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“No way, it’s a fucking morgue!” I shouted, making him grab my arm and push me inside, telling me,
“Yeah, well, it’s where you’re gonna end up if you don’t hurry your ass up and get on in there!” I stumbled inside after being pushed, righting myself just in time before I went flying. Then he tossed the garment bag at me and ordered,
“Now get changed, and sort out your fucking hair, they want you presentable. And hurry the fuck up, they are waiting!” Then he closed the door, thankfully leaving me alone to change. Although being inside here wasn’t great, at least I wasn’t dealing with the asshole with a gun being waved at me. I decided to be quick, changing in hope that would give me more time to look around the room and maybe even find something I could use as a weapon.
So, I stripped off and unzipped the bag, pulling out a long white dress that was made up of a floaty material and had a corset style top that made me feel like a contortionist when pulling at the laces at the back.
I then put on the shoes, that thankfully were ballerina pumps that tied with a ribbon around my ankle and were, most importantly, flat without a heel. Which meant running without the worry that I would trip and break my ankle if I ever managed to escape.
I unraveled my hair and ran my hands through it before re-plaiting it to one side. Then after scanning the bare worktops and metal trolleys to find them all empty, I started to walk inside the next room. It was joined to the morgue and looked like some kind of office space, littered with discarded paperwork and old medical journals. Notebooks and folders that held the name, London Psychiatric Hospital. A place that at the very least, looked to be in Ontario, telling me that I wasn’t that far from where I had been taken from.
I scanned the cupboards above and below, ignoring all the old textbooks and files, close to laughing at one that said ‘dating and sex behavior in adolescence’. Of course, this wasn’t exactly the time to be amused at what they classed as sex education from the 60’s.
“Come on, Evie, if you can kill a guy with a TV then you can get creative with a… stapler… no, not that,” I told myself, now looking back at the door and checking he wasn’t just standing there.
“Fuck, there must be something!” I hissed as I opened draws and found nothing… that was until I closed it and the metal handle fell off on one side. I frowned down at it, before pulling it off the other side, something it did with a little jiggling.
“Are you finished in there or what?!” I heard him shouting.
Knowing I didn’t have much time, I quickly yanked the handle the rest of the way out, pleased to see that it had a great long nail attached to the two ends and an arch of smooth metal in between. Then I purposely put my camo green jacket back on and tucked it into the pocket, seeing as I didn’t have anywhere else to hide it. But then again, I was hoping to use it before it could be discovered.
I spun quickly just as the door opened and the asshole behind it was telling me,
“Time’s up.”
I then walked toward him, not wanting to give him any reason to raise his gun up but instead lead him into a false sense of security, playing the good little prisoner. Although, I could have hit him right there and then, when he outrightly checked me out and let his eyes linger on my breasts. A pair that felt more smushed up thanks to the boning in the top part of my dress. But then I wondered if I could use this to my advantage.
“Lose the jacket,” he ordered with hungry eyes that clearly wanted to see more of me.
“It’s cold in here,” I complained, trying to buy myself more time and knowing that if I was going to make my move, then the time would have to be now. So, I decided to give him what he wanted, hoping his gaze would be busy on my breasts and not on what I was doing with my hand.
“I don’t give a shit, take it off!” he snapped, making me say,
“Okay, okay… I just need to adjust my shoes,” I said, purposely taking a step closer so that he was within attacking distance before placing a hand on the wall and leaning down to give him a good view of my cleavage. Then while his eyes were perving on my breasts, I tucked my hand in my pocket and gripped the handle. Then I made a move like I was falling into him, purposely away from the gun by his side. This was at the same time bringing my unconventional weapon up to his neck and digging the nails into his skin.
Naturally, he froze, especially when I warned,
“Make one move and I will fucking kill you, do you understand?!” He gritted his teeth but nodded slightly, stopping when he felt the prick of the nail dig in hard enough, it caused droplets of blood to drip down his neck. He hissed in pain but despite the threat, tried to call my bluff.
“You don’t have it in you,” he gritted out.
“Oh yeah? Wanna tell that to the cops who are looking for me for murder? Of course, I could always say my TV accidently smashed him in the head,” I told him because, well, at least some of it was true. I watched his eyes widen and, just in case, I dug the nails into his skin further, making him whimper.
“Now toss the gun, ass wipe,” I ordered, making him grit his teeth, but in the end, he did what he was told. It clattered to the floor in front of us, but I didn’t dare go for it because I knew that would give him the chance to make a grab for it, or me. Or it could give him chance to run and shout bloody murder. Either option would only get me in deeper shit than I already was.
No, the only chance I had was to knock him unconscious or lock him up somewhere. And lucky for me, even though I may not have had a baseball bat to hand to achieve the first, I definitely had something in this room to achieve the second.
“Now move!”
“Where the fuck are you… oh no, no fucking way am I going in there!” he complained the second I started to back him into the big open metal door.
“I could just stab you and dump another dead body in the freezer,” I said, giving him the choice and making him shout,
“Okay, okay, fuck!”
Then once he was through the doorway, I pushed him in, making him stumble back far enough that I could slam the door. Then just as he started banging on the other side and before he could open it, I slid across the barrel lock. Thankfully, the door was that thick I could only hear a slight muffled scream of him begging to be let out. So, I knew that no one would hear him and come running.
Now just why they needed a lock on the outside, I didn’t know, but at this point, I was just thankful that they did.
