Four pockets, and just my luck, one last to go. The Skull’s hoodie, both back pockets, and one front were empty. The final option was his left jean pocket—the very one he was lying on. His left arm was also under his body, his legs curled up in a semi-fetal position. The wounded side of his face glared up at me in all its clotted glory. Unfortunately, he had a pulse. During a brave impulse, I hovered two fingers against the side of his neck and felt the tiny wingbeats of life.
Nothing but my breaths made sound in this room, and when I remembered to calm them down, the resultant silence was lethal. I thought I’d regain confidence the more pockets I picked without rousing him, but instead it was the reverse. Sweat tickled my forehead and under my arms, the stress giving up the last vestige of hydration I had. If this last one turned up empty, then I would deal with that when the time came—but that moment would never arrive if I didn’t suck it up and do it already.
I had to roll him.
Wiggling my fingers into the crease of denim induced enough flashes of him rearing up and killing me. Pressing my weight into his shoulder and putting him on his back was a night terror.
I tangled my hand into my hair, massaging my scalp. I was not one for prayer but I sent a please to the ceiling anyway. It had been a while since I’d banged him in the head with the bucket. If he woke up, I didn’t want to be sitting cross-legged across from him, stuck here. I’d rather…I swallowed, coughing against the dry itch of reduced saliva. I’d rather kill him.
Or, the better half of my brain suggested, wait for him to get himself out of here and see how he does it before he leaves.
Okay. I raised my shoulders then lowered them in a giant inhale and exhale.
Leaning forward, I used my left palm to push against his shoulder. He was more dead weight than I thought and I had to get up on my knees, biting down on a scream when my bad knee felt the pressure. I heaved once more, my left arm held like a broken wing against my abdomen. He rocked, but didn’t go all the way down, and this time I didn’t hold back my curse. I swiveled sideways and pushed with my bicep and side, allowing me to acquire more weight in my favor. Physics. At last, he fell back, his right arm flopping to the floor.
I waited, keeping my attention on his face, primed to leap across the room if he woke, injuries or not. When he didn’t, I wiped my sweaty palm on my thigh and resigned myself to the continued stress.
I curved into his pocket, digging gently with my fingers and feeling…what? Something flat. Metal? Plastic? A credit card. My stomach sank. I couldn’t very well pick a latchless door with a charge card, if that was what it was. Or could I? What did I have but time? I decided to pull whatever this was out, because, at this juncture, it was all I had to go with.
I couldn’t look at this part. Clamping my eyes shut was the best I could do to pretend I was anywhere else but exploring the clothing of a man who kidnapped, beat, and trapped me naked in a cellar.
When the hand came down on my wrist, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But the brutal disappointment could not be contained.
“No!” I screamed, my mouth acquiring all the saliva it could to howl when he pulled me down. Resistance was immediate—I kicked with my one good leg since my good arm was trapped under my body as he rolled and held me down, but he couldn’t stop my screams.
“Fun game, isn’t it?” He spoke up against my face, his spit hitting my skin and his gruesome face engulfing my vision. “I thought I’d wait until the last second, get your hopes up, then goddamned kill you.”
He lifted a leg and slammed down until he was straddling me. I fought with my hands, using my broken side for haywire strikes. He blocked the blows, my arm bursting with nerves of fire, but I landed a punch on his jaw from my uninjured hand. I followed up with claws, but he grabbed and slammed my bad arm onto the floor. Savage pain screamed through me. My battle turned inwards to keep from passing out. “N…no…”
“You thought you were getting out of here? That I’d let you? Never. I will walk out of here.” He pushed harder on my arm, seeming to gather strength from my squalls of agony. “This will hurt so bad, honey, but it’s all right. Just go under for a while. When you wake up I won’t be here. Wouldn’t you like that?” Press. My eyes rolled back, tilting me into a world of nauseous gray. “Except when you do rouse awake, there will be smoke. And then fire. And you will burn alive. You may think you got the upper hand by mangling my face, but I’m a very good storyteller. And maybe I’ll get caught in this house fire too and have to be treated for severe burns, and wouldn’t you know it, there was a body in this basement. Yours. Though here’s the kicker.” His thumb dug into the space between the bone and muscle, and I choked on the rising bile. “This isn’t my house. Therefore, you’re not my victim. I was merely coming over to collect the back rent due to me, and my tenant lost all control. Highly in debt, you know. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Least I could do was help a guy out. How was I supposed to know he had a fetish for young, naked women as pets? Good lord, I’m repulsed.”
A manic laugh escaped him, made garish with half of his face melted off. His laughter swam into my ears and watered down my vision, going pale. I couldn’t go back to blood and darkness, couldn’t.
“There now, don’t fight. Let your mind protect you from the pain. Go on…”
My arm had gone numb underneath his grip, a foreboding signal that I wasn’t fighting anymore. Tiny moans were my only defense. I breathed as though I’d run a marathon. My head tilted sideways, panting, gasping, fading—