Chapter 52
52
TEGAN
Hank’s boots sound like gunshots on the floor above me.
If there was ever a chance to convince Polly to call for help, it is gone now that her husband is home. He will never allow that to happen.
The drink Polly gave me is churning in my stomach. At first, I thought if I could get on her good side, maybe she would take pity on me and let me go. Maybe I could show her that she didn’t have to do what he told her to do—she didn’t have to fear him. All she has to do is pick up the phone and dial 911. Hank would never even know.
But then when she told me Dennis was here looking for me, I lost it. He must be frantic by now, thinking I’m dead or worse, and the two of them lied to him. After I found that out, I was willing to do whatever it took to get out of here. I needed to go on the offensive.
But that didn’t work either.
I don’t know what was in that drink, but I feel terrible now. Could there have been some kind of drug in it? Polly tasted it, so it seems unlikely, but I suppose it’s possible she was only pretending to drink it. My stomach keeps cramping up, and waves of nausea course through my body. The best thing I can say is at least I’m in the chair, so I can wheel myself over to the bathroom and hunch over the toilet to evacuate what is left of my lunch.
Well, whatever it is she might have drugged me with, I’ve now gotten rid of most of it into the toilet. And the rest I threw on her shirt.
A loud noise from right above me interrupts my thoughts. I recognize the sound immediately—it’s the hinges of the basement door creaking as it swings open. And then a second later, it slams shut again. I can make out Hank’s voice, which is a low roar that resonates through the ceiling.
Polly, get out of my way.
I quickly deduce what must be happening upstairs. Hank wants to come down here, but Polly is stopping him. I have no idea what his intentions are, but she is holding him back—maybe physically. She’s risking her own safety by incurring his wrath in order to protect me.
If I ever doubted that she’s on my side, those doubts have vanished. She’s not perfect, but she’s doing her best. Polly might be the only thing keeping me safe from whatever fate Hank intends for me.
My ears strain to catch snatches of their conversation. It’s hard to make out any words, but Hank sounds furious. I hold my breath, waiting to see if the door will swing open again, if that giant man will come stomping down to the basement in his big, scary boots with that menacing look in his eyes.
But it doesn’t happen. The door stays closed.
I have no idea what Hank has in store for me. Is he eventually planning to rape me, the same way Simon did? Or is it enough for Hank to know that I’m trapped in the basement, at his mercy? Is that what he’s getting off on?
I’d like to get out of here before I find out.
It’s past nine o’clock when the door to the basement opens up again. I can tell from the lighter footsteps that it’s Polly, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’m not going to lash out at her again. Polly is the only person in this house who’s on my side, and I need to let her know that it’s okay to help me. I’m sure she’s terrified of Hank’s temper, but some of her hesitation must be that she knows if I get out of here, I’ll report that she and her husband kidnapped me, and they would both go to jail. It is an impossible situation.
“I’ll help you back into bed,” Polly says softly. “I’m sure you’re tired.”
She’s right. As glad as I was to get out of bed earlier, I’m desperate to get back into it now. I’m tired, my back is aching, and my ankle screams in pain every time I move it the slightest bit. And my legs feel like two huge blocks of cement from hanging downward all day.
We repeat the same process we did earlier to get me into the chair, this time in reverse. It’s just as painful on my ankle as it was the first time, but now it’s even worse, because the second I get into the bed, a monster contraction squeezes my entire midsection. The pain is enough to make a cold sweat break out under my armpits.
“Are you okay?” Polly asks.
“Yes,” I gasp, even though I’m not sure I’m okay. This was not a Braxton-Hicks practice contraction. That was a real one.
What if I’m going into labor?
God, I have to get out of here. I am not giving birth in this basement.
“Please let me go,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time.
“You’re going to be fine,” Polly reassures me. “I’m sure your husband will be glad that you’re looking out for your baby.”
Enough of the lies. I’m not getting out of here unless I tell Polly the truth. “I’m not married, okay?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“No, I…I don’t even have a boyfriend.” I wipe beads of sweat off my forehead. “It’s just me and the baby. I’m doing this alone.”
“Does the father know?”
“I…” I definitely don’t want to tell Polly what that asshole did to me. “I don’t know who the father is. It was a one-night stand. I don’t know his name.”
“I see…”
“So you have to understand…” I swipe at a sweaty strand of hair that has fallen in my face. “I’m not going to try to get either of you into any trouble. I just want to get out of here.”
“Trouble?” she says dully.
“Yes.” I nod. “You can’t let me leave, because if I do, I’ll tell the police what you both did, and then they’ll arrest you. You’re stuck.”
Polly is silent, playing with the end of her long braid. She knows I’m right.
“But I won’t tell anyone. I swear to you. And…and I don’t have a boyfriend or husband who is going to be upset. My parents are both dead. Nobody cares about me.”
“What about your brother?”
Damn, why did Dennis have to come over here? “We’re not that close. He just feels guilty that he didn’t want to come visit me. We hadn’t seen each other in years.”
The wheels are turning in her head. I hold my breath, hoping she believes me. It’s not entirely a lie. Dennis cares about me, but nobody else does. Certainly not the father of my baby. Not even Jackson—the one person who has put a smile on my face over these last few difficult months. Simon and Jackson are probably thrilled I vanished without a trace.
“Just let me go,” I plead with her, “and everything will be fine. I won’t tell a soul.”
There’s a loud thud upstairs that startles her. She backs away from my bed. “I have to go.”
I suck in a breath. “But…you’ll help me?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’ll help you. I promise.”
Before I can say another word, Polly turns and heads up the stairs. The last thing I hear is the door to the basement slamming shut.