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Could laces be used as a weapon?
I mean, they took them from prisoners, so they couldn’t hang themselves. They had to be strong enough to do some damage.
Glad for something to set my mind to, I reached downward, working the laces free, then tying them into a solid knot in the center, so there was enough room to wrap around someone’s throat and my hands.
It wasn’t the ideal weapon. It would require getting behind my attacker and keeping control over someone a lot larger than me.
But it wassomething.
I tucked the laces in my pocket, and started using the heel of my foot to kick at the bars.
Pain ricocheted up my ankle and leg at the impact. Still, the bars wouldn’t budge.
On a whimper, I let my hand move out between the bars, feeling around the edges of the trunk, hoping for something, anything.
I wasn’t silly enough to hope to find a tire iron or anything like that, but even just a nail or… oh.
It wasn’t just my laces I had with me when I’d gone into the trunk. It wasn’t in my pocket where I’d left it. But it had to be in the trunk somewhere.
My fingers felt around with renewed determination.
Then I felt it.
Small and long that and wedged tightly between the cage and the wall of the trunk.
It took a moment to work it free, but I was determined.
In the dark, I let my fingers trace down it, finding the point.
A pen.
Did my stomach completely turn over at the idea of stabbing someone in the eye? Yes, yes, it did.
Something about theeyesreally got to me.
Goosebumps rose up over my skin as my mind raced through it. The trunk opening. The cage opening. The hands reaching for me. Me coming out with a pen tucked in my hand, and stabbing it into his eye.
Then again, my research into theSilent Sadisthad given me details a part of me was almost upset I’d learned about. The things he’d done to those other women before they found the sweet release of death.
They’d been through unfathomable hell. And that was only the details that had trickled out to the press. There was no doubt in my mind that there were many details not released, details about the torture they’d endured that I still didn’t know.
If it was between stabbing a man in the eye, or hesitating and enduring rape and other torture, I was going to drive that damn thing into the man’s brain.
A part of me wanted to put my faith to rest in Wells rescuing me.
I did have every confidence that he was actively looking for me, that he was turning over every stone to try to find me.
That said, the police had been working on this case for years. They had no real leads. And, sure, this guy had screwed up. He’d broken pattern. Which meant he might have screwed up, left crumbs for the police to follow.
For example, I had cameras now.
His car and he would be on them.
Sure, his face was disfigured from the stocking and the car could have fake plates. But there could besomething. Like the police could catch the make and model on traffic cameras, figure out where he was going.
The thing was, there wasn’t going to be enough time for that.
Clearly, this guy had been planning this.
