Page 5

I sat with my back against the wall, staring at the floor, frozen in time. It could have been minutes, or maybe even hours; I couldn’t care to count down the seconds because even breathing was a concentrated effort to avoid falling apart.

It was dark in the basement cell that felt more like a dungeon. Not that I’d ever seen a dungeon, but then again, I’d never seen a prison cell before, either.

The precariousness of my situation wasn’t lost on me.

I had been taken from the middle of a busy street and brought to what was clearly a madman’s house, and no one knew where I was.

My vision tunneled in on a mark on the floor as I tried to note its pattern and color, imagining how it had gotten there.

This focus was to keep me sane; if I didn’t do that, the nervous pain crushing my chest would have escalated into a full-fledged panic attack.

I named five things in the cell and took some breaths. I tried to note five sounds. I heard the buzz from a flickering lone bulb somewhere in the distance, the sound of an overhead fan, and that was that. No other noises, no voices, no footsteps overhead.

It was utterly lonely.

I couldn’t name five sounds, and the panic from that revelation reached for my fingers, causing them to tingle. I stood, finding I might be going insane, and shook my legs and hands to rid myself of the wretched sensation of pins and needles.

Sitting there wasn’t helping in any way whatsoever. If I wanted out, I’d have to fight for it, and while doing so, it was important for me to keep my wits around.

I had already tried to scream and yell, even after my captor had left.

I had pounded against the metal bars, pulled and clanged them hard enough to know the sound must have reached upstairs, and yet no one paid me any heed.

I had mapped my hands inch by inch across the cement walls, feeling for a crack, a concealed door, something, anything but found nothing.

I had then looked upward, hoping to find an exhaust or a vent to crack open and crawl out from, but the walls gave no hope for escape.

There wasn’t even a window in sight, let alone a vent.

I walked through my small cell once more and reached the same conclusion. There were no exits. Frustrated, I decided to try something different. I was about to remove the sheets from my bed, which was more than necessary for what was essentially a camping cot, when I heard the basement door open.

Plans abandoned, I rushed to the bars and clung to them, peering out toward the stairs to see who was coming. Maybe I could find a way out through the power of persuasion.

A guard walked up to my cell with a tray in his hand. I stepped aside with a racing heart to stand behind where he would open the door to my cell. He would have to open the door to give me my food, wouldn’t he? And when he did, I could push past him and escape, locking him up in here instead.

But to my shock, he accessed a food slot, the smallest bars popping open to create enough space near the floor for him to bend down and slide the tray over to me. I watched, harrowed and disappointed, as the doors to my cell never opened.

“Eat,” he said in a robotic, monotone voice and began to walk away.

“No, please,” I begged, grabbing the cells. “Listen. Just…listen.”

He paused momentarily, but never turned to face me. This was my chance, I knew, to have a chance at freedom.

“I’ve been taken for something I never did,” I tried to coax him. “I don’t belong here.”

I saw his spine straighten, but he never turned to face me. He took one step forward.

“My brothers,” I said, with more urgency now. “They’ll do anything to have me by their side. Anything. You’d be handsomely paid for returning me to them. Please, take me to them.”

With bated breath, I waited for his response, my heart thudding in my chest as the silence stretched between us. But just as I was about to speak again, the guard stiffened and turned to me.

“Eat,” he said, one more time, shaking his head to my request, before he turned back and retreated up those steps again.

I pressed myself against the wall and fell to the ground, curling my arms around my stomach. For the first time in hours, I cried. The crying lulled me into a calm that once again brought me courage.

After half an hour or so, I got off the floor and walked over the plate of food. In a fit of rage, I kicked it away, watching as the food splattered all over the place.

There’s no way in hell I was eating a thing they gave me. For all I knew, it could have been poisoned. Besides, I thought to myself, someone would have to clean this mess up, and when they came to do that, I’d try to make a run for it.

But, until then, I didn’t stop fighting. I had tried almost every avenue for escape and would continue to do so. Any guard that came, I’d plead for their help. Any food that came, I would avoid. In the meantime, I had to keep trying.

Out of ideas, I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, and then, there, I felt it. The pins in my hair I’d forgotten about.

An idea dawned.

