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I quietly climbed off the table and ran to my used water bottle to fetch the cap. Returning to the grille, I used the edge of the cap to pry the nail looser. Eventually, it was far enough out that I was able to tug it free.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I uttered a whisper of thanks to whatever greater benevolence was watching over me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
When I tried to pull loose the next nail with the cap, the plastic edge was too thick to slip beneath the flat nail head. I tried using the head of the other nail I had just pulled loose, but couldn’t get enough purchase.
I had to use my aching fingernails again, working to pry it loose enough to fit the bottle cap under it.
Hearing a floorboard creep upstairs, I hurried off my table and ran to put it back where it had been.
The usual several-times-a-day bang came on the door. The gruff voice demanded, “You good in there?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. And added under my breath, “Thanks for checking I’m still alive, creep.”
His footsteps retreated. I waited a long time before returning to my work loosening the grille. After another few, my fingernails were bleeding.
I counted the remaining nails and could have wept. There were so many. But what choice did I have?
I returned to work, using my left hand this time.
By the time another day had passed, me working through the night, I had only managed to pull out half of the nails on one side. And by now my progress had ground to a painful halt because every one of my fingernails was raw and bleeding.
I needed the claw end of a hammer. Or pliers. I had searched for other tools, but this darn cellar had been scoured clean of everything.
Sometime towards the end of the day, the sound of heavy feet trudging down the stairs made me run into the furthest corner from the door and huddle there.
Jacob came in, carrying a bag of more snacks that he dumped on the floor. The dirty cop came behind him and dumped two cases of large water bottles there.
The sight made me clench my fists. Twelve bottles of water.
“How long are you going to keep me in here?” I asked, my voice shrill with fear.
Jacob had been inspecting me. I kept my fists clenched so he wouldn’t see my bleeding fingers.
“You okay?” he asked.
“What do you care?”
His eyes narrowed. “This one leave you alone?” He jerked his head at his brute of a henchman, who scowled.
He was a tall, muscled beast with dark hair shorn into a buzz cut and a faintly military bearing that made me feel sick to my bones just to look at him.
I nodded.
Jacob looked satisfied. “Good. You keep on behaving until we find Landry, and then everything will be alright.”
“Alright how? What are you going to do when you find Landry?” I demanded, trying not to sound tearful. Damn hormones.
“There’s no need for you to worry about that. You’re safe here so long as you behave yourself. You’ve got everything you need in this room. No one can touch you.”
He left, his henchman going with him.
I waited until silence fell and then the sound of a TV sounded up above, then I returned to my work at the grille with renewed vigour, bleeding hands be damned.
Two weeks passed. Two damn weeks. I’d counted the days by lining up my little nails discreetly in a row against one wall, and hiding the spares by poking them inside my mattress.
I had loosened two sides of the grille and made a start on the third. My fingers were bleeding stubs that throbbed day and night, raw and agonising. But it had been worth it. Because my work was finally done. It was going to be possible to bend that damn grille just loose enough for me to be able to slip through.
