Chapter 23
Cara
Right now, it’s Heavy Foot’s shift in the basement. He makes the stairs creak loudly whenever he walks on them, and he gets out of breath faster than the others when he moves and speaks. He can’t beat on me for long.
Chain Smoker will take over in a few hours. His voice is raspy, and the smell of cigarette smoke always lingers on his clothes. His hand feels smaller and bonier than the others when he grabs me and hits me.
Creep takes what I assume to be the night shift.
I always smell the sugary scent of energy drinks on his breath when he whispers crude things in my ear.
I often hear him crush the cans in his hand and toss them to the side of the room.
When he isn’t yawning and gulping down his drinks, he’s grabbing my hair, threatening to do horrid things to me if I don’t start talking.
I don’t talk. That makes him angrier.
Creep’s shift is the longest, but he doesn’t stay in the room the whole time. None of them do. They’ll disappear for up to thirty minutes at a time to eat, watch TV, or whatever else upstairs.
Show Tunes takes the early morning shift.
I can hear him whistling before he even opens the door to come downstairs.
He always smells like coffee. My stomach typically growls the most when he’s monitoring me, especially since he’s the one who is supposed to feed me my one meal a day.
He doesn’t speak much to me when he’s not ordering me to answer questions.
Their leader comes by periodically. He asks his questions, says whatever cruel things he thinks will break down my spirit, threatens to suffocate me with a hand on my throat, and leaves. Like a ritual.
He’s the most unpredictable. But the others? I’ve been monitoring all of them over the last several days, observing as much as I can with the blindfold on.
During shift changes, the guards will talk a little.
I haven’t heard anything that clues me in to who they are, but I know that they’re routinely going to the city for supplies.
I must be out in the middle of nowhere. No traffic.
No sirens. No city hum. Just insects at night and that constant fan upstairs.
I should’ve been doing all of this from the start, but I was scared, hopeless, and beaten down. I didn’t think it would matter, but now I know that it does.
If I’m pregnant with Dmitri’s baby, I need to do everything in my power to get us the hell out of here. I’m not just fighting for myself anymore, and that’s given me the spark of motivation that I need to fight like hell.
Strategy comes before the attack, and I think I have a plan in mind.
Heavy Foot wanders around the room before moving toward the stairs, crunching on what I assume are potato chips. I can smell them. He shoves his large hand that I’ve felt grab my arm in a bruising grip into the chip bag, digging around for the next one to shove into his mouth.
If there’s anyone that’ll be the easiest to thwart, it’s him. He’s the one who is the most out of shape, and he’s lazy. I’ve already heard their leader snapping at him for not doing his job.
While it’s still his shift, it’s time.
“I need to pee,” I say.
Heavy Foot sighs in annoyance. He crushes the empty bag in his palm before walking over to me.
I stay completely still as he unties me, not doing anything that’ll make him think that I’m trying to escape. It’s not time for that part of the plan yet.
Heavy Foot grabs my arm and jerks me upright to my feet before forcing my hands behind my back. He pushes me forward, somewhat guiding me toward the stairs.
I carefully make my way up them with all my aches and pains, pausing when he pulls me back to open the door at the top of the staircase. I walk through and listen, hearing a sports announcer talking animatedly from a nearby room.
“Let’s go! Come on!”
“Go, go, go!”
Shouts echo from that room as the men watch what I think is soccer on the television.
“What’s the score?” Heavy Foot asks them.
“Two to one! You’re missing a hell of a game!”
Heavy Foot grumbles and pushes me to the left where I remember the bathroom being down toward the end of a narrow hallway. He opens the bathroom door and pushes me again to go inside.
“You’ve got five minutes to do your business. Have your blindfold on when I come get you, or I’ll take your eyes for real,” he warns me before slamming the door shut.
It’s the same warning every time. They really want to keep their anonymity.
My heart pounds faster as I hear his footsteps disappear. He’s so focused on that stupid game that he’s giving me the perfect opportunity to do what I need to do.
I strip off the blindfold, and the light knifes into my eyes.
I blink to clear them and catch sight of my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. A pang of shock and sadness hits me like a kick to the chest. I barely recognize myself.
Every time that I come in here, I look worse. My hair is matted and tangled. Flecks and smears of dried blood litter my face, and my bottom lip is cut and swollen. Dark crescents have formed under my eyes, which look red and glassy from exhaustion.
But I’m alive. So far.
