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Chapter fourteen
Daphne
Theplacewasquiet.
I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it seemed like it would be the only opportunity I got, so I was going to go for it.
After Davis had stormed out of the room, I had stayed in the corner, not wanting to chance getting caught at the window again. For what felt like hours, I stared at the crack under the door, the dim light from the hallway barely making it inside the gloomy room. Every time one of the guys would walk past the door, my heart rate would increase. I knew the four of them were all still there, in the main room of the Ranger Station, because I could hear the low murmur of their voices. Of course, every once in a while, Spaz would squawk out a laugh, but he was the only recognizable voice in the group.
The rain had started a few hours ago, and didn’t seem to be letting up. I could hear the steady drumming on the wooden roof, and in the far corner, there was a leak that dripped in an even rhythm, the sound low and steady in the quiet. I couldn’t see it in the dark, but I could hear it every time a drop would plonk into what I guessed was an ever-expanding puddle.
As the night went on, I remained undisturbed, and that meant I was growing brave. If no one came to check on me in this long, they likely wouldn’t until morning. That meant there was no time like the present to make my escape.
Listening closely, I could hear the voices, all as far away as they could get in the other main room. Moving slowly, I stood from my spot in the corner, my legs cramped and my butt numb from the hours spent on the hard floor. After a few stretches, I crept closer to the boarded-up window, sliding beneath the plastic and carefully placing my palms on the wood. I could feel the chill of the air outside, much cooler now that the rain had moved in, and it raised goosebumps on my skin. My skinny jeans and loose top were not exactly the right outfit for this kind of thing, but my options were limited, and I’d rather be cold than a captive any day.
Listening closely again to the murmurs from the hall, I pushed against the board, the low squeak of the swollen wood against the nail holding it in place causing me to freeze.
When none of the sounds changed from outside my door, I pushed a bit farther, testing the limits of the board’s mobility. I was able to open a gap of about six inches, the pointed end of the nail now completely free of the window frame.
Damn. I was thin, but I wasn’t that thin. Inching my hands farther up the board, I pressed again, this time trying to loosen the nail in the top corner. Unfortunately, the wood in that spot seemed to be in much better condition, and it barely budged when I pushed on it. Growling in frustration, I dropped my arms, shaking out my hands in an attempt to control their trembling. Taking a deep breath, I tried again, reaching as high as I could on the board and pressing hard.
This time when the board moved, it was with a loud creak, the nail in the top corner not wanting to release itself without a fight. Hesitating, I ducked out from behind the plastic sheet, straining my ears for movement from the front room. Any change in the tone of the voices that would indicate they were aware of my ministrations back here and were coming to stop me.
When nothing appeared to be happening, and no one was coming to check on me, I tried again. As I pushed, I looked down and the bottom of the window frame. The gap was about ten inches now, but I still didn’t think I could make it.
“Come on. Come on, just a bit more,” I whispered, throwing the whole force of my body weight against it. The wood groaned, the gap now at least a foot wide.
It would have to do. Throwing one leg over the ledge, I hoisted my butt up onto the windowsill and tried to slide out. Unfortunately, my butt was a bit more than the gap could accommodate, and I found myself wedged, my legs dangling outside the shack while my upper body was inside, pressed against the musty smelling plywood.
That’s when I heard it; footsteps, heavy and slow, making their way down the hall toward the office.
“Shit!” I began to wiggle, frantic to get loose and done with trying to be quiet. Shimmying to the side, I tried to get closer to the loose corner, knowing there was more give in the wood at that side. As I did, my butt sank lower, and I let out a small shout as my body dropped quickly out the window.
But, unfortunately, not all the way out. This time, it was my boobs that held up my progress. “Oh, sure,” I lamented, ”now you choose to be big enough to matter.”
I pressed my palms against the windowsill, prepared to give one final push, when the door to the room flew open and my gaze locked on No Neck. He stared at me, my head and shoulders still in the room, the rest of me hanging out, getting rained on, and for a moment neither of us moved.
