Chapter Thirty-Three
Before
Josie inserted the straightened spring once more, her eyes trained on the wall in front of her—unseeing—as she listened to the tiny clicks inside the keyhole of her shackle.
Her hand cramped, and she grunted in frustration, dropping the sharp piece of metal.
This is useless. It’s never going to work.
Sweat dripped down her forehead, stinging her eyes, the small burn stopping her from dropping her head forward, so she could curl beneath the soiled quilt and just sleep for a little while.
Instead, she wiped at the wetness tracking into her eyes, a sharp cramp causing her to grimace and bring her knees up.
She felt blood dripping down her thigh. That had begun earlier in the day, just a small trickle at first, but now she could feel the flow of it increasing.
At least the fever was keeping the pain of the freezing room at bay.
She was so weak and could hardly sit up.
She picked up the straightened spring and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling as she reached over her head and once again inserted the tool into the lock.
Dusk had arrived, but the streetlight hadn’t yet come on.
Josie could see the stars beginning to emerge in the pale gray sky.
A few snowflakes fluttered down, collecting in the corners of the window.
She drifted, her gaze locked on the tiny, faint twinkles of starlight, her fingers spinning the skinny tool she’d fashioned.
She felt the metal catch on something, and rather than pull it out, she pushed it down, a loud click echoing through the room.
Her hand fell away from the shackle.
For a minute, Josie didn’t comprehend what had happened. It didn’t compute that she was free. That her hands were both lying on the mattress above her head, the lone shackle she’d been wearing having fallen away.
Shock rolled through her. She scrabbled up, a cry falling from her lips, her gaze seeking what she couldn’t believe had just happened despite that there was no pull holding her hand close to the wall, no metal cuff felt around her wrist. She peered at the open shackle on the mattress, bringing her hands to her mouth to hold back her wail of disbelief and desperate wonder.
I’m free. I’m free. I’m free.
She came to her feet, her legs buckling beneath her as she grabbed for the wall.
Only she wasn’t completely free yet.
On legs that felt like jelly, Josie walked to the door, pulling on it with what strength she had left.
It was locked, deadbolted from the outside.
Her gaze flew to the window, to the stars blinking high in the deepening night sky.
She thought she heard a sound outside—footsteps?
—and scurried back to the bed, sitting down and putting her hand behind her back so it appeared she was still shackled.
Her heart thundered, sweat dripping down her face.
There was blood on the floor—large drips that led from her mattress to the door. They’d give her away.
I won’t be back.
Despite the memory of his promise, fear slammed into her as she strained her ears to listen, adrenaline pumping through her system. Nothing.
“Calm, stay calm,” she whispered to herself. The overwhelming need to weep, panic, scream overcame her, but she swallowed it all down. Her baby boy. A sob came up her throat. Her infant was out there, and he needed her. She pulled herself up again.
I’m coming, Caleb. Mama’s coming.
She wasn’t going to get out through the thick metal door that locked from the outside.
Her only hope was the small window high up on the wall.
She stared at it for a minute. It suddenly seemed impossibly small.
But it was the only way. Either that, or she waited for Marshall to return—if he ever did.
But he’d assured her he wouldn’t. And she knew she was too weak for that anyway.
She had no hope of overpowering him. And she was getting weaker by the day.
Moisture trickled into her eyes. She didn’t know if it was sweat or tears.
She wobbled, bracing herself against the wall as a wave of nausea overcame her.
There was no time to hesitate. Josie grabbed the end of the mattress she hadn’t moved from for so many months, the mattress where she’d delivered her own child, and dragged it to the wall under the window.
She propped it at an angle and then attempted to climb it, letting out a groan of frustration when it folded in half and slid down the wall under her weight.
She tried again, and then again, the same thing happening until her legs began to shake and her head swam.
She could feel blood flowing slowly down her leg, the remaining life she had leaving her body in a slow trickle.
She was going to have to run up the mattress quickly, before it had time to bend under her weight, and grab onto the sill even while the one hand that had remained shackled until ten minutes before was weak and tingly. A Herculean task when she was having trouble simply holding herself up.
Josie took a deep breath and ran up the mattress, pushing off it just as it started to fold.
She cried out in pain, missing the ledge by at least a foot as she collapsed to the ground with the mattress.
For a moment she lay there crying, her body shaking.
This is impossible. I’m going to die here.
Die six feet from freedom, the stars blinking in at her as she bled out on the floor of her prison. No!
She pulled herself up. No. No. Surviving this long had seemed impossible too.
Bringing her pregnancy to term, giving birth alone had seemed hopeless.
Escaping her shackles had been completely inconceivable.
But she’d done them all. She’d accomplished all those impossible things. And she’d accomplish one more.
She would not die crumpled on the floor after giving up, when somewhere out there, her baby cried for his mother. For her. She’d brought him into this world, and she owed it to him to keep trying if she even had one single breath of life within her.
Josie picked herself up, propped the mattress against the wall, and shook her half-numb hand before, again, running up it and propelling herself toward the window. She slammed into the wall with a cry, her fingers not even grasping the ledge.
But she’d gotten closer.
Again and again, she repositioned that mattress and ran up it, her grunts of pain as she hit the wall mixing with the sobs she could no longer hold back.
