Chapter 7 #2
I continued reading for the rest of the day before starting with their dinner by mid-afternoon.
Grayson had finished his book and was sitting outside on the porch, carving some sort of small animal from a piece of wood with the knife he always carried on him.
He wasn’t paying much attention to me, which was perfect.
The stew simmering on the stove was almost ready.
It only needed two more ingredients. I looked behind me to make sure he was still carving away on the porch before pulling out the mortar and pestle from the back of a cabinet.
I quickly placed the seeds in and grinded them down.
Then added the Vervain, little by little, until there was enough to knock out three adults.
After a few minutes, the mixture looked like dried herbs that you bought in a bottle at your local grocery store.
I threw everything into the pot, and stirred it in, then placed the Mortar back into the cabinet where I found it.
I added some more paprika and basil to the stew, just to be sure it hid the taste of my sleeping tincture.
My heart was thundering in my throat. Everything was set, but there were only one more obstacle. One more thing that could make this whole thing blow up in my face.
The sun was low when Grayson finally came in, rubbing the little carving between his thumbs before placing it in his pocket. For this to work, he had to trust me. I made sure he watched me as I dished my own plate of stew from the pot.
“Your friends would probably be back any moment now, so I’ll see myself to my room,” I said over my shoulder. “Dinner is ready, and I’ve set the dining table for you.” I turned to him with the bowl in my hand. “Would you mind if I take a book up to my room? To read tonight?”
“Go ahead.” He did a good job at hiding whatever he was thinking or feeling. His face was for the most part always expressionless. Surely, he was seeing right through my bullshit with those sharp eyes.
I walked past him to the bookshelf and took a book down before heading to the stairs. By the third step I stopped and turned to him again. He was still watching me. Always watching me. “Is there any chance that I could come down again, when your friends aren’t around?”
He nodded slightly.
I forced a smile on my face. “Thank you.”
My ears anxiously searched for footsteps following me up, but he didn’t.
I closed the door behind me and just stood there for minutes and minutes, holding my breath, expecting to hear the deafening sound of the lock sliding shut.
But thank the gods, it didn’t. He hadn’t come up to lock the door behind me.
It seemed that my compliant demeanour had worked.
A few minutes later, the screen door downstairs slammed shut. His accomplices must be back. I had to try my best to keep track of time. It would take only thirty minutes for the tincture to kick in. They would sleep through the night, maybe longer. Not even a tornado would wake them.
I paced the room and counted down the seconds to keep my mind sane.
Finally reaching one hour, I darted for the door and pressed my ear against it.
There were no sounds. I cracked open the door and peered out.
Nothing. No one. I moved slowly towards the railing, then peered down.
The TV was on, and I could see Grayson in the armchair, head leaned back, fast asleep.
He was surely having some wild dreams, thanks to the Jimson Weed.
I could see the backs of the other two’s heads. They weren’t moving either.
Making sure the accomplices were asleep as well, was a daunting task. My heart hammered with each descending step of the stairs and picked up its pace even more when I rounded the couch. It felt like time was chasing me, nipping at my heels.
I stopped and stared for a few minutes. They looked so normal.
On the couch, tucked cozily under the arm of the man was the woman.
She was beautiful. Her brown skin seemed to glow in the warm light coming from the overhead lamps.
Her dark hair was up in a pretty French braid.
Even in her sleep she seemed content, maybe even happy.
She didn’t have the stressed look of a woman forced to be here.
Not with how she was snuggled against the man.
He looked like he belonged on the beach, catching waves, not robbing banks and kidnapping people.
His tanned skin and tousled golden curls reminded me of the surfer boys back home. My friends.
I had to look away. Anger radiated out of me. For some reason they hadn’t seemed like people to me, like human beings. But here they were, normal people I’d see walking down the street and think, what a beautiful couple. And they did nothing to stop that monster from taking me.
I walked over to the kitchen. Why was it called humanity when no humans seemed to possess it? I took the knife from the drawer I had used to cut the meat for the stew.
And they would sit by and watch Grayson murder me in cold blood. Standing in front of him, I watched his chest move up and down as he breathed. It was either him or me. If he woke up, and found me, he would kill me. So, I had to beat him to it.
I lifted the knife up. It shook so bad; I wondered if I would have the physical strength to press it into him.
Where should I imbed the blade for it to kill him quick?
His heart? Would I be able to push it past his rib cage?
Nausea roiled through me. Should I cut his throat?
I imagined the gurgling noises I would hear and doubled over as the nausea came up my throat.
I swallowed it back and wiped the sweat from my forehead.
Cut his carotid artery, I decided. He would feel nothing. He would simply pass in his sleep.
I pressed the blade against the side of his neck. Tears were streaming down my face and my breaths came quick. I had to do it. I had to do it. He was going to kill me.
I applied more pressure to the blade and watched as it indented his skin. My lungs refused to take in enough oxygen like they were supposed to, adamant in dooming me with this man.
He was going to do the same to me. I had to do it. I pressed a bit harder and watched it break his skin. A thin line of blood started to coat the blade where it made contact with his skin.
My lungs had forsaken me completely. A strangled cry escaped my throat, and I retracted my hand, watching the knife fall to his lap. My whole body was vibrating. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take his life. I wasn’t like him. And by the gods, I wasn’t going to let him turn me into a killer.
I panted as he slept unbothered, unaware of just how close he had come to death.
I had to move. I’ve wasted enough time. The closet door banged against the wall as I picked up one of the hiking bags and flung it over my shoulder.
The guns that were laid against the inside wall made me halt.
There were three rifles and the handgun.
I would keep the handgun but hide the rifles in the woods as I went.
Who knew how long it would take to reach the campsite and people?
They would hunt me down like a deer with these rifles when they came to.
I took them out and placed them by the door.
I hurried up the stairs with the bag to pack in a few extra clothes.
Never mind a toothbrush, there was no time.
Hopefully there was one in the bag already.
I just wanted to get out of here. The map was next, which I hastily pulled from the secret drawer and pushed it, along with the photo, into one of the larger pockets of my pants.
I had made a promise to help that woman and her little girl.
I needed the photo to show the police when I was free.
Back in the corridor, I opened the first door next to my room.
It was a small laundry room. The last door was a bedroom much like the one I was kept in.
It just looked a bit more lived in. I rummaged through every space trying to find a cell phone, tablet, computer or two-way radio.
Anything that could be used to make contact with someone who could help me.
There was nothing. But I found a pair of hiking boots that belonged to the woman.
They fit perfectly and I couldn’t help but laugh at my good fortune.
I ran down the stairs and looked through every nook and cranny, but again, there was nothing I could use to call for help.
I gave up with a heavy heart and dropped the bag in front of the fridge.
Too much time had been wasted. With a few food items from the kitchen, I fastened the heavy pack on my back.
It was too heavy, but it would have to do.
I was finally ready. With one last glance at my captors, I picked up the rifles and darted out the door.