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I knew my time would come soon. He was bored with me now. There was disgust and disdain in his eyes when they drifted over the body he’d ruined.
J and I didn’t form some Stockholm connection. I didn’t fall for the sick fuck who kidnapped me because he was something pretty to look at it. Which is why the day he stopped the clock, I wasn’t caught off guard.
When the cell door opened, I remained in my fetal position, facing away from him.
I waited for him to approach. When he didn’t, I peeked over my shoulder, seeing him stopped just a few feet away.
“You really were special,” he mused, more to himself than me.
“If you hadn’t tried to escape that day, I was going to move you upstairs, make you a bit more comfortable.”
And then we’d play house?
I waited for his speech to commence.
“You know why you’ve outlasted all the others? You never once asked me to kill you. I wondered how long it’d be before you begged for death by my hand. You never did.”
“You kept me alive because I didn’t ask to die?” I tried to make sense of that, but this was J. Most things didn’t equal two plus two with him.
“That, and because you had hope. Now you don’t; I see in your eyes that you’ve given up.”
Sitting up now, I studied his profile.
He almost looked sad.
“I’m moving on, gonna take a break for a bit before I start over again,” he continued.
“Why are you telling me any of this?” I asked, disinterested.
He shook his head and turned away, beginning to walk out of the cell. “It’ll be fast if you don’t struggle.”
“What will be fast?” I asked, genuinely confused.
He smiled at me, and started up the stairs. When I heard the door shut, I scrambled off the bed.
He’d left my cell open; he never did that. Hurrying across the stone floor, I entered the main room and looked around.
Nothing appeared to be any different. The stopwatch hung on its hook, no longer ticking.
I waited to see if J would come back, but he never did.
Had he left me down here to starve?
I’d pick a hundred deaths before I chose that one.
Taking a quick breath, I crept up the wooden staircase and listened for any sign that would tell me what was going on.
A funny smell reached my nose before I made it all the way to top. It took me a few seconds to place it; by then, smoke was slipping beneath the crack of the door.
He was going to burn this shithole down, with me trapped inside it.
I stumbled down the stairs, mind racing with how to get myself out of this. I didn’t want to burn alive.
If the flames didn’t kill me, the smoke inhalation would.
I was in no shape survive something like that.
Eyes darting wildly around the room, they came to rest on the industrial shelving unit.
I ran towards it, shoving the side repeatedly in an effort to get it to move. The damn thing scooted just a fraction of an inch.
Flipping around, I slammed my back into it, shoving with every ounce of strength I could muster.
It grated on the floor, finally beginning to slide. The smell of smoke grew stronger; a low groan came through the ceiling above me.
If this place collapsed, I’d be crushed.
When there was enough space for me to fit through, I squeezed my way into the tiny passage beneath the cellar doors.
Balanced on the top step, I pressed my palms against them and pushed upward.
They lifted, letting in a stream of sunlight before snagging from the outside.
“The fucking lock.” I cursed J to hell and back, shoving the doors repeatedly.
They wouldn’t give.
I began to panic now, swearing I could feel heat searing into the basement.
Holding the doors with one hand, I forced the other through the light gap between them.
Ignoring the pressure, I felt for the whatever it was keeping me in.
Grasping something rusted and metal, I tried to tug it free. My grip was too weak. My fingers reached again, and I forced my wrist out further.
Certain now that heat was filling the place I’d called home the last two years, I started to claw, desperate to reach the latch.
My nails dug into the wood, a splinter going into my pinky, my ring and pointer fingers stripped of their nails completely.
They tore out with surprising ease, but that didn’t lessen the pain. I cried out, immediately wanting to draw back and examine my injury. Instead, I persevered. I was close.
Heat found its way into my passage, and I began to sweat. The smell of smoke made my eyes water. I let them.
“Come on,” I pleaded, grinding my teeth against the pain.
Finally clutching the latch, I tugged and wiggled until it popped.
The doors could finally be lifted.
