The Crash

Chapter 37

37

TEGAN

I’m not sorry I stabbed Polly with a fork.

She was asking for it. She told me she called for an ambulance, but she never did. She’s lying on Hank’s behalf. It’s fine if she can’t stand up to him herself, but she can’t expect me to swallow this bullshit. The second I saw her hand lying vulnerable on the tray table, within my reach, I couldn’t help myself. I was so angry.

After she screamed and then ran upstairs bleeding all over her shirt, I did feel a twinge of regret though. She still has that dark bruise on her wrist, and even though she is the one who always comes down to the basement, I don’t believe she’s the one pulling the strings.

Hank is the one who wants me to stay here. I’m sure of it. He’s the one keeping me captive, and she’s just doing his bidding. And if that’s the case, she isn’t the one who deserved to get stabbed with the fork. She’s a victim too.

I wonder what Hank’s plan is for me. The thought sends a chill down my spine.

I eat the meal that Polly brought for me, despite my lack of appetite. The fried steak is pretty amazing, although I have to eat it with my hands since my fork is still on the floor. The mashed potatoes are good too, but after I’ve taken a few spoonfuls, I start to notice that chalky aftertaste that was in the barbecue chicken, so I push it to the side. I’m almost 100 percent sure that whatever was in that barbecue sauce was what made me sleep half the day away. Hank has been drugging me to keep me subdued, and I’m not going to go along with it anymore.

At around eight o’clock, the basement creaks open. I expect to hear Polly’s light footsteps on the stairs, but my stomach sinks when the footsteps are much louder and heavier. It’s not Polly coming down the stairs.

It’s Hank.

My heart thuds painfully as the footsteps grow louder. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he just stands there for a moment. Even if I could stand, he would tower over me—he looks like he’s a foot taller than me and twice as heavy. With me captive in this hospital bed, I am completely at his mercy. He’s wearing a well-worn pair of blue jeans and a red-and-black-plaid shirt, and like that first night I saw him, a thick beard conceals half his face.

He’s even larger and more frightening than I remember him being. Especially when he just stands there at the foot of the stairs, watching me silently. I can’t stop trembling.

This man is why I’m here. He beats up on his wife, and now he won’t let me leave.

“I’m here to get your plate,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“You’re not going to try to stab me, are you?”

I jerk my head at the floor, where the slightly bloody fork is still lying there. “I can’t.”

Hank picks it up off the floor, examining the prongs, then shoves it in his shirt pocket. He takes a step forward, and I cringe.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t…”

He sighs and grabs the plate in front of me. I squirm, trying to get as far from him as I can, even though I’m clearly not going anywhere, between my belly and my ankle. But he doesn’t do anything creepy like reach for me or try to stroke my hair or my face. He just takes my plate like he’s a busboy.

“Good night,” he mutters as he turns to leave.

“Wait!” I cry. Maybe I can’t trust him, but I can’t stop myself from trying to get out. “Please! Don’t go! I’ll do anything you say. Just please call for an ambulance. Please!”

Hank doesn’t say anything as he walks toward the stairs.

“Please!” I cry again. “I’ll do anything you want! Anything! Just please… Let me go…”

And now he’s climbing the stairs like he didn’t even hear me.

Okay, begging has not gotten me anywhere. People like him—they get off on watching others suffer. He probably loves to see me beg.

No, the first thing that’s really gotten their attention was stabbing Polly with that fork. Maybe I was on the right track with that. Maybe they’ll decide I’m too much trouble if I try to fight back. I’ve heard men target women who seem submissive like Polly is—women who won’t put up a fight.

I’ve got to show him I’m not weak.

“Hey!” I call out. “Hey, Hank?”

He keeps walking up the steps, ignoring me.

“Hey!” I call out again. “You need to tell Polly that the next time she comes down here, she’s getting stabbed in the eye .”

Hank freezes on the steps. He rotates his head to look at me. “Excuse me?”

Well, I finally got his attention. “You heard me. And if you don’t give me a fork, I’ll find something else to do it with. Maybe my fingernails.”

A dark look comes over Hank’s face. It seemed like a good idea to say all those things, but now I’m not so sure. He stomps down the stairs, tossing my plate at the foot of the bed so that it hits my leg and sets off an eye-watering wave of pain. I can’t tell if that was his intention or not, but it does the job.

And then he walks right up to me so I can look him right in his dark-brown eyes.

“You listen here.” He leans in closer to me so that I can smell fried steak and sour beer on his breath. “We’ll get you out of here in a couple of days, Miss Werner. I promise you that.” His voice becomes a low growl. “But if you lay another finger on my wife—just one little finger—you’re going to regret it.”

I haven’t used the bedpan in a few hours, and the contents of my bladder spontaneously release onto the paper pad beneath me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this terrified in my life. I had judged Polly for not standing up to him, but now that I see what she’s up against, I get it. This man looks like he would happily rip me limb from limb.

“ Do you understand me? ” he says in that horrible growl.

I nod, because I can’t get my voice to work.

He lingers there for a moment while my body trembles. Finally, he straightens up. He picks the plate back up from the bed and dusts it off. Then without another word, he walks back up the stairs and slams the basement door behind him.