CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SHANNON
I come to and immediately want to go back under. My cheek throbs where Triss slapped me, my vision wavering.
Three identical Trisses sit on a milk crate in front of me.
I reel back until I realize they’re holding out open bottles of water.
Slowly, three become one, which is even more terrifying.
She’s not looking at me like I’m a human being. She’s looking at me like I’m something far less—an animal in a cage.
Prey.
A wave of nausea threatens to overcome me, but I manage to swallow it back by closing my eyes.
She’s still there when I open them.
She pushes the water bottle forward towards my lips. “Go on. Drink.”
I can’t see the point of drugging me again, so I place my lips over the neck of the bottle and sip. When I pull them away I realize my nose is bleeding, the iron tang of stale blood has settled on my lips.
This is real. This is happening.
I can’t move. All I can do is keep talking to her.
Triss takes a stack of tissues from her pocket and turns the water bottle upside-down into it, using the wet tissues to dab and clean my face.
I wince when she runs over my cheek.
“Yeah,” she nods, “that one’s going to glow real good in the morning”.
She moves to my eye and I wince again.
She shakes her head. “My, my, you are a delicate little flower, aren’t you? But we can’t have you looking like an MMA fighter now, can we? How would you ever pick up a guy?”
I’m on the verge of tears, but I refuse to cry in front of her. “Triss,” I plead, “please, let me go. I won’t say anything. You have my word.”
She laughs. “I’ve come to realize ‘my word’ doesn’t mean much in the real world.”
I attempt to bring Gabe into it, unsure of how she’s going to react. “The way Gabe spoke about you… I can tell he really cares about you.”
Triss tosses the water bottle behind herself, fingers running over the tissues in her hand, a Rorschach test of blood bloomed pink. “Is that so?”
“You’ve been through things—unimaginable things. He told me all about it.”
Triss continues to nod. Maybe I am making progress here.
Buoyed, I continue. “I know you’ve been hurt, but you won’t come back from this, not in Gabe’s eyes.” Here it comes. “But, if you let me go, who knows? Maybe we could be friends.”
Triss continues to stroke the tissues in the absence of a reply. I keep going. “I wish I could be strong like you, I really do, but I’m not. I’m weak.”
“You are,” she acknowledges, still not making eye contact.
“Yes, you’re right.” I’m speaking faster, rushing to get it out. “I’m useless. I’m nothing.”
She looks up to me.
Is she reconsidering?
I’m getting through to her. I’m doing it.
…Until Triss reaches behind her back and returns with a pistol in one hand. She lines it up with my forehead.
I freeze.
No. Not like this.
“Shannon, Shannon, Shannon,” she tuts. “What am I to do with you?”
She takes the pistol away, cradling it in her hands, inspecting and caressing it. “Do you think what you’re going through here, this little ‘ordeal,’ is something special?” She jabs the gun at me. “It’s fucking nothing. Shit like this goes down all the time, every god-damn day of the week over there. You’re not special.”
I can’t speak, but even if I could I’m not sure what I could say, what could possibly make a difference here.
“Do you want to know what I went through, when Gabe left me in that alley?”
I remain stiff and quiet.
“Let me tell you. Let me tell you all about it.” She pulls the milk crate forward until her breath is hot on my face, her legs in-between mine. “They start with something they call the ‘humiliation.’ No prizes for guessing what that entails. After that, they hosed me off and stripped me down, bending me at the waist and forcing my head, neck and legs into a car tire. I couldn’t fucking move at all. They asked questions, the same questions, while they ripped into me. Most had bats, sticks, but one of them had this braided electrical cable bullshit. That fucking hurt. And that went on, and on, and on. I passed out. I woke up. They didn’t let you sleep, shit… nothing. Over and over they went with the questions. Chains, car batteries, cattle prods… You don’t even want to know where they put that fucking shit. But I gave them nothing, not a word.”
I can make out the color in her iris she’s so close, the fiery pattern of it spreading out from the bottomless black of her pupils. I can’t imagine the things she’s describing, what it would do to someone. “I’m sorry, Triss.”
She points to the scar under her eye. “This beauty? They did this with a fucking butter knife. Who the fuck does that? Heating it up in a fire, pressing it into my face. Fucking animals.”
She shakes her head looking up at the roof. A sliver of hope works its way inside me that yes, maybe I am getting through here, that I’m relating to her somehow. “You think I’d be broken after something like that, wouldn’t you?” she says.
