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It’s five a.m. That’s Sal’s first thought as she comes to on the dirty basement floor. She knows the turn of the sun, its golden slant, from all her early-morning runs.
Her head hurts. That’s her second thought. She feels as if her entire skull’s been cleaved in with an axe. She groans as her memory of the night before returns. Chris catching her with the cell phone. He was enraged, realizing what she had been doing, and yanked her out of the shower by her hair, slammed her up against the wall before she even had time to fight back.
Then, blackout.
She must have slept it off all night. Unconsciousness giving way to an uneasy sleep.
Still, the risk was worth it. Just to hear Luke’s voice. Electric, soothing and frantic all at once. She doesn’t know if she gave him enough information to find her, but she clings to his voice. The conversation gave her hope she needed that she’ll get out of this.
Sal presses herself up on her hands and the world whirls in front of her. Her ears ring. She tastes blood in her mouth, knows her lip’s cut and swollen, but tells herself it can be stitched up later. Everything can come later. Telling Luke about the baby, getting medical attention, right now she has to get out.
There’s movement in the corner of the basement and then Chris is stepping out of the shadows. Nausea churns in her stomach. She doesn’t know how long he’s been there, watching, waiting.
He hasn’t bothered to tie her up. And that tells her all she needs to know. He plans to kill her. Well, joke’s on him because she’s pissed as hell and ready to get out of this place. She doesn’t plan on dying today. She’s got a baby on the way. A husband at home who’s waiting on her.
“That was a stupid, stupid idea,” Chris says. “And you’re a stupid, stupid woman.”
He prowls above her. Agitated, aggressive. The mask’s finally fallen. He’s no longer friendly. No more the loving, adoring husband. Sal’s probably seeing what Molly saw. Every damn day.
Chris clutches his phone to him like it’s a lifeline to Molly. Which, to him, in his demented mind, it probably is. His phone’s the only way to find her now. Control her.
Chris stops his pacing. Swift, he squats in front of Sal and thrusts the knife in her direction. “I want you to call her. Call Molly. Now.”
Sal trembles as she presses herself back against the cinderblock wall. A crazed laugh bubbles in her throat and she can’t help but let it loose. She’s trapped with a man with a knife to her throat. She always believed in second chances, but not this again.
Never again.
“You laughing at me?” Chris seethes. “You think it’s funny? You think it’s fucking funny?”
With the swiftness of a snake, Chris levels the tip of the knife inches from her stomach. In a voice as deadly as a dagger, he asks, “You think this is funny?”
“No,” Sal says, her hands flying to her stomach as if they’re steel. As if she can protect the baby within from the cold tip of the blade. She feels faint, a hollow ringing like an alarm in her ears.
He holds out his phone. “Call her. And no fake numbers either. I’m fucking onto you. You sneaky bitch. You sneaky little bitch.”
As she stares at the man in front of her, rage electrifies her like a snapping wire. He’s crazy. He’s coming undone without Molly. Without a way to get to her. The need to have her, the need to beat the shit out of Sal converging.
Sal has to play this smart if she wants to get out of here alive. The way he’s acting, it won’t take much to set him off. But maybe that’s what she wants to do. Piss him off. Catch him off guard. Run.
Sal’s eyes move to the stairs. To the basement door that’s been left open.
She has to take the chance. If she waits any longer, she won’t make it. Her and her baby, they both won’t make it. She didn’t kill Roy only to go down like this.
One last chance.
“Fine,” Sal says. With trembling hands, she takes his phone, Luke’s face in her mind. Her baby’s heartbeat in her ears.
And then she snaps the flip phone in half.
“No!” Chris bellows, his eyes bugging with horror.
“Eat shit, asshole,” Sal rasps out and then jams the antenna into his right eye. As hard as she can. It connects with a slurp, and Chris lets out a bloodcurdling scream. His hands fly to his face as he launches himself at her, kicking and screaming. Aiming for her stomach.
Sal’s ready. She rolls onto her side, curling up into a tight ball to shield her belly. She yelps in pain as his foot connects with her rib.
Blindly, she fumbles, reaching for anything within her grasp. Her hand curls around a screwdriver. She rolls onto her back, rolls into the kick, and slams the screwdriver’s sharp tip into Chris’s shin.
His scream pierces the air.
