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ChapterThirty-Two
Rita stared at the door. Trapped inside the room again. Bars keeping her from leaving through the window and locks keeping the door in place.
The bars made her wonder how many other women Mitch had locked up. It wasn’t like any neighborhood in their town required bars. And while his wasn’t as expensive as the homes in Rosy Hills, his community was nearly as safe. It backed up to the woods, as evidenced by her view, but if she could get out while he wasn’t home, she could go to a neighbor’s house to call for help.
It was only a matter of getting out. However, that was easier said than done. She’d already tried and given up on breaking down the door. Brute force hadn’t worked. Neither had hitting it with the side table.
What she needed was a key. Or some way to pick the lock — not that she knew how. But she could figure it out. If she had something to do that with, which she didn’t. She’d have to start wearing bobby pins like in the old shows she grew up watching.
But for now, she’d have to make do with whatever she could find in the room. Without a light in the dark room. Even with the curtains pulled back, the night sky barely let in any light and the woods behind the house didn’t help matters.
She pressed her ear against the door.
All was quiet on the other side.
Mitch left her alone most of the time.
She had to find a way out before he returned.
Rita knelt on all fours, trying to ignore how gross the floor was. Patches of the carpeting were damp, and down this low, the air smelled of stale urine.
More signs that she wasn’t the first to be locked in the room. Had the other women gotten away? Or had he killed them?
She couldn’t think about that now. Not that their fates had anything to do with hers.
None of them were Rita Walker. She would escape.
First she had to find something to pick the lock with, or to yank the knob off. That would work too. She had to be prepared for anything.
She would not spend another night in this room.
Rita felt around, digging in the carpet for anything useful. No bobby pins, no tweezers, nothing. She might have to go back to hitting the door with the side table.
Her shoulders ached at the thought.
The only thing that mattered was escaping. If she injured herself, she could get to a hospital and get fitted for a cast. Or get a surgery if it came down to that. At least she would be alive.
The only thing that mattered.
Jiggle, jiggle.
She bolted upright.
Click.
The door.
Knock, knock.
Rita rose and looked around for something to use as a weapon.
“Are you in there?”
That wasn’t Mitch’s voice.
Boone.
“Oh, Rita. I can’t hear you.” His singsong voice was creepy as hell.
