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“I’m fine.” I swallow, my sore throat the least of my concerns. My wrists are aching from how they’ve been hanging, and I try moving them a little. My legs don’t want to stand anymore, but I force them to keep going, giving my arms a small reprieve. “Has anyone come?”
“Not since I’ve been awake.” He looks around the room, much like I did the first time. There’s still nothing.
“Someone came down here,” I say, nodding at the light. “That wasn’t on before.”
“You were awake before?”
“Yeah, we’ve been here a while. It’s a bit darker.”
“Dammit,” he says, more to himself than anything else. “Liam is going to kill me.”
I chuckle despite the situation. “Nah, we might be dead before he can get even here.” I don’t think about the words before I say them, and I silently scold myself then apologize to Ford.
“It’s okay.” He laughs lightly. “I’m glad I’m stuck with you down here. Most people who aren’t used to this world would be freaking out by now.”
“Oh, I am, but this isn’t my first kidnapping,” I say in a light voice. I don’t know how I’m joking about this situation, but my default sarcasm seems to soothe the worry building in my chest.
He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with sadness. I can’t quite pinpoint why my words bother him, but I think about how the first time I was kidnapped, I was taken from him that time too. “Ford, this isn’t your fault,” I say. My voice sounds unsure, like I’m not sure if that’s what is upsetting him or not.
“It is my fault. I can’t seem to keep you safe, Margaret,” he argues, his tone harsh.
“Anton is absolutely insane—you can’t control that no matter how much you want to. He would’ve have done this to anyone trying to protect me.”
And just like that, the epiphany hits me. Everyone protecting me is getting hurt. Liam, Ford, Mike, Jenny, Agent James—even little Benny got caught up in this, and so did my neighbor!
I lose myself in the torturous thoughts for a long time.
We don’t say anything for a while, both probably wondering what we’re going to do to get out of here. There is no easy answer, no simple solution to this. I wish so badly I had some skill with fighting or wielding a weapon. Aside from shooting Ford one time, my knowledge is rather limited.
A squeaking sound comes from my right and I jump a little, looking down at my feet. A flash of something scurries in front of me and, without thought, my booted foot slams into it, blood and squishing coming from underneath.
I don’t realize what I’ve done until a half a minute later, and as I stare at the stomped-on rat, its blood all over my shoe, I let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“Holy fuck,” Ford says, grimacing at the sight then pulling his head back and looking away.
I breathe rapidly, air not getting into my lungs properly, my mind frantic. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I chant over and over, the air still not cooperating and the world fading again.
“Margaret,” Ford’s voice cuts in. “Margaret, breathe!”
But I can’t. I can’t breathe and I can’t compute anything that just fucking happened. What the hell is going on? I killed a rat and I’m having a panic attack. A rat. It was just a rat.
“Margaret,” Ford tries again. I look up at him, his eyes focused intently on mine, and I breathe another deep breath. I stop my chanting and focus on my breath. In, out, in, out.
“You’re all right. It was an accident.” His voice tries to break in once again, and I listen this time.
“An accident,” I repeat, continuing to inhale and exhale.
“Right. It’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” It’s okay. It’s got to be okay.
