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I have to go again now.
But this time when she lets me out of the room, I’m going to make a run for it.
No one’s coming for me. If they did, they’d be here by now. It probably means that Dino is dead, but I can’t think about that right now.
I can hear her humming what sounds like a lullaby somewhere on the ground floor, probably in the room right below this one. Earlier she was humming this same tune, she was humming outside as she moved Dino’s car behind a heap of garbage in the backyard and covered it with a dusty, dirty tarp. She was also humming it, while she hung up laundry in the backyard, grayish sheets and rags, by the look of it. The eerie tune is now stuck in my head too.
I saw all this through the grimy window in this room. And now that it’s dark, I can also see the other houses scattered around the fields and woods around here. None of them are near, but nor are they so very far away that I couldn’t reach one on foot.
I’ll just have to incapacitate her well enough to give myself enough of a head start. And for that purpose, I’ve managed to break off one of the wooden slats from the side of the baby’s cot. It’s quality hard wood. One blow to the back of the neck should bring her down and another, harder one should render her unconscious.
Or am I just thinking that because I hope it’s true?
What if it doesn’t work?
She’ll come at me with that knife she keeps carrying around.
That’s the only reason I haven’t gone forward with my plan yet. Because if it doesn’t work, then that’s it. Game over. No second chances. But I’m afraid the longer I wait to see what happens next, the less of this chance remains.
A phone rings downstairs and she answers it with a cheery, “Hello, sweetie. When are you coming home?”
The person says something, which makes her giggle girlishly. “No, not that home. My home. The farm. I have the baby here already.”
She pauses again.
“Yes, I did take the baby and yes the farm… what’s wrong with the farm?” she yells in that angry voice she also yelled at me with. It’s the exact opposite of her sweet, girly one. “Our daughter will be so happy here.”
She means my daughter and the realization twists my stomach into a hard painful knot and makes my vision dim and blacken at the edges. But the pain recedes as fast as it came.
“Yes, get here already,” the woman says cheerily again. “I’ll have dinner ready. French fries and vegetable burgers, your favorite.”
This is it.
Another person is on their way here. A man by the sound of things.
I either fight my way out now or face whatever this crazy lady has planned for me.
Another cramp seizes my stomach, this time accompanied by a kick from my daughter. The kick I need.
I have to try and set us free. If I can reach those woods behind the house I have a chance.
She’s humming again downstairs and I can smell potatoes being fried.
“Hey! Hey! I need to go to the toilet again,” I yell as loud as I can and bang on the door for good measure.
She stops humming immediately, and a moment later I hear her thudding footsteps on the stairs.
I clutch the stick of wood so hard my knuckles crack as I hear the lock rattling.
“Hurry up now, I’m making dinner,” she says as she pushes open the door with her foot, since she’s still getting the key out of the lock with one hand and has the bloody knife in the other.
Her grimy woolen sock gets stuck on the splintered door, forcing her to hop on one foot as she tries to free the other.
This is my best chance.
I don’t think beyond realizing that, just strike, bringing the edge of the board down against her wrist. She yelps in pain, dropping the knife. I swing the slab at her face, hearing something crack.
She stumbles back and loses her footing completely, crashes against the wall opposite the door and goes still.
