Chapter Nineteen #2
Pastor Baker looked disappointed in him.
“The Lord sometimes asks us to do difficult things in his service. You can’t see it now, but this is for your own good.
Everyone who comes out of All Pure understands why they were sent there.
They understand the need for intervention, and thank us for doing what needed to be done. ”
Luis opened his mouth, but no words came out.
This was a dream. A nightmare. This couldn’t really be happening.
“It’ll be difficult, but this is for the best,” the pastor said.
“I’m not doing that,” Luis said.
Baker nodded, as if that didn’t surprise him. “The van will be here tomorrow afternoon, Luis, so try and rest before then. The first few days of camp are especially tough; you’ll need your strength. Someone will bring you something to eat in a little bit.”
Pastor Baker turned and strode from the room. The other man followed, and the door shut behind them. The heavy lock turned.
Luis laid back on the cot and screamed.
##
No one came about the screaming, or when he started throwing things. They either couldn’t hear him, or didn’t care. The stone walls of the room likely prevented most sound from transferring.
When the door unlocked hours later, it was Eric and another large, intimidating stranger. Eric had a plate of food in hand. He brought it over to where Luis was sitting. If either man noticed the papers and tipped boxes, they had nothing to say about it.
“Dinner,” Eric said with a bright white smile.
Luis smacked the paper plate away. The sandwich and apple slices went flying.
Eric didn’t even flinch. If anything, his smile only grew. “You can start the hunger strike now,” he said ominously, “but eventually you have to eat or drink something.”
Ice went down Luis’s spine.
“Fuck you,” Luis snarled. “And fuck your culty bullshit! What you’re doing is illegal, and if you don’t think I’m going to the police the second I’m out of here–”
The slap came hard and unexpected. It was a backhand, done as easy as if Eric did it all the time. Luis yelped, hand coming up to cover his cheek as tears sprang to his eyes.
“Better watch that mouth of yours,” Eric said, “the staff at All Pure aren’t as nice as I am about backtalk.”
Then he turned and left the room. The door locked behind him.
For the next hour, Luis’s cheek pulsed with the hot pain of the slap. He dashed the tears away, curling his hands into fists so hard his knuckles ached. He wasn’t going to cry; he wasn’t going to give Eric the satisfaction.
Luis took a breath to try and calm himself down. He needed to think, to figure a way out of this. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for tomorrow. He needed to do something.
But what?
Whatever it was, it needed to happen before the van arrived. He didn’t doubt they’d drug him for travel, and he’d be useless then. There’d be no escape.
So, his best opportunity was here and now.
Luis got up to walk the room and catalogue what he had to work with.
There were boxes of old pamphlets, bookcases crammed with musty books, plastic bins with holiday decorations, and extra cups and plates and tablecloths. Tucked among the boxes were also a set of moving dollies and a hoard of rusty metal chairs.
Nothing that he could use as a weapon, really. Not that he thought that would be his best course of action. There were at least four men on the premises, and they’d done well to subdue him the first time.
Besides the locked door, the only other break in the room was a small basement window high up on one wall.
Luis went to the window, dragging one of the chairs over to get up and reach it.
It was a ground level window for light and airflow, with a metal grate cemented on top. The grate was rusting, and when Luis pushed at it, there was a little give.
But the edges were cemented into the surrounding stone. If it could be leveraged out, he’d need a tool. Something strong that could chip stone or bend the metal without breaking.
Was that worth even trying?
Luis returned the chair back where it had been, and gave the window a good look. It was narrow, but Luis was narrow. It would be difficult, but he might fit with some tight squeezing.
Then what?
He didn’t have his phone or keys. His car was still in the lot though, and there was a hide-a-key underneath. Okay. So, he could run for his car. Leave.
Was that a plan? Luis went back to the cot to sit and think it through. By the light through the window, it was afternoon now. Any attempt should probably wait until it was dark. They’d likely bring him dinner, and Luis didn’t want to get caught mid escape attempt.
