Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Kylie
And to think I had disliked that hospital so much.
I came to groggy, my head throbbing. I opened my eyes slowly because I got the feeling someone was watching me.
When I managed to focus on my surroundings, the first thing I saw was a man leaning against the wall, his crude gaze pinned on me.
The room I was in was hot, unlike the relatively decent temperature at the hospital.
And the reeking aroma of mold and dirt had replaced the antiseptic smell.
“Where am I?” I asked, feigning a calmness I didn’t feel as I sat up, attempting to get my bearings.
I patted my stomach, my thighs. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing a hospital gown but rather a pair of dark blue scrubs, similar to the ones Nurse Ratched had worn.
I only hoped Allison was the one who’d done the wardrobe change because the thought of Creepy Guy here doing that… A shiver darted down my spine.
The room I was in was completely bare, save for a cheap mattress on the bare wood floor beneath me.
Well, that and the chain that connected my leg to a giant loop screwed into the floor.
Oh, and there was no leather strap on this one.
Just a thick, rusted-metal cuff that looked like gangrene in the making.
Shifting my foot, I noticed the cuff moved as I did, but it was heavy, and it had already left an indent in my skin. If someone had bothered to get me shoes, perhaps it would’ve been bearable.
“Where do you wanna be?” the guy asked, smacking his gum.
I peered up at him, noticing the leer on his face.
He didn’t look like he cared to be there.
I couldn’t say I blamed him. He also didn’t look like he’d showered in the past week.
His blond hair was long and stringy, and the sheen on his forehead might’ve been from sweat, but more than likely it was the oil from his skin.
The Metallica T-shirt he wore had probably been black at one time, but was now a dingy gray with pit stains.
Great. Definitely a step down from Nurse Ratched.
“Home,” I answered honestly.
He snorted. “Not sure the boss has that on his list. But keep wishin’, sweetheart.”
I glared at him and bit back the retort that teetered on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t know this guy, but based on the way he was watching me, he wasn’t one I wanted to piss off.
“Where’s Allison?” I asked, touching my neck as I recalled the needle she’d jabbed into me. As soon as she had, I had succumbed to the darkness. I had no idea how long I was out, but since it was daylight and my stomach was grumbling, I had to assume it was longer than a few minutes.
“Out.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen, his thumbs shifting and tapping. Was he letting someone know I was awake? Or was he chatting with his buddies?
A moment later, I got my answer.
He stood tall, tucked his phone in his pocket, and headed for the door.
With his hand on the knob, he turned to look at me.
“You’ve got protein bars and bottled water.
I suggest you make ’em last. The bucket”—he kicked a red plastic bucket toward me—“that’s the bathroom.
” He laughed. “You might wanna settle in. You’re gonna be here for a while. ”
Hope sprang up when he walked out of the room, leaving the door open. It was doused almost immediately when he returned a second later, tossing a roll of toilet paper at me. It hit my arm and bounced off.
Before I could ask Creepy Guy a question, he walked out, this time closing the door behind him. I heard a rattle and a thump, and I got the feeling he had locked me in.
Figuring it was in my best interest to at least learn as much as I could about the room I was in, I pushed to my feet. I swayed for a moment, feeling light-headed. Was it the drug they had injected me with? Or hunger?
My gaze slid to the protein bars the guy had referred to. They were a generic brand I’d never seen before, and something told me they would taste like dirt. At some point, I doubted I would care, but at the moment, I opted to go without.
I took stock of the shackle on my ankle and the chain that attached to the floor.
It wasn’t long, but it wasn’t short either.
It was bolted into the floor, which, from what I could tell, was little more than old plank subfloor that someone had likely covered with carpet at one time.
Since someone had used 1x6 planks, I figured it was safe to say the house was really old.
Newer houses would’ve had a plywood subfloor.
The carpet was no longer there, but the thin tack strips still lined the perimeter of the room, those tiny rusty tacks jutting upward, just waiting to cause pain.
The bare pine hardwood had a faint square shadow from where the carpet had once protected it.
There were squiggly lines of old glue from the carpet padding that was no longer there.
In places, there were colorful little pieces long since left behind.
Getting my face closer to the floor, I attempted to peer between the thin wood strips to see what was beneath. If the house were pier-and-beam, there would be a crawl space beneath. I maneuvered around, finding the weakest points in the floor in an attempt to get a better view below.
Yep. Crawl space.
The good news was that most of the subfloor was old and weathered. However, someone had replaced several slats, likely whoever bolted the chain down. If I had to guess, it was secured in one of the floor joists, which meant the damn thing would be nearly impossible to remove.
But I wasn’t giving up hope just yet.
Sitting up, I surveyed the space, taking it all in and cataloging my escape options. Since the room was likely no bigger than ten feet by ten feet, there was a good chance I could reach at least one of the three windows and maybe the door.
Slowly pushing to my feet, I waited out the dizziness before taking a step, then another.
A moment later, I realized I could reach all three windows.
Fat lotta good that did me. All three were painted shut with bars on the exterior.
With a little elbow grease and a whole lot of prayer, I might have half a chance of getting out that way. In about a year or two.
Sighing, I turned around, taking in every detail.
I dragged the heavy chain over to the door and flipped the switch beside it.
Nothing happened. Glancing up, I noticed there was a bulb, but either it was burned out, or there was no electricity in the house.
Considering there was no air movement, not even beneath the crack in the door, I was assuming it was the latter.
Great. Just fucking great.
How many people would’ve crumbled at this point? How many would’ve succumbed to the fear? The stress of being confined? I was stronger—mentally, emotionally—than I looked, but even I had my breaking point. I had to wonder when I would reach it.
Or if I already had, and my brain was merely deluding me into thinking I stood half a chance of getting back to my life.