Chapter 132
Chapter One Hundred-Thirty-Two
Robin
We’ve been walking for so long that I’m getting physically tired and slowing down without even meaning to.
I’d thought I was doing well, that I was pretty much all good, but this underground trek has shown me I’m not as healthy as I thought I was.
I guess my little walks around the gardens at the academy weren’t exactly cardio work outs.
“Stop slowing down,” Warren snaps.
“I can’t help it,” I admit. “I don’t feel so good.”
“You’ll feel worse if I put a hole in your head.”
He’s not wrong. I move a little faster, breathing heavier for the effort.
Wherever he’s taking me, it feels like it’s a million miles away.
“What would you have done if I’d eaten lunch?” I ask, remembering how he’d tried to get me to do that. “You’d have had to carry me.”
“Is that what you want? To be carried like a child?”
“No, but I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand. You need to move.”
He prods me in the back with the gun.
I sigh and keep going, trying to be as quick as he wants me to be.
“I would have woken you if you’d eaten,” he admits, clearly not able to allow me to think he’s stupid. “The sedatives were for your boyfriends. I would have used cyanide if I knew you wouldn’t eat anything. You’re the reason they got the soft stuff.”
Oh my God. He would have killed my mates!
I feel sick at the thought of losing them.
I shiver as I move forward, knowing the person behind me is being possessed by a stone-cold psychopath. It’s not the detective’s fault. She’s being used by him. But if it comes down to it, and I can’t get away without hurting her to do it, I know what I need to do.
The life I had before I was rescued was pointless, but the life I have now is everything.
I’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive, and I’ll fight with everything I’ve got to get back to my mates.
Looking ahead, I see the end of the tunnel.
It stops, and there’s a metal ladder leading to some kind of hatch.
Wherever he’s taking me, it seems we’re almost there.
I move a little faster.
When we get close to the ladder, he prods my back with the gun again.
“Up.”
“I need a second to catch my breath,” I tell him, while I stare up at the hatch.
If I get up there first, could I do something to stop him from following?
Once the hatch is open, maybe.
“Up, or I give you to your owner with a hole in your head.”
I put my hand on one of the rungs, and I start to climb.
It’s harder than I expect, and I feel winded by the time I’m at the top.
“Turn the lever to the left.”
I look down. He’s on the ladder but there’s too much space between us to let me kick him.
I can’t see where the gun is. I doubt he’s holding it while climbing, but I’d hate to be wrong.
Reaching out, I touch the lever with my right hand.
It’s metal, so it’s cold, and I can’t help but shiver.
“Turn it left!”
“I’m doing it!”
I turn the lever.
It creaks and moans, but it moves, very slowly.
“Keep going!”
I turn it, and keep turning it, grasping it harder whenever it sticks.
I’m breathless from my efforts by the time I hear a clanking sound, and I find I can’t move the lever around even a fraction more.
I let it go, catching my breath.
“I think that’s it!”
“Well, push it up then!”
I really wish he was close enough to kick.
Sighing, I realize I’ll have to move up the ladder a little bit more to be able to push the hatch open. I take my time, and I test out pushing with one hand.
Nothing happens.
It’s as heavy as it looks.
I bring my hand back down and position my body a little differently, knowing I’m going to have to push hard and not lose any momentum. I move up another rung and crouch slightly.
Then I put one hand up, and then the other, feeling my knees shake under me as I place my hands on the metal above me.
I don’t know if I have the strength, or the energy to pull this off, but I’m going to have to try.
I push upwards, straightening as I start to hear more creaking sounds.
It’s working!
I push harder, and I can feel the damn thing moving this time.
It’s heavy, but once I’m standing straight, it starts to move back on its own.
I let out a weary breath.
So much for my plan to slam it shut in Warren’s face.
The thing is on some kind of mechanism, and it’s way too heavy to try to lift.
I barely managed to push it up a few inches.
“It’s open. Climb out!” he yells.
I move up the last of the rungs, bending forward to climb out of the hole at the top.
I can’t tell where I am now. My surroundings are too dark.
All I know is the floor space is limited.
I stand up and find a wall, trying to get some sense of where I am.
The detective climbs out of the hole and prods me with the gun again.
Whatever chance I might have had to do something is gone.
Warren knows where we are.
He has a weapon.
He’s the one with all the advantages here.
“We’re going to get in a car now,” he starts. “You’re not going to give me any trouble. If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to shoot you. I’m only here to give you to someone else. If I decide you’re too big of a risk, it’s at my discretion to neutralise you.”
“I won’t give you any trouble,” I promise.
He turns his head, and it sounds like he’s unlocking a door with his other hand.
There’s a slight creak, and then he turns back to me, switching the gun to his other hand and grabbing my wrist with his right. He drags me out of the confined space and marches me along a corridor. It’s not quite as dark now, but I can’t make out much of my surroundings.
I realize we’re moving past a staircase when I notice the railing as we pass it.
Then he stops again, and I hear him unlock another door.
For a second, I think about trying to hurt him while he’s distracted.
But I don’t have a weapon, and I’m too afraid I’ll hurt Detective Waterman.
He opens the door and drags me through it.
I stumble out into the fresh air.
It’s starting to get dark out, but at least now I can see where I am.
We’re in the woods, but we came out of a house.
And he’s dragging me toward a car with police lights on the hood.
I guess it makes sense that he’d use the detective’s car, but I start to get a really bad feeling when he opens the back door and pushes me toward that seat.
I know the back seat of a cop car locks automatically and I won’t be able to get out when I want to. That means I won’t have a chance to escape until he lets me out.
I’m afraid that I might have already lost my best chances to get away from him.
He pokes me with the gun.
I get into the backseat, feeling defeated.
He closes the door, and I try the handle.
Locked. My stomach lurches.
I’m trapped.