I quickly pulled out a small bobby pin and carefully inspected it in my hand. This small, seemingly insignificant object was now my only hope.

I had never been in such a situation before, but remembered watching a TV show once where a prisoner escaped by picking a lock. Not that I knew how to do that, but I prayed and hoped I could figure it out.

With trembling fingers, I straightened out the pin and started to work on the lock of the cell door.

Tens of minutes passed in a blur as I tried to break past the mechanism, but nothing worked and at last impatience took over.

With desperate fury to get out, I jammed the pin a little too hard.

To my horror, the pin broke off in the lock.

“Shit,” I cursed, and quickly extracted the stuck bit. I had lost a pin and was nowhere closer to escaping.

I went back and slumped down onto the thin mattress, fighting back tears of frustration.

There was nothing else I could do. I had tried everything, but clearly had no useful skills to help me out of such a situation.

I felt angry at the world, at my brothers who spent a lifetime protecting me, but never taught me how to save myself.

***

I woke up the next morning to the sound of the food slot opening. I sprang out of bed, to my feet, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I walked over to the tray, where it had been put, and dropped the contents on the floor.

The guard glanced at the food, then at me, eyes narrowing.

“Not hungry?”

“I don't eat poison,” I spat.

He shrugged, before walking off. “Starve then. Boss says to feed you, not make you eat.”

Before he could turn to leave, I angled the tray in my hands to slip out through the bars. If I could knock him out by the cell, perhaps I could reach over and grab his keys.

To my shock, he dodged with practiced ease, grabbed my wrist, and twisted until I dropped the tray with a clatter.

“Nice try, princess,” he said with a whistle. “I’ll make sure to tell the kitchen you’re to not have a tray, or any cutlery starting tomorrow.”

And then, he walked out with his hands in his pockets. His pockets.

And I was out of any and all ideas.

I screamed in frustration, kicking the wall until my foot throbbed. The water they'd left remained untouched as well. Thirst clawed at my throat, but paranoia kept me from drinking. For all I knew, they'd drugged it to make me compliant for... whatever they had planned.

***

Hours passed in miserable monotony. I had no sense of time and tried to sleep, but my churning mind conspired against rest, and for all I knew, it might still have been daylight outside.

Instead, I returned to examining the door lock and then squatted down to see if I could break through the food slot instead.

I was on my knees, hopelessly feeling the lock's exterior with another pin from my hair when I heard footsteps.

“Interesting approach,” my captor said as I looked up to see him appear into view, towering over me. “Though I've yet to meet anyone who can pick a prison-grade lock with a hairpin.”

I got to my feet and dusted the dirt off me. His eyes traveled the length of my cell before they met mine. Those same, piercing brown whiskey eyes.

“You could just let me go,” I suggested, affecting a casual tone I didn't feel. “Save us both the trouble.”

His lips quirked—not quite a smile, more like an acknowledgment of an amusing but futile effort. “I see you've been refusing meals.”

“I'm not stupid enough to eat something you've given me.”

“If I wanted to kill you, Larissa, I wouldn’t waste food in the process. The hunger strike is unnecessary. Drop the act.”

My temper flared. “Act? You kidnap me, throw me in this hole, and have the audacity to accuse me of acting?”

“You know what you did.” His voice remained level, conversational almost. “And I will get to the why. The innocent routine is wasted on me.”

“It’s not an act,” I protested, crossing my arms in front of me. “And you know what? You’ve given me so much time in here—”

“It’s been less than a day,” he clarified.

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” I shot back, frowning in his direction. “No clocks. Not a window in sight. You’ve let me fester in here with lots of time to think, and I’m warning you now that when I get out, I’m going to make sure my brothers burn this place to hell, with you in it.”

“Your family sent you,” he stated as he ignored my empty threats, so confident that for a moment, I wondered if I was missing something. “You're their eyes and ears. Their little spy. I want the truth.”

“You're delusional,” I snapped, anger temporarily overwhelming fear. “I’ve always been protected. My brothers wouldn't use me for... whatever this conspiracy is in your head.”

He stepped closer to the bars, and the air between us seemed to crackle with tension. “They've trained you well. The wide-eyed innocence is almost convincing.”