Phoebe Dover, Stephen Linnell's beloved, lay in a coma.
As for me, a mute, I hadn't even been given the chance to defend myself before Stephen locked me away in his basement.
Fear and hunger consumed me, my spirit shattered. Over time, I developed amnesia. Each day, more of my memories slipped away, little by little.
Stephen sneered at me, accusing me of faking it, but I could barely remember who he was anymore.
…
The door to the basement creaked open, letting in a sliver of light.
I instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness that stung after so long in darkness.
"Well, Raelynn Swales, are you still refusing to admit your fault?" Stephen asked.
He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light behind him. His smirk was derisive, as though certain he wouldn't get the answer he wanted.
As my eyes adjusted, I slowly lowered my hand.
I opened my mouth, but it was useless—I was mute.
Stephen couldn't see my sign language in the dark, and I had no way to make him understand.
I had tried before—filling pages with explanations, pouring my innocence onto paper. But he tore them apart, never reading a word.
Again and again, he demanded to know why I hurt Phoebe. And again and again, I screamed silently in my heart that I didn't do it.
It didn't matter. He didn't care if I was guilty or innocent. All he wanted was to punish me in Phoebe's name.
When I didn't respond, Stephen hesitated before letting out a scoff. He slammed a food box down onto the floor with a thud.
"Until Phoebe wakes up, you'll stay here and atone for your sins, one day at a time," he said.
After he left, the lights in the basement flickered on.
The basement had all the essentials for survival, but the lights only stayed on for ten minutes each day.
In those ten minutes, I had to eat the only meal I'd get for the entire day. Once the light went out, everything I did had to be in darkness.
Stephen called it my punishment. He said Phoebe lived in darkness every day because of me, so why should I be allowed any light?
Even after Stephen left, I didn't touch the food, though hunger gnawed at my stomach.
Instead, I pulled out a thick stack of papers and began reading through the notes I had written. I skimmed the old ones as quickly as I could, jotting down new details with trembling hands.
In the past few days, more and more of my memories had slipped away.
These few minutes of light were my only chance to hold onto what little I had left—an opportunity to review my notes and document anything I could still recall.
I was terrified—terrified of quietly dying here, unnoticed and forgotten, even by myself.
One word at a time, I wrote: "They are committing a crime. Raelynn Swales must survive. Survive and find the light."
