300 for 30: Day 10

“Well, spit-spot, up you get.” Glancing at Ferdinand and seeing he was decent, if scabbed and still disoriented, Nat hauled him to his feet and opened the bathroom door.

The room outside had steel door bolted from the outside, and a little locked hatch Ferdinand presumed was to pass in food for Taylor. A camera in the ceiling had a spiky cage around it to prevent them tampering. Taylor wore a mold-crusted towel wrapped around her and she was rocking back and forth on one of the twin mattresses lying on the floor. At least the lights were dim, and the stale air not as chilly as the other cells they’d experienced in this place. Sally had bundled Rivki in the second towel – a third was lying crumpled on mattress number two – and was perched in the edge of Taylor’s mattress, feeding Rivki blood from her neck. She kept clenching and unclenching her free hand. “There you are, Ferdinand. You look awful.”

“You look pretty uncomfortable yourself,” Ferdinand replied quietly, slumping onto the unoccupied excuse for a bed.

“Taylor, what’s wrong?” Nat realized what he’d just said, gave a bitter laugh, and then added, “I mean, besides the obvious?”

“I…” A sad orange glow lit up Taylor’s eyes, like a Jack-o-Lantern after the trick-or-treaters have gone home. Her voice took on a layered quality that Ferdinand recognized from the telepathic conference earlier. “It’s my fault. I was stupid.”

“Stop possessing Taylor, Derrick,” Nat said, lying down beside Ferdinand and looking hurt when Ferdinand scooted away. “It clearly strains her. She gets a doozy of a fever.”

“Sorry. She asked me to. She wanted to switch places a little, get some privacy. Cause, um, I got arrested.”

Sally muttered, “It just keeps getting better and better.”

“I can take Rivki,” Ferdinand told her, holding out his arms.