I Become Shadow Read Online Free Page B

to say goodbye to my life. My family, my friends. It was over.
    And then I was being lifted out of the chair by the guards. Their hands were like hot pokers on my skin. I opened my eyes as I was carried into a dark room. I couldn’t make out anything in particular since the lights were off. All I remember is they laid me down on what felt like a bed and left.
    THE DING OF AN alarm woke me up. Whether I’d fallen asleep or passed out, I couldn’t remember. I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that there wasn’t hope; it wasn’t all a bad dream. The blanket and pillow didn’t feel right, smell right. I wasn’t home.
    At least I wasn’t dead, which I took as a small victory.
    I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a greycinder-block wall. All at once I was energized, panicked again. I jumped to my feet and ran across a cold linoleum floor toward the door. I banged on it as hard as I could, screaming for help, fresh tears falling. But the rush of activity made me dizzy and I stumbled back to the bed and sat down on the edge. My whole body was sore but I didn’t feel like I was burning alive anymore. I had scabs on my palms from where my nails had dug in. Lovely.
    I took a look around at my new digs. A single ceiling light illuminated the room,
my
room. Not-Beth had called it my room, but let’s be honest here. It was ten by ten feet, tops. Cinder-block walls painted asylum grey, a tiny bed, a toilet-sink combo with the sink above the toilet water tank, and a desk. All of this does not a “room” make. I’d seen enough TV to know a prison cell when I saw one. So why was I in prison?
    Folded neatly on the desk was a stack of yellow clothes. Realizing I was still wearing a hospital gown and nothing else, clothes seemed like a good idea. I slowly stood up on sore, wobbly legs and crossed my room to the overly fluorescent yellow pile.
    Strangely, at that moment, all I could think of was how horrible I looked in yellow. I had jet-black hair with orange freckles and I rarely saw the sun. Yellow and I were not pals but bitter fashion enemies. But since I was cold and being practically naked was uncomfortable, I began to get dressed. On the plus side, there was no mirror to be found.
    Yellow underwear. Yellow sports bra. Yellow shorts and tank top. And a nice set of yellow warm-up pants with(you guessed it) a yellow jacket. Even the socks and shoes were yellow. I looked like a giant French’s mustard bottle. Clothed and warm, I felt slightly safer. I brushed my teeth with an unlabeled tube of toothpaste and tried to break through the tangles in my hair with a generic brush, but I lost that battle. With nothing else to do, I sat back down on my bed just trying to keep it together. The down comforter sank around me. I wanted to curl up and shut down again, but something told me not to. Something told me to be aware, to be ready.
    My ears hummed from the silence. I tried to think of a single reason for what had happened to me and how it would end. But I couldn’t. So I stared at the door doing what I do best, zoning out. There I was, Ms. Mustard, a broken human clock ticking toward something truly horrible. What that was, I didn’t know. I just knew I wanted to be ready when it came.
    “Good morning, I hope you slept well.”
    The smooth male voice came from nowhere, from everywhere. I snapped out of the haze and jumped to my feet.
    “Who’s there?!!?” I shouted.
    It was a silly question.
    “I see the clothes fit well. Good.”
    I looked around for the source. My eyes spotted a small speaker in the ceiling above the door, placed next to an even tinier camera, focused right on me. They’d probably watched me change. Violated again.
    “Hello?” I called out. “Please, help me.”
    Mr. Speakervoice continued, “I am sure you arebursting with questions, my dear, most of which will be answered now.”
    Directly to my left a cinder block slid out from the wall like a dresser drawer and stopped. Inside, resting on