they’d been together, they would have both been taken.
Shea had always been determined to keep Grace safe, but now, Grace was equally determined to keep Shea as far away from her as possible. Grace was hunted. She knew her pursuers were probably in these mountains already. They could be a short distance away.
And so she’d slammed the door shut on her sister, and the void hurt every bit as much as the bombardment of sickness and pain she’d absorbed. Not having Shea there was the worst sort of loneliness. She’d severed the telepathic link between her and her sister, and her worst fear was that it was permanent. She’d never get it back.
In a way, she supposed it would be a blessing. If she lost her abilities, she could have a normal life. But so would she lose the ability to make a difference in someone else’s life.
She closed her eyes, exhausted by the weight of responsibility, sorrow, and regret. She hated that she wasn’t stronger, that she’d crumbled under so much stress. But the ailments had been thrown at her, one after another. Broken bones, horrible bloody wounds, tumors, diseases, and the list went on and on. The most horrific experiment she’d undergone was when it had been demanded of her to reach inside the mind of a woman with a mental illness and heal her.
For three long days Grace had known what it truly was to be insane. She’d lived the woman’s existence while the woman had gone away, cleansed of the darkness in her brain. Twice, Grace had tried to kill herself, not because it was what she wanted, but because it was what the illness dictated. In the end, she’d been restrained, unable to do even the basic necessities for herself because the fear had been too great that she’d find a way to end her life.