I glance down at my stomach and gently touch it, a swell of emotions rising in my chest and throat. I didn’t expect this to be so emotional, but the possible baby growing inside of me is the biggest reason why I’m fighting so damn hard right now.
My face hardens with determination as I look back up and start pulling open the few cabinets and drawers of the bathroom counter. They’ve already taken out most items, but they’ve left a few behind.
A few stray Q-tips. An almost empty tube of toothpaste. A broken flosser pick.
Nothing of interest. Nothing that can help me.
Until I pull open the top right drawer and see a few more items.
A little compact mirror. A tube of lip gloss. And an eyelash curler.
Come to think of it, I have heard some women laughing in the distance when I was trapped downstairs. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had some women come out to keep them company while they’re stuck all the way out here.
They must freshen up in the bathroom.
The lip gloss and eyelash curler are useless, but as I flip open the palm-sized compact mirror and stare at the glass, an idea pops into my mind.
Without a second thought, I smash the glass of the top half against the bathroom counter, making the pieces clatter around my feet.
The men roar at the TV. Nobody hears a thing.
I drop down and pick up a piece that’s about two inches long and jagged at the end. A perfect size to hide in my grip.
My pulse quickens as I hurry up and clean up the rest of the glass. I wince as the shards dig into my fingertips, but I don’t have time to fret over the pain. I toss the mirror and its glass pieces into the garbage can, my eyes lifting to the door just as I hear heavy footsteps approaching.
“Shit,” I whisper before lunging toward the toilet to flush it. I haul myself up to my feet and hastily tie the blindfold around my eyes, my fingers shaking.
Before Heavy Foot yanks the bathroom door open, I wrap my fingers around the glass shard, hiding it in my grip.
“Come on,” Heavy Foot grunts as he grabs my arm and pulls me out of the bathroom. He forces my arms behind my back once more and leads me down the hallway just as the guys cheer. “What? What happened?”
“We scored!”
I tense up when I hear footsteps approaching from in front of me.
“Can’t wait to get rid of this one so that we can stop babysitting,” Creep says as he grabs my jaw, the smell of alcohol rolling off his breath.
I grimace and try to pull away from him, but his grip tightens so much that my jaw aches. If there’s a chance for him to put his hands on me, he does. He knows how much I fucking hate it.
“Tell me about it,” Heavy Foot mutters. “I’ve got shit to do. Can you take over the last hour of my shift?”
“Fuck no. I already got to deal with her throughout the night,” Creep replies as he releases his hold on me.
“Jackass,” Heavy Foot grits out, his grip on me tightening.
My body is so tense that it’s on the verge of shaking as I stand there surrounded by them. It’s bad enough when I’m trapped in a room with one of them.
“Go drop her off and get back up here. The commercials are about to end,” Creep tells him.
“Come on. Hurry up,” Heavy Foot mutters before forcing me forward.
I place one foot in front of the other, doing my best not to slam into doorways or fall down the stairs. I’ve protected myself and my stomach as much as possible lately, taking more blows to my face by keeping my head lower than usual.
“Forward,” Heavy Foot says once we finally reach the bottom of the staircase. It always feels like the longest walk when I can’t see what’s in front of me.
I exhale sharply as Heavy Foot shoves me back down into the chair and pulls my arms through the gaps in the back of it, a thin rope winding around my wrists to pull them together.
“Don’t ask to go again while I’m stuck watching you,” Heavy Foot tells me as he moves to the front of me, his breathing already heavier than before.
I tighten my grip on the glass shard, its sharp edge pressing into my palm. If I drop it in front of him, I’m screwed. “I’m good now.”
Heavy Foot scoffs. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
I listen to him walk off and head up the stairs to join his buddies in watching the game, the door thudding shut behind him. I take a few moments to breathe in and out steadily, calming my nerves and my shaky hands as much as I can.
My chance to break out of here is very slim. Every move that I make has to be precise. No mistakes.
Slowly, I turn the glass shard in my hand until it’s gripped in my fingers, the sharp edge sticking out. Furrowing my brow, I move my dominant hand back and forth, sawing the edge of the glass against the thin rope holding my wrists hostage.
The fibers give, then tighten again, like it’s fighting me back.
It may take forever to cut through the rope, but once I do, I’m one step closer to freedom. I don’t know how far away I am from civilization, but I’ll keep moving until I reach it or until I can flag down someone kind enough to give me a ride. I’ll do whatever it takes.
I’m done waiting to be saved.