With each new word that came spilling free from Max's mouth, Dahlia seemed to go more and more pale in the face. By the time he finished, she was a trembling, ghost-white mass of wide eyes and agape lips. If what Max said was true, and she had no reason to doubt him, really, there was a dead pregnant girl. A really pregnant girl, which ruled out her wife, but what would their captors do when they found out about Jenny's pregnancy?
When she spoke, her voice was a raspy whisper; it was strained, like it hurt to so much as even speak. "Jenny's pregnant," she admitted, fighting the urge to vomit like Max had just moments before. "My wife's pregnant." Dahlia shakily stood to her legs, temporarily seeming to forget about her attempt at modesty, and turned to slam herself against the glass. "Let us out!" she screamed, unsure if They could even hear her at all.
"You hear me!? Let us go!" Another slam against the glass proved just as useful as the first, which was to say not at all. It didn't exactly hurt, either. There was some give in the wall, unlike actual glass.