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I’d need my hands free.
I gazed back at the garage door. Something was off. Three-quarters of the way up the door the color changed slightly from white to an even starker white. A closer look, and—
Glass! The entire inside of the door had been painted white to throw me off, but this wooden garage door had glass windows.
Glass that I could break to let in fresh air! My head was already starting to ache. Dizziness and nausea would come next, followed by confusion and drowsiness, and…
There had to be a way.
My adrenaline still pumping, I willed my mind to churn, my synapses to fire. How could I get free and break this glass?
I hopped back around to the other wall and leaned against it.
Something poked into my lower arm.
What the hell? I turned, and—
A nail, no more than a quarter of an inch shooting out. Painted over, and nearly invisible to the naked eye. Whoever had gone through this garage had missed it. So had I, upon first look, and I would’ve missed it again if I hadn’t leaned at exactly the right spot and felt it on my arm.
Quickly I turned around and started rubbing my duct-taped wrists against the nail. If only the sharp end was pointing out, but that would have been unlikely. Who would hammer a nail into the wrong side of the wall?
What a silly thought. My head was beginning to feel fuzzy.
The duct tape was thick, and nothing much happened except that I poked my wrists.
Damn.
I turned to the shelving next to me. It was old, cheap metal shelving, and upon closer look, it would never hold my weight, even if I were capabl
e of climbing on it.
I slumped my shoulders. What had I been thinking?
I’d never get out of here alive.
I’d never be able to tell Jonah how much I loved him, how much he meant to me.
Numbness swept through me. I slid down to the floor, needles piercing my sore ankle, until—
“Ouch!”
Something bit through the gray fleece on my upper arm. I turned to the shelving once more. A jagged edge had poked me, enough to tear into the fabric.
If it could tear through fabric…
I stood, ignoring the pain in my ankle, and turned, my back toward the sharp edge. I rubbed the duct tape against it hurriedly. Nothing much happened except several gashes to my hands. But I felt no pain in my quest for freedom. Thank God for adrenaline.
I pushed my bound wrists against the edge and punctured a hole through the duct tape. Yes! I could pop it through and make little holes one after the other, cutting the tape.
Although the shelves were nailed to the wall, they weren’t very stable. I had to act quickly and carefully. This had to work. It had to. I lowered my wrists slightly, punching another hole. I had to go quickly, and my heart was jumping out of my chest. Come on, come on…
This was taking too long. Quickly, I began rubbing the duct tape up and down, as I had when I began. Now, with several holes already in the tape, this worked better. I couldn’t see what I was doing, and I scratched and pricked myself more than once, eliciting an “ouch.” But after the initial shock, no pain, only my adrenaline rushing through my veins, making me work harder and harder to release myself.
I looked over my shoulder. My blood stained the silver-gray shelving. I didn’t care. Carbon monoxide poisoning would kill me. A few cuts would not. I’d need a tetanus shot, but it was a hell of a lot better than dying here.
Faster and faster, I rubbed against the metal. “Come on, damn it! Come on!” When I could move my wrists farther apart, I screamed in triumph. With all my strength, I pulled my wrists apart, but it still wasn’t enough. The tape was still connected at the top. Frantically, I rubbed some more, scratching my already bloodied hands and forearms.
Joy surged into me. I was getting somewhere! My arms were braced, ready to break free when—