Her whole body shook, the room wavering around her, her brain pulsing, her shoulder throbbing with the incessant impact of hitting the wall again and again.
She mustered every bit of strength she had left, and with a mighty battle cry that came from a place she hadn’t known existed inside her, she ran toward the mattress again, her arms pumping as her body flew up toward that pale patch of light.
Her fingers made contact with the wide sill, clutching it, holding on.
She was dangling from the windowsill. I did it.
I did it. Her legs kicked against the wall, and she realized the mattress hadn’t completely crumpled.
With wild grunts of effort, she used her legs to press the mattress back against the wall, not at an angle this time, but so it was upright on the floor.
Her arms shook, fingers slipping, as she used the flimsy frame of the mattress’s end to lower some of her weight.
It began bending slightly but held. She panted, her whole body shaking, blood and sweat dripping from her, draining her further.
Nausea rose up her throat in a sudden rush, and she leaned her head to the side and vomited bile.
She was sure she’d pass out as she gagged and sputtered.
But she didn’t, and after a moment, she was able to gather herself.
She took a moment to breathe, to let her muscles rest before she tested them again.
I can’t. I can’t. The streetlight outside blinked on, the milky glow mixing with the last traces of daylight and brightening her cell.
Unbidden, that vision of her aunt’s farmhouse flashed in her mind, golden peace filling her mind with hope, the imagined sound of a child’s laughter—her child—filling her heart.
She opened her eyes, looked up, ready for the final trial.
There was a tiny crack in the corner of the window, a small spot of weakness.
With her lower body semi-supported on the rickety mattress edge, she let go with her right arm and punched at the crack in the window.
Once, twice, grunting and heaving. The third time caused the tiny crack to spider outward, and the fourth punch shattered it, Josie screaming with pain as glass shards sliced her skin.
Cold air flowed over her drenched skin, and she gasped, a desperate sound of longing at the first feel of partial freedom.
She used her arm to sweep the glass away from the window as much as she could before using the mattress edge as a springboard and pushing off it while simultaneously using her arms to pull herself up and through.
Her torso caught on the sill, and for a moment she simply flailed, half in and half out of the room that had been a dungeon of torture for almost a year. She let out another mighty yell, kicking with her legs as she pulled herself through the window, glass shards raking her naked skin.
Josie tumbled onto snowy dirt, groaning and gasping, as she crawled for a moment, unable to pull herself up but desperate to get away.
Away. Away. Her sobs filled the night, breath forming white gusts of vapor, and she tried in vain to be quiet, but her body had taken over.
She thought she heard a car in the far distance, and her heart slammed harshly against her ribs.
Her head whipped around. She felt watched.
What if it was him? She would not be shackled again.
She would not. She picked up a shard of glass and clutched it in her hand as she pulled herself to her feet, slipping, stumbling, limping, shaking from fear and cold.
Run! Run! Josie ran. Her feet were bare; she was only wearing a tank top and the torn remnants of the shorts she’d put on a lifetime ago.
She glanced behind her and saw that she was leaving a trail of blood in the light dusting of snow.
Red breadcrumbs that he could follow if he arrived before she made it to safety.
She slipped on a patch of ice, pitched forward but caught herself before she fell, stumbling on. And on. It was deserted everywhere she turned, a vast area of abandoned buildings. No wonder no one had heard her screams. She wavered in and out, gasping, keeping herself moving by sheer will alone.
She saw movement up ahead. Headlights. A car. Josie sobbed, wondering if it was him. But no, it was a taxi. A taxi! Josie stumbled forward, mustering a yell, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath, waving her arms.
The taxi turned, heading in the other direction, and Josie yelled again.
A pulsing wave of red overtook her, and for a moment the world blinked out.
She fell to her knees, raising her hand toward the taxi that was moving slowly away.
Come back! Come back! She tried to pull herself up but couldn’t, crawling in the snowy dirt toward the retreating vehicle, one arm reaching toward it.
She saw the red brake lights come on suddenly, and then it began backing up. Josie wavered, her head bobbing as she tried desperately to remain conscious, reaching forward as if she could grab the approaching light in her outstretched hand.
A door opening. Footsteps. A man’s voice. He was yelling something. At her? No, he was on his phone. She crumpled to the ground. She could smell asphalt, dirty ice, the tang of her own body.
“911? A girl in the road…bloody…half naked… I don’t know.”
Josie rolled partially to her back. Where were the stars? There was only concrete above her. A bridge, maybe, or an overpass. The man’s voice faded in and out. He was still talking fast. Panicked. “…looks half dead. Send help!”
Josie closed her eyes and slept.
Lights faded in and out, sounds rushing. She was somewhere bright, moving, people running along beside her. Pain. Everywhere. She moaned. “She’s hemorrhaging!” someone said.
She opened her eyes groggily, turning her head away from all the moving people.
Her gaze hooked on a man in uniform—a police officer—standing against a wall, staring back at her.
His expression was filled with shock and such deep sadness.
His gaze met hers. His eyes. Indigo like the nighttime sky.
She let go. She’d made it to that faraway star, and it bathed her in its blinding light.
Free.
Free.
Free.