AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I see what might be a crack in the wall. Light seeps through from the other side. As I approach, I discover it’s a door made to look like part of the wall. I swallow hard and guide my fingers along the smooth wood until I feel a lever. I push it and the door releases, but it takes some grit to open it enough for me to slide through.
I expect some kind of lair or dungeon or God knows what—a wall with torture devices and cages—but it’s not.
It’s a living room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking dark water.
Where is he?
I suck in a breath as creaking registers on the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide, and the comforter is bulky and will easily give me away. I have no option but to ditch it in the corner. I can’t dwell on modesty.
Outside.
I dart toward the sliding glass door, silently slide it open and slip out into the warm night air before scrambling to the edge of the balcony. I crouch to make myself small, like when I was a child and needed to obscure myself.
Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m gone, but then it hits me.
I didn’t shut the secret door concealing the other rooms.
A sob bubbles to the surface as I shake uncontrollably like I’ve woken from anesthesia. The ground is far below me. I’d die or break my legs, maybe my spine. But I’d rather die than go back to that room.
To that chain.
To more tattoo needles.
To him.
I draw up my knees and wait, pray. Hope.
When the door doesn’t open, I scoot across the deck, the raw wood digging into tender flesh, but I need to see if the coast is clear.
What if he’s standing at the door, waiting? Watching?
I hear something and freeze.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi... I count silently until I reach Twenty Mississippi and scoot again.
I can’t be sure if he’s nearby. If he is, deep in the marrow of my bones, I know the kinds of things that await me. I know what evil men can do. I’ve seen it. Experienced it.
Finally, I muster the courage to peep through the door. The room is empty and dimly lit from the one glowing lamp. I creep inside; my brain is fuzzy and spins.
No footsteps. Only bulging shadows in the corners.
I slither across the Berber carpet and inhale the newness. A set of stairs is on the other side of the open living concept. About ten feet of space isn’t occupied with furniture, which means when I make a run for it, and he enters the room, I’ll have no cover.
If he doesn’t and I make it downstairs, he could still be waiting for me.
I try to form a defense plan, but my brain might as well be sludge. Making my move, more out of my flight response than logic, I army-crawl across the open space to the stairs.
Two sets of six. I practically roll down the first set and pause.
He’s not there at the small landing.
Six more to go.
This time I move slower, ignoring the adrenaline shouting sprint. I can’t. He could be waiting and I need to listen.
One...two...three...four...five...six. I pause again at the bottom of the stairs.
No light befriends me on the ground floor. Only darkness—and darkness is never a friend. Darkness is deceptive, offering false security. Nothing good transpires in darkness. It’s not a refuge to hide. But a place to be found. In the dark, I can’t see my predator, but I know he’s lurking.
