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I wasn't sure how much further my body would let me go, if I could make it far enough beyond the door to make a difference. But all I knew was that I had to try. Anything was better than sitting and waiting for something terrible to happen to you.
Dying fifty feet from freedom was better than five-hundred.
Or, at least, that was the pep talk I was giving myself.
If I died nearly at the exit, my friends would know I fought. They would know I tried to do everything within me to get back to them.
Peyton flashed through my mind.
And Jamie.
The Mallicks.
But, mostly, it was Kingston.
Of course it was.
A spark of light in a dark place, he made it possible to half sit up, press my ear to the door, listen for voices.
Hearing nothing, my hand turned the knob, comically slowly. Minutes must have passed before it cracked open.
My heart sank.
Another room.
Another side to the basement.
My brain, so exhausted from pain, hadn't stopped to realize that if this was a basement, there had to be stairs.
And, sure enough, there they were.
A room three times the size as the one I had just crossed was.
It might as well have been Mt. Everest.
I sank back down on my hands and knees, trying to breathe, trying to convince myself that it wasn't that bad, that I could do it, that I had no other choice.
There were windows here, useless ones, of course, up near the ceiling, too small for a toddler to slip through even if they weren't barred.
They provided the light I had wanted before, but now cursed as it made the headache pain slice through me, enough that I had to close my eyes even as I started my journey.
It was pitiful, truly, how often I needed to stop, catch my breath, wipe away sweat mingled with tears.
But I didn't stop.
At some point, my leg from my shin down went blessedly numb. Whether that was a good or bad thing from a medical standpoint was beyond me, but it meant I could softly drop it down, drag it behind me like the useless thing it was.
It made the home stretch tolerable, the part I was dreading the most.
The stairs.
I'd never had a reason to climb stairs on all fours before, but suddenly had a newfound respect for all four-legged creatures. Because it was not as easy as it looked. Of course I was grasping at the narrow cement stairs with sweaty palms and only had three fully working limbs.
Reaching the top, I paused, listening, hearing nothing, carefully opening the door that let out the smallest of creaks that sounded like cannon fire in my head.
Sure someone would come running at any second, I shrank back, holding my breath, swiping at my wet face.
When a few long moments passed and no one came, I pulled it open just enough for me to slide through, to get onto the first level.
More concrete floors, smattered with dried, dark fluids. The walls were cinder blocks, painted white, splattered with spots as well.
Maybe some kind of factory.
Abandoned, judging by the coldness. If they were squatting, they couldn't exactly call the power company up and ask them to turn the heat on.
I was just about to round a corner when I heard them.
Voices.
Low, not close, but in the space beyond the corner.
I could make out the distinct tones, and a few words - mostly curses - but not much else.
Not that it mattered what they were saying, but a part of me would have felt marginally better if, say, they weren't talking about raping and murdering me.
My head turned to look at the long hall I had just crawled across, wondering if it led into a different room, or the same one, if I was, essentially, a sitting duck.
I had just taken a breath, telling myself I had to go look to see when something crashed.
Not just someone dropping a cell or a bottle of water.
Like something splintering, something clattering to the floor.
I slammed back into the wall, heart hammering, breathing shallowing out, making my chest feel tight.
There was nothing to defend myself with.
They'd taken my knife, of course, and there wasn't so much as a loose nail across that whole basement to grab in case of an emergency.
But then I finally heard something.
Something loud.
Because the person saying it wasn't talking in a normal voice. Oh, no, he was bellowing.
"Where is she?"
It was such a vicious, brutal sound that I almost didn't recognize the voice.
Until I did, a little part of me somehow knowing it was him, that he had come to save me.
More crashing, slamming, a popping noise that made my belly quiver.
Maybe I should have stayed safe behind my concrete wall, but I couldn't.
He was out there.
I had to show him I was here, I was okay, before he might do something he regretted. Something that might haunt him.
