Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Maya came to slowly, and she grimaced as she blinked her eyes open. Her body felt cold, and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself as goosebumps raced over her skin.
The lighting was dim, and she strained her eyes to see her surroundings. A single bulb hung overhead, just enough to chase away the oppressiveness of the room while still managing to cast a menacing glow over its meager contents.
She shifted slightly, and an answering groan met her ears as the ancient springs of the mattress she lay on squeaked under the movement. Every muscle protested as she pressed her hands flat and pushed to a sitting position.
The room was cold and dank, and the smell of mildew hung heavily in the air.
She took in a gray stone wall, stained dark with age.
It reminded her of her grandparents’ basement, the wide old stone from the turn of the century—and not the most recent one.
Wherever she was, this place was old—probably at least a hundred years old, judging from the stone walls and primitive construction.
Maya swallowed hard, then wished she hadn't. Her throat ached, and she rubbed one hand gently along the base. It felt slightly bruised, but most of the damage seemed to be internal. Which meant no screaming for help. She almost snorted at that. Like anyone would be able to hear her anyway.
She remembered clearly the man coming out of the shadows and snatching her from the sidewalk.
After that, everything was a blur. She didn't remember seeing his face, and she didn't think she had ever heard him speak.
There was no memory of the trip here, only him choking her until everything went black, then waking up in the cold room.
She gingerly stood and stared down at the mattress. Even in the dim light it appeared filthy, stained with dirt and…
Was that blood?
Bile rose in her throat and she fought the urge to gag. She shook off the revulsion and quickly averted her eyes, taking in the rest of her surroundings.
In the corner, just a few feet from the revolting mattress, sat a plastic bucket.
It was the kind that home-improvement stores sold for odd jobs, and she had a sick feeling she knew exactly what it was for.
Like everything else, it was splattered with dirt, the handle missing.
That was a shame. She suspected her abductor had removed it intentionally so it couldn't be used as a weapon or a tool.
She was vaguely surprised that whoever had captured her hadn't tied her up or at least bound her hands. That was more than a little unsettling, because that meant the person was positive she wouldn't be able to escape. That only strengthened her resolve to find a way out of this Godforsaken place.
She was barefoot, though, and she didn't see any signs of her shoes in the immediate area. She assumed the man had taken them, and it would definitely be a hindrance not having shoes to run in. She didn't care. She would do whatever the hell she had to do to get out of here.
Directly across from her, a solid steel door was situated in the middle of the stone wall.
While the rest of the cellar appeared to be ancient, the door looked almost new.
Which meant it would be strong, impossible to break through with her bare hands.
She knew it couldn't be that easy, but she had to check.
Cautiously, she approached the door, wondering if someone waited on the other side. Keeping her body positioned to the side so she wouldn't get hit by the door if it swung open, she gingerly touched the handle, testing to see if it was locked. It was.
Her heart dropped though she hadn't expected any different. She pressed her ear to the steel and held her breath. Nothing came from the other side. She wasn’t sure how thick the door was, but if she couldn’t hear anything from the other side, chances were no one would hear her in here.
It was a setback, but she truly expected no less.
The man had clearly considered every angle, and the thought sent fear streaming through her veins.
She padded away from the door and began to make a slow circuit of the dim room.
As she moved farther away from the single bulb over the mattress, it became harder and harder to see.
She kept one hand on the stone wall for guidance as she waited for her eyes to adjust. She moved slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, gradually working her way toward the opposite end of the room.
There was almost no light to speak of except from a dingy window so coated with dirt that she almost missed it at first. It was so high that her fingertips barely brushed the sill.
Even if she could pull herself up there, she doubted her shoulders could fit in the small rectangular space.
Either way, she wouldn’t know until she tried.
Placing her hands on the lip of the sill, she braced one foot against the stone wall.
It was uneven, which was actually advantageous, and she curled her toes around the top of the stone for balance.
She pulled her body up so her chin peeked over the sill.
Her arm and core muscles shook as she fought to hold herself up.
Maneuvering herself as best she could, she braced herself against the wall and ran one hand around the inner edge of the window.
Her fingers hit a bump, and she traced the small object. Smooth and cool, the top was flat where it stuck out of the frame at a slight angle. A screw. The window had been screwed shut.
She swore softly, not ready to give up yet. Her muscles ached, shaking under the strain. The window was narrower than she thought, and even if she tried to break it, she doubted she could fit through the opening.
She adjusted her stance, and her fingers hit a rough patch of stone.
She ran her nails along it and found a tiny crevice.
She dropped down from the window and shook out her arms. After she’d rested for a second, she reached back up, fumbling blindly at the spot.
It felt like a piece of stone had cracked and come loose, and she picked at it until it finally came free.
She turned it over in her hands, feeling along the sharp edges.
Thinking it might come in handy later, she held onto it then continued around the room, ending back at the stained mattress where she’d started.
Now that she could see the piece of stone a little better, she held it up to the light and inspected it.
Closer up, it appeared to be a sliver of mortar that had once held the old stones together.
One side was a sharp point, and it widened slightly at the opposite end.
An idea began to brew in the back of her mind and she glanced between the mortar and the mattress. One way or the other, she was getting the hell out of here.