Chapter Six
Michael had been gone for hours by the time Wren was finished. He sat back on his heels, his knees digging into the floor, as he looked at the sorry state of the toothbrush he’d been scrubbing it with, and then around the room he’d slept in for so many years.
The bed and mattress were put back the way they had been before, the sheets all neatly tucked back in, and not a wrinkle showing on the single blanket covering them.
His clothes had all been folded meticulously and put back in the drawers.
Every inch of the walls, ceiling, and floor was now cleaned.
Wren tossed the toothbrush into the bucket. His weariness had reached the point of exhaustion. He swayed on his heels, barely able to stay upright. His heart was empty, his head filled with the impending beating he knew he’d get when Michael came home.
This is all there is. Four walls of hell and a window. Wren snorted. Yes, the room had a window. The living space had two of them, the kitchen space had a small one, and there was even a tiny window in the bathroom.
Every single one of those windows had a camera on it.
Every single window was alarmed so that Michael would know the moment one was tampered with. He would know if Wren tried to escape that way. Wren learned that when he was fifteen.
But watching now, as the red light kept blinking, an indication that the camera was tracking his every move, Wren was too tired to care.
Pushing himself to his feet, Wren rubbed his knees.
They were bruised and ached right through the joint.
The thin material of his worn cargo pants was no match for the wooden floor, and it’s not like Michael had cushions.
Wren didn’t even have a pillow for his bed.
He staggered over to the window. He could just see out.
Michael had covered the bottom panes with some type of film that was stuck to the glass.
That covering made it impossible for Wren to see out clearly.
He could…just…if he stood on his tiptoes.
The top two panes in the four-pane windows weren’t covered.
It was still night, although Wren had no idea of the time. He craned his neck, staring up at the stars. They weren’t very clear thanks to the lights reflecting on the street below. But they were there. He could see them. Remote. Distant. Beautiful.
Wren looked down to where the window catch should have been. The unpainted shapes of the catch on the wooden frames were all that was there. Of course Michael had removed them – if nothing else, he was thorough.
I should just break the glass, he thought. There was a small ledge outside the window, barely more than a foot. Wren remembered that from the last time he’d tried to escape. It wouldn’t hold him for long. One buffet of wind and he’d be knocked off.
But isn’t that a better way to go? Isn’t it better to actually leave my fate in the hands of the gods instead of the man who plans to kill me anyway?
Wren didn’t know a lot about God with a capital G.
He was just a mysterious being that inflicted punishments on those considered unworthy – it was all his grandparents could ever talk about.
It was up to God how long a person might live, at least that’s what Wren remembered. Better a random being than Michael.
Looking around the room, there was nothing there that Wren could break the glass with, particularly the lower panes that had the film over them. I’ll just have to peel it off, he decided. That can’t be too hard. It’s only a sticky paper, after all. And if Michael catches me..?
Wren didn’t even bother following that thought through to its conclusion.
He already knew what would happen. And quite frankly, his life had gotten to the point where the end couldn’t come soon enough.
At least the outcome would be in my hands, not his, he thought as he carefully made his way to the kitchen to find a butter knife.
He could use that as a scraper tool for the glass covering, and the kitchen chair would break the glass when he was done.