This chapter is dedicated to B3_D1ff3r3nt - thanks for reading and your support

27 - Eyes From The Past

Rena's POV 

As the guard ushers me down the hallway, I chew fiercely on my thumb nail until I tear deeply into my skin, wondering what they will have in store for me next. Deep down, I expect every dirty trick in the book after the stunt they pulled with Chantal.

When I walk into the interrogation room, Ryan is standing with the back to the door, staring out of the tiny window in the wall which is barred. No one could squeeze through it, so it is a total waste of money to even put them in – it is not surprising the prisons and jails are running short on funds.

"Sit down," he orders after the guard leaves the room.

I hesitate. He is not a Chicago cop and should not question me, especially not alone. My eyes dart to the two-way mirror on the wall, but I can't make out any movement behind it.

He motions to the chair. "Please, Rena. I just want to have a chat."

I fold my arms across my chest, holding his gaze. "I want my lawyer."

He strolls over to the table and plops into the second chair. "As Mr. Forrester explained to you, you're not entitled to an attorney." When he opens a file on the desk, his lips twist to a forced smile. "Come here, I want to show you something."

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk to you. Where's Detective Briar?"

Ryan cups his hands behind his head, leaning back into his chair. "He went home. He has a bunch of kids, you know, and they missed him." His eyes pierce into mine. "It's his daughter's birthday. She's two today, really cute girl."

My gaze drops – I wonder if I will be there for Noah's second birthday. "What do you want, Ryan?"

He points at the chair across from him. "Sit down and I'll tell you."

I glance at the mirror – it is to no avail. They will probably not take me back to my cell until he consents, so I might as well get it over with. I lower myself into the chair across from him, rolling back and forth on my heels.

A few photographs are placed in front of me in a neat row – they are all pictures of a toddler about Noah's age.

"That was Brent when he was a year and a half. Wasn't he adorable?"

I squint at the pictures. Brent is laughing on every one of them and they are all taken with either Charlotte or Ryan – Brent stumbling along the beach hand in hand with his mom, sitting on his dad's shoulders at the zoo while watching an elephant, petting a puppy in Charlotte's lab. His eyes sparkle with joy – I can't remember ever seeing him that happy when we were together.

"Why are you showing me this, Ryan?" I ask.

His fingers run across Brent's face in the picture. "I wanted you to see how happy he was growing up. Does he look abused to you?"

I snort. "I'm sure you didn't take pictures after you beat him up."

He sighs. "Rena, what Brent told you was a lie. He was a disturbed individual who made stuff up because he didn't want to face the consequences of his actions. I realize now how violent he was and I'm really sorry you had to go through this ordeal."

I stare at him, stunned by his audacity. Who does he think he can fool with his sappy story? He is the lying bastard, not Brent.

"Are you seriously claiming you never hit him?"

He clicks his tongue. "Of course I spanked him a few times, which father wouldn't? Brent was stubborn and a notorious liar and even my patience wore off on rare occasions." He crooked his head with a frozen smile on his lips, reminding me of a creepy Santa. "But I never hurt him. Those spankings were probably more painful for me than him." His fingers massage his wrist to underline his point.

I want to laugh in his face, it is so ridiculous. "Truthfully, I think you're full of crap. There's no way Brent could have made all this up – his tears, the pain in his eyes – that was real. I've never seen a person more terrified than he was of you."

Ryan's gray eyes darken and I instinctively recoil – his mood just as visible in his orbs like they had been in Brent's. For the first time I realize how alike they look when they are angry. My gaze stops on his hands which have balled to fists so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

I squeeze my eyes shut as tears rise, a shudder running through me. Brent's cruel laugh mixes with the swooshing of the belt, his eyes – Ryan's eyes – drilling into my skull. I refuse to look at him and bury my face into my hands, trying to suppress the building sob in my throat. I don't want him to see me cry.

When he reaches across the table and strokes my arm, I lose it. With a yelp, I jump to my feet, pushing the chair over in the process. His face with those scorching eyes and everything around him blurs while tears stream down my cheeks. I can't stop shaking, the burn scars that are scattered across my body throb in agony.

He takes a step towards me and I open my mouth to scream, but an invisible rope wraps itself around my throat and all that comes out is a gurgle.

"Rena, you need to calm down." He takes another step forward.

The air is pressed from my lungs at the same time as I jump back, my feet stumbling over the chair. Pain shoots up my spine when my behind connects with the floor, but I ignore it, scooting back as fast as I can until my back hits the wall. My voice still fails me as I gasp for air, the room full of stars that keep exploding and pierce my eardrums.

Ryan closes in and with every new step he takes, more air is squeezed from my lungs. My gaze is locked with his slate gray eyes which scoop my insides out like a carving knife. An agonizing pain spreads in my head – my skull ready to explode. The stars now burst like the big finale in fireworks, the taste of iron flooding my mouth.

"Hey, Ryan, step back." The words are muffled by my racing heartbeat and are barely absorbed by my brain. Someone squats next to me and holds a paper bag under my nose. "Breathe in here, Rena."