He’d wait, and in the meantime, work on finding something to pry the grate free.
Luis walked the room again, this time tidying his mess as he looked through what he had available to him.
Halfway through, the lock on the door disengaged. Luis went back to his cot in time for another two men to enter.
One had food and another bottle of water, while the other had a stack of blankets and a pillow for the cot. Luis took both without comment, trying his best to look cowed.
The men left, the door relocked. Luis went back to searching.
By the end, the best he’d come up with was an old metal grilling utensil. The thing was rusty though, bending in his hands. No way was it going to chip out cement.
The old springs of the cot squeaked as Luis sat back down, dejected. He needed something stronger. Something metal and thick. Something as sturdy as–
His eyes landed on the end of the cot. It had a metal footboard made of metal slats, one of which was crooked.
Luis leaned down and touched it. It was loose.
He jiggled it harder, and the bottom detached from the frame. Then it was just on by one rusty screw at the top.
Luis scrambled up and went back to one of the bins that had party supplies. Inside was a small manual can opener. The triangle puncher on it would be perfect for working an old screw loose.
It took long minutes and a lot of force to get the rusty screw turning, but Luis managed it. Slowly, the screw came out and then the bar of the bed footboard was free. It was heavy in his hands, sturdier than the grill utensil by a mile.
Quickly, Luis slid it under the cot and went about hiding the food like he’d eaten it. The sunlight was beginning to fade, and he had no idea if they’d be back before bed, but it was best to look like he was behaving. Like there was no need to check on him because he was going to sleep.
But it got darker and darker and no one came. Luis went to the door and knocked, banged at it on the pretense of asking to use the restroom, but no one answered.
He went back to the cot and laid down, waiting. He’d only have one shot at this, so he needed to be patient. Act when it was dark and they’d assumed he’d settled in for the night.
After a long time, Luis rose and got the chair, the footboard rung, and got to work.
Quickly, Luis found that the grate wasn’t embedded very deep into the stone. It was more like it had been inlaid and then concrete had been plastered on to hold it in place. It could be chiseled free with the metal rung.
It was still slow, exhausting work to keep his arms up like that.
Every so often Luis had to take a break to shake the feeling back into them.
He used the time to move the chair away and sweep the floor of the fallen concrete chips with an old broom.
He didn’t think anyone was coming back to the room tonight, but it was best to keep it tidy just in case.
He chipped at the edges, slowly making his way all the way around. His arms burned and he sweat soaked through his shirt, and he kept going.
He could care about sore and tired later.
The longer it went on, the more nerve wracking it became. Every creak and groan of the old church bones made him jump and practically tumble off the chair just in case it was the door. It never was, but the fear of it was almost enough to make him sick.
Luis felt himself start to fray; body exhausted as the adrenaline high-alert made him jittery.
He kept going.
Then finally, Luis was at the bottom edge, and with three sides done he decided to test if the grate could be leveraged the rest of the way out to save time.
Before the attempt, Luis got down to shake out his arms, and then sweep away the mess again. He was panting, overheating, and desperate for water, but every time he glanced in the direction where he’d stowed the water bottle, he remembered the bar. Eric’s smile.
No.
When he was ready as ready as he could be, Luis took a deep breath, moved the chair back into place and got up. He shoved the thin end of the bed rung into one of the grate holes, and used it like one would a pry bar.
More concrete debris rained down as he began to leverage the last side out.
There was a loud, metal sound when the corner came free from the cement. Luis shuddered, glancing at the door. Stop or keep going?
The fear made him keep going. He was so close now.
Carefully, Luis stuck fingers into the grate, and tested pulling it back. A rupture of concrete came free, the grate almost out of the wall. He forced himself to breathe through the dizzying hope.
He pulled further, bowing the old metal. He was so close, so close. It was coming free, the metal pulling away from the concrete and–
All at once the grate snapped free. It came with a loud metal reverberation, so sudden that Luis almost fell off the chair. One of the sharp metal edges of the grate sliced his fingers as he gripped it too tight.