“I, I don’t know,” I stutter.
“You know what? That experience cut something out of me, surgically removed this thing I never knew was keeping me down. I should thank those bastards in a way, for making me stronger, stronger than I ever thought possible, more than human.”
Now’s the time. “We can get you help.”
“’We?’” laughs Triss. “Save the appeals, little girl. I don’t give a fuck, and if Gabe won’t see we belong together, that he owes me that much at least, then…” she cuts off. “I suppose it’s best for you if I don’t speculate.”
She stands and kicks the crate away, tapping the pistol against her leg. “By the way, Gabe called while you were snoozing.”
Hope blooms again, but fades fast when I realize he’s not here. I’ve got to keep her talking. “What did he say?”
“He hasn’t even noticed you’ve gone, you know. He couldn’t care less.” She shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s all for the best, I suppose.”
She smiles and walks off, the gun continuing to tap against her thigh.
She reaches the side door and opens it, disappearing from sight.
Sitting there, it all becomes clear.
She’s going to kill me.
I don’t know why she hasn’t already.
I try to shift against the cuffs, but they’re too tight.
Breathe. Just… breathe.
I take stock. Gabe has no idea where I am. I don’t have my job anymore, so no one else knows I’m missing.
Think.
It comes to me. I remember Gabe talking about the time he had to break his thumb to get out of handcuffs. What did he say?
I try to piece that conversation together, but there’s so much noise in my head right now it’s hard to concentrate. My heart’s pumping hard, my pulse racing.
I force myself to breathe deeply, but I can’t afford to waste time here.
It’s a better option than sitting here waiting to die.
I place my thumb outwards against the bottom of the chair and start to rock forward. There’s pressure there, but it’s not so bad.
You’re not seriously going to this, are you?
I’m not sure what the alternative is. The longer I wait here, the greater the chance Triss is going to wise up and shoot me in the head.
I grit my teeth and go to snap forward, placing what weight I have on the thumb, but I chicken out.
Come on, Shan.
I picture Gabe. I don’t want to lose him—not now. I know how good we can be together.
I grit my teeth together and slam forward as hard as I can, way harder than I realize.
That does it alright.
At first, there’s not a great deal of pain. I’m vaguely aware of the way my thumb is hanging, separated from the joint.
That wasn’t so bad, was it?
Then it hits me. Maybe the adrenaline was holding it off, but when the pain arrives it does so in gulping, heaving waves that slow my breathing and make my head spin with every intake.
My ears are full of cotton wool, muffled. Nausea sweeps over me.
Hold it together.
Even with my limited medical knowledge, I know my thumb’s going to swell soon.
I twist in the chair and try to pull my hand free, but the pain’s near-on unbearable. I want to let it out, force it from my mouth, but that would draw Triss’s attention.
I can’t risk it.
Do it!
I press my teeth together hard enough for my jaw to hurt and pull my arm up. With another sharp twist my wrist pulls and comes free.
I stare at my thumb, the cuffs hanging loosely from my other hand. My shoulders ache.
My thumb is wrong. It’s all wrong—the angle of it, the color.
The world starts to fade to a pinprick, but I won’t allow myself to faint. I can’t.
With my good hand I reach down and start to tug at the rope binding my ankles to the chair. It takes some effort, the pain flaring, but finally I manage to strip them away.
I’m free.
I check for Triss, but she must still be outside.
My thumb’s throbbing, already fat and enflamed.
I stand, but immediately have to sit down. I’m woozy, know I’m pale, but I have to do this.
I force myself to my feet again and hold the hand with the dislocated thumb close to my chest.
I can’t exit using the door Triss went out of, so I start to move around the perimeter of the warehouse. The windows are covered, which isn’t helping, and there don’t appear to be any more doors out—until I spot one down the far end.
I head towards it, each step sending a hot stab of up my arm.
I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to live.
I double the pace, running as much as the pain will allow until the door is within reaching distance. It’s not even closed fully, not locked at all.
I reach for the handle when I see a shadow under the bottom of the door.
No.
I stop, glued to the spot.
The sound of footsteps.
I examine the shadow, listen.
It’s not one shadow. There are two, two sets of something.
The door opens slightly.
It’s Gabe.
I’ve never been so relieved to see someone.
I basically throw myself at him, dive into his body, my head against his chest.
I lift my head up to speak, but he clamps his hand over my mouth.
It’s too late.
I hear the gun cocking behind me.