My fingers enclose the bag and I cover my nose and mouth, breathing in and out like I am told. Slowly, the world comes back into focus. My whole body is drenched in cold sweat and I can't hold Sam's gaze when I realize I soiled my pants. My cheeks burn so badly – all I want is to evaporate into thin air.

"Better?" he asks and I nod silently.

He rises. "What the hell was that, Ryan?" A crease cuts across his forehead. "You're a psychologist and knew she was having a panic attack. That was unacceptable."

Though his spit words are not directed at me, they still make me whimper.

Both men ignore me.

"I was going to calm her down, Sam. As I told you, she's a total nutcase. I did nothing wrong."

There is a moment of silence and I feel both of them staring at me. My eyes stay glued to the floor and I hug my knees, leaning my face against my thighs.

"You'd better get out of here before I write you up," Sam says, his voice laced with anger.

I whimper again, wishing more than ever to be invisible. My cheeks sting with a mixture of embarrassment, fear, and humiliation.

"Look at her," Ryan hisses. "She's totally unstable. You'll file an incident report, confirming that she freaked out for no reason, and I'll talk to the jail administrator to get her into solitary confinement. She presents a danger to herself."

"And if I don't agree with your assessment?" Sam asks with a huff.

In that moment, I could have hugged him. In this hellhole, he is the only one who has shown some decency.

Ryan chuckles. "Kid, I really like you, but don't fuck with me. Do what you're being told or look for a new job. The Bureau has no patience for guys who can't follow simple instructions."

Sam sucks in a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

And the decency goes out the window. I glare at him as Ryan marches out of the interrogation room – he is just a jerk like all the rest. Now I am glad I didn't fall for his game and give him my dad's phone number. He almost tricked me, but his own words not to trust anyone were his downfall in the end.

He follows Ryan, leaving me sitting on the cold floor in my wet pants without another glance. Fresh tears fill my eyes – I haven't felt that small in a long time. He must think I'm crazy – I mean, which grown woman still pees in her pants and loses her composure like that? There is no way he will ever understand how much Ryan scared me.

When he returns a few minutes later, he crouches next to me and covers me with a blanket.

"Here, I brought you something." He twists the cap of a water bottle and offers it to me.

I avoid his gaze when my fingers enclose the bottle and tip it to my mouth. With shaking hands, I take a few swallows, spilling half the water over the blanket. My face turns away to hide my burning cheeks.

He sits down next to me. "Want to hear something funny?"

I don't respond, really not in the mood for talking.

He enlightens me nevertheless with his story. "So they send the state troopers to your grandparents and neither your dad nor Noah were there. The neighbors confirmed that you guys haven't been up to visit since Christmas. Ryan totally freaked when he realized you played him." He snickers. "You should have seen his face. He even yelled at Marcus like it was his fault that his wife bought your bogus story."

A small smile curls my lips and I sip more water from the bottle. They will never find my dad and no matter what they will do to me, I wouldn't give him up for the simple reason that I, myself, don't have a clue where he is.

Sam tears me from my thoughts. "Do you want to take a shower?"

I nod.

"Can you get up?"

I flinch when his shoulder brushes against mine, the water bottle almost slipping through my fingers. My nerves are shot and I fear that I will lose it again if he makes one wrong move.

He offers me his hand to pull me up and I stare at his long, slender fingers, telling myself that he will not hurt me. Yet, my body is paralyzed – I just can't get myself to stand up.

"I still need a minute," I mumble.

He studies me for a moment before nodding. "Okay. I'll be right outside. Just call when you're ready."

My eyes stay on him as he walks towards the door. "Could you turn off the light?"

His brows furrow. "You sure?"

I nod – he wouldn't understand. Darkness has always been soothing to me. Those were the times Brent had been asleep and I could weep silently into my pillow in safety, the stillness around me caressing my bruised body.

When Sam flicks the light switch, the world around me wraps me with an impenetrable shield. I focus on the even rhythm of my heartbeat, trying to get Ryan's eyes out of my mind.

And then I cry. I quietly weep – just the way I used to do – biting into the corner of the blanket to muffle the sobs. The stench of the urine irritates my nostrils until my tears stuff up my nose, parts of my cover soon drenched from my tears.

The loneliness presses onto my soul like a steamroller but comforts me at the same time. There is no one around to hurt me. I wipe the wetness away with my arm, but the tears keep rolling, making me doubt that I will ever be happy again. Maybe Noah would be better off without me. That way, he will never be embarrassed for having a mom who can't even keep herself together.

So, Rena didn't fall for Chantal's scheming after all and Ryan came at her from a new angle - and when that didn't work, he throws her into a full episode of PTSD. I hope this chapter worked as a reminder how damaged Rena really is.

Ryan was just Ryan but are you starting to get curious about Sam? In the next chapters, he will start to take center stage, so what is your impression of him so far since he has only been dipping in and out on occasions? Do you like him, trust him, have your doubts? Should he have been developed earlier on?

Thanks for reading and please share your thoughts in the comments and if this chapter deserved it, don't forget to vote. See you again on Friday :)