He hissed, stepping off the chair, heart thundering. He shoved the grate in a nearby box and checked his hand.
Three fingers on his left hand were bleeding, but the pain hadn’t yet registered. He stumbled over to the box he knew had napkins and grabbed some to press to his fingers.
If anyone walked in right now, he’d be fucked.
The ticking clock drove him back to the window. It was pitch black beyond the glass. There was a small latch at the top of the window, rusted and unused, but he unlatched it.
And discovered it was a venting style window that opened in a V, not enough for anyone to crawl out of.
Luis wanted to scream.
Of all things, the throbbing pain of his fingers focused him. Okay. This was just another problem. A problem he just had to solve.
He took a deep breath, and turned his attention to the latching of the window.
It turned out to be an easy solution. The window was old, and with the cot blanket and a careful application of pressure, Luis was able to crack the hinge and free the window from the frame.
He pulled that in and put it too in a box before scrambling back up on the chair.
Cool air was pouring into the room now, and Luis shivered.
He was sweaty, bleeding, and so exhausted his muscles were shaking, but there was no time to stop.
His arms protested as he reached through the window frame to start pulling himself up.
He was well past the limits of his normal endurance, but adrenaline pushed him on.
Luis scrambled up and through the window, the ledge abrading his skin as he did. His shoulder hit one edge hard as he pushed through, and he backburnered the pain.
Somewhere along the way he lost the napkins for his fingers, and ignored it. His bloody hand sank into the grass and dirt as he clawed his way through. No pain mattered as much as escaping.
Then the bulk of him was through the window. He scrambled to his feet.
The window was at the back of the church, but his eyes darted around the dark, looking for anyone who might be keeping watch.
But he was alone.
He took a breath, then another. He needed to run to the car, couldn’t stop now. Luis had to put as much distance between himself and here before they realized what had happened.
Luis crept around the side of the building. It was quiet, and that unnerved him. When he got to the edge of the parking lot, he spotted his car just where he’d left it. There were still a few other cars in the lot, but not his mother’s. People were still here keeping guard, but less than before.
Luis eyed the distance. The stretch between the building and parking lot was well lit, and if anyone were looking, they’d see him.
He didn’t have a choice. He could take off on foot, but then what?
He had no phone, no money. He couldn’t even walk home because his mother knew where he lived.
He needed a car. Needed to be able to drive to Julien and Karim’s.
It was the only place he might be safe. He couldn’t make it to Cassie on what was left in his tank.
He could do this.
Luis ran for the car.
Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes as he sprinted over to his car and slipped his hand up under where he knew his spare key to be. He grabbed the key, then threw himself into the driver’s seat, hardly breathing.
He got the key in the ignition and tore out of the parking lot.
Luis sped down the street, then took a sharp right, then left. There was no rhyme or reason to it at first, other than to make sure no one was following him.
He drove and drove, glancing every few seconds in the mirror to check. He made random turns, always heading away from the church and vaguely in the direction of Julien and Karim’s place. The clock on the dashboard said it was almost two in the morning.
When he was certain no one was behind him, Luis pulled into a nearby neighborhood to stop the car and give himself a moment. He was sick and shaky; the blood and dirt still caked on his hands. In the mirror he looked wild, like a different person.
Had that all really just happened?
He leaned his head on the wheel, trying to get air to his lungs. He felt like he might be sick.
What he should do, was drive to a police station. He could report what had happened, get help.
But he felt like he was on the edge of a breakdown, and he didn’t want to do that in a cold police precinct, alone. He needed–he needed help.
He needed Karim and Julien, and needed to tell them that there was a Purist group that had been watching them. Stalking them?
Because what if they went after the vampires next? A Purist group in San Jose had killed three vampires just last year before they’d been stopped.
Oh god, and it would be all Luis’s fault.
He put the car back into drive and sped out of the neighborhood.