I could see the indecision in his eyes. Of all my captors, this man had seemed to be the least enthusiastic about the entire situation, and I watched as he debated his options: let me go or call for Davis.
Silently, I pleaded with him, my eyes begging him to let me leave this room. But before he could decide either way, a second figure entered the room, and my time was up.
“Hey, Duke, what’s taking so—” Spaz turned and took one look at me hanging out of the window and his face split into a maniacal grin. “Oh, girlie.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Wrong move.” Then he turned his head back down the hall and shouted, “Boss!”
And I was officially out of time.
With one last look at No Neck, who I now knew was Duke, as he stared at me with an apology in his eyes, I shoved with all my might against the windowsill, breaking both of the top nails out completely, which in turn caused the entire sheet of plywood to swing down, the final bottom nail its only pivot point. As it did, the rusty nail closest to me caught on the side of my thigh. I hissed as the nail broke through the denim of my jeans and gouged the meat of my leg, the sting immediate, but I didn’t have time to inspect it.
Turning from the Ranger Station, I sprinted for the treeline, the shapes of the surrounding forest nearly impossible to make out in the gloom. Looking frantically back at the building, I could see Davis standing in what remained of the window, staring at me, but he made no move to follow.
Which, honestly, made me super freaking suspicious.
Why wasn’t he coming after me?
But I didn’t take the time to find out.
Once I noted the position of the shack, I tried to orient myself in the direction that I remembered the smoke above the trees from earlier, then I headed in what I hoped was the right direction.
There didn’t appear to be any real path through the woods other than the shitty road we had driven in on, but going that direction would have been the easiest way to get captured. Instead, I darted straight into the forest, my pace slowed by the amount of stuff all over the ground.
Seriously, there were so many little shrubs and rocks and stuff. Ridiculous.
I kept going, having to slow down often so that I could climb over logs and step around large rocks, slipping in the mud and moss with what seemed like every step.
In no time at all, I was hopelessly lost, not even sure I remembered which direction the Ranger Station was, never mind the smoke I was supposed to be heading toward.
Now that I was actually in the woods, it seemed absolutely insane to me that I thought I could follow the smoke and find some help. I’d never been in the woods in my entire life; the closest I had ever come being the trails in the Hallett Nature Sanctuary in Central Park, and even then, I could still see the top of the Pennington Hotel, just about every step of the way.
In here—in a real forest for the first time ever—I realized I was in no way prepared to do this alone.
As I slipped again, going down hard on my knee and trying to stifle the cry that wanted to escape, I rolled over to my butt, the soggy ground quickly soaking my pants and sinking its chill fingers deep into my bones.
Suddenly, I missed Silas with a painful longing so deep it almost paralyzed me.
It was part of the reason I tried not to think about him; tried to keep his memory buried deep inside, never again to see the light of day. Because at times like this—times when I was weak and vulnerable and desperate for connection—those were the times when his memory’s ghost would rise from the coffin of my heart, slinking through the dusty chambers and reminding me all over again how much losing him had hurt.
But right now, his memory was a beacon, something to cling to in the dark.
He would know what to do in this situation. Silas would help me through this with calm words and sure guidance. He would smile at me and make jokes about my soft hands, telling me princesses belonged in palaces, not out in the woods. And I would call him a jerk, laughing the whole time, while trying to do everything just that much better, just to prove him wrong.
Wiping my face, not sure how much of the moisture there was rain and how much was tears, I took a deep breath and climbed back to my feet. I could hear Spaz calling out to me, but his voice seemed far away. Maybe getting myself turned around had worked in my favor. If I had no idea where I was, perhaps my kidnappers didn’t known either.
Deciding that moving forward was a thousand times better than standing still, I took a deep breath and pressed deeper into the trees, thinking of Silas with every step.
I was going to prove that I could do this, even if the only one who would ever know it was me.
