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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hell

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-Abigail-

Seven days.

Six nights.

In Hell.

Abigail was counting.

Luckily she wasn't conscious for the whole week, she was in and out of it, partly from the pain in her stomach from the gunshot wound, and partly from the flu she got when she had been out in the rain. The wound in her stomach had been sown up thanks to the good doctor/kidnapper, but it was obviously infected as it hurt something fierce and he hadn't bothered to give her any pain killers. Her arms and legs were numb from being where she was on the floor with her arms locked above her. He only let one arm down once a day so she could eat. It was the worse then, though, because she could barely stomach anything even though she was starving—thankfully he also brought water otherwise she would've already been dead—because she had to see him. She got violently ill every time he was close to her. He was clearly a voyeur and preferred to watch from his...wherever he was. But she knew that the vomiting wasn't from the fever or the stomach wound.

It was a reaction to being away from Carlisle, from being near this man that wasn't her mate, which made all this much worse.

She fought with herself, going back and forth between wanting to take him while she still had him, or let him go since he was perfectly fine with watching her age and die. It was better than thinking about Dr. Jones doing whatever it was he was up to. It allowed her to step back from her situation, to think over what had happened between the two of them, what had changed since 1776 when he was desperate to have her at his side forever, to now when he refused to. One would think that the thoughts would be all muddled in her mind, but they were clearer than anything else around her. She wanted to get back to Carlisle, and yet she wanted Dr. Jones to just kill her.

She never spoke that whole week, even when the tape was off—that was only during meal times—and so it made it much easier to think. She was still so torn, but she was able to focus on his image, his beautiful face and soft touches, and allow herself to pretend that she had been his continuously since 1776. That 1955 never happened and she never died. That they were happy forever and her ring wasn't in the hands of some pervert who was keeping her captive.

But then Jones told her to turn a certain way "so I can see that gorgeous body," and she was thrown back into the present as she forced herself to move. She only did it with thoughts of the humans like her that she couldn't risk by not doing as Jones said.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

-Edward-

Edward stopped into the hospital to turn in Carlisle's leave of absence. But they all knew, no matter the outcome of this, he probably wouldn't be going back. If she died, he would either try to die, too, or go back to the window as a statue. If she lived and decided to stay with him, he would never leave her side again. If she lived but left him, he would probably go back to his window again. Edward sincerely hoped for the second possibility, but he knew the other two were more likely. The odds were severely stacked against him. Alice spent all day and night trying to find her, and Emmett spent his time with Carlisle and Edward himself trying to find a trace of her, but they had no luck.

Edward breezed by the waiting room to Mackenzie at the front desk. She had met him before and greeted him by name, but his face became stoic as he handed over the papers.

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