Chapter Twenty-One
How long had he been there?
Jules had no way of knowing the answer to that. Mr. Evil had shoved him down the stairs of a basement. That had been hours ago, and he’d been alone since. If Mr. Evil’s motive was to torture Jules again, then he succeeded merely by holding off. The unknown of his fate sent fear through his spine.
He had to think. Mr. Evil wouldn’t get to him. Not this time.
An ache radiated from Jules’ shoulders down his arms. He flexed his fingers and moved his wrists around, trying to loosen the rope and relieve the pain all at the same time.
He looked around for a way out. One window, set at the ceiling, was small but Jules thought he could get through it if he could get the bindings off his wrists. The glass panes were painted black. If it were still daylight, none of it touched him or the room.
Besides the window, everything else was concrete walls. One single bulb hung from the center of the room.
He needed to look for something sharp to cut through the rope, but he couldn’t make his feet move. They cemented themselves the moment Mr. Evil put him in the room. He couldn’t make himself take a step no matter how hard he tried.
His chest muscles squeezed around his heart and lungs, cutting off his blood supply and his air all at once. He had stayed half alive for hours, standing in the corner furthest from the stairs.
Every emotion Hacen felt came through loud and clear. Jules couldn’t communicate internally with him, which sucked, but at least he knew how Hacen felt. Hacen’s stress level was off the charts most of the time, but that changed suddenly. Maybe Hacen rescued Tommy. If so then that was good. It was a relief that Tommy was okay.
Hacen and Tommy were the only reasons his body decided to cooperate with his brain. He had to get out for their sakes.
There wasn’t much in the room as a whole. Most people had boxes stored with holiday decorations and maybe a few extra things. Grandma’s basement had been like that. The Somersets had prison cells in theirs, although Jules didn’t have firsthand knowledge of that as he’d refused to go down there.
The room Jules was in had nothing but a workbench with thick, sturdy wooden legs and a metal top that had been painted green at one time. The paint had disappeared in some places. It had drawers built into the front, and Jules hoped they contained something useful.
He had to bend his knees and turn so he could get his fingers around the drawer handle. The metal of the drawer scraped, sounding loud in the silence of the room. His hands were behind his back, so he couldn’t see how far he pulled the drawer. It would clatter if it fell on the floor and that kind of noise would alert Mr. Evil if he were in another part of the house.
Jules let the drawer go and straightened. He turned to take a look at what was inside, bending to get a better look in the dim lighting.
Jules wasn’t Mr. Fix It. Every tool in the drawer looked foreign, and almost nothing appeared usable.
Almost.
A giant nail file thing sat off to the left. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could see it wearing down the treads on a rope. If he could position it well.
He turned again and fished around for several seconds. His lungs seized when he couldn’t find it. His oxygen intact dwindled to nothing which pushed him to rummage around frantically, metal clinking against metal.
Then his fingers brushed across something grated and scratchy. He nearly cried as he gripped the tool so tightly it dug into the skin on his palms.
When he could finally suck air into his lungs, it was as if he were coming up from the depths of the ocean for the first time in hours. The sudden rush of oxygen rejuvenated him, allowing him to think a bit more clearly for the first time since discovering the tool.
He took another deep breath before thinking about his next move. He needed to find something to hold the tool steady so that he could rub the rope against it.
He bit his bottom lip, looking around the room for something. A giant clamp would be great, but nothing like that existed. He could always do the opposite and move the tool against the rope.
Moving the tool in his hand, he worked it around enough so that the angle worked the way he wanted it too. It was slow going, but he managed. There was no way of knowing if it would work or not. Still, he had to try. It was his only option.
Jules tried not to think about the skin on his wrists as the tool grated on one of them with each swipe back and forth. It wasn’t like he was in pain anyway. He didn’t feel anything. Probably the adrenaline running through his body kept the pain at bay. Still, wetness ran down the palms of his hands, and he knew it was blood.
Concentrating on something else would take his mind off it, so he focused on Hacen and Tommy.
They’ll come for me. This time they will.
That mantra ran through his head on repeat, wanting to believe it with everything in himself.
He couldn’t count on them. Their history told Jules that much. His family would come for him though and, if Lucas was close enough, he could find Jules. Jules prayed that he’d feel Lucas nosing around in his mind any minute.
His hand cramped as he worked the file back and forth, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to help himself because what if no one came? He wouldn’t just wait to become Nicolono’s plaything again.
His wrists separated slightly. It happened so suddenly, Jules sucked in a breath and stopped filing. He pulled his wrists apart as hard as he could, and the rope gave way. He dropped the tool and let the rope fall to the ground.
His nearly cried out when his shoulders took on a different position. He rubbed his wrist automatically, immediately regretting it as he brought them to the front of his body and saw blood smeared all over. Some dripped on the cement floor.
Jules closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t think about it.
He ran to the window. It sat just above his head. The frame had rust around it and held the window in place. Jules tried not to bang on it too hard, but it just wouldn’t budge. He grabbed up the tool he had used earlier and hit the painted window panes with everything he had. When the glass shattered, he cringed. His heart beat wildly in his ears as he waited for someone to discover him.
The glass fell to the floor at the same time Jules’ heart plummeted. Cement was all he could see beyond the few shards of glass still hanging on the rusted frame.
“Shit.”
Jules put his hands to his knees and tried to collect himself once again.
The only other way out was the stairs, and the thought of going up there turned Jules’ stomach.
He didn’t have a choice. If he wanted out, he’d have to man up.
Come on.
He straightened and looked at the stairs from across the room as if they turned into a monster with pointed teeth and blood red eyes. The acid in his stomach rolled around on itself and burned as it came halfway up his esophagus. He tried to swallow it down, telling it to go back home but it wouldn’t.
Jules took one small step toward freedom, holding his breath as he watched the door handle. Half of him expected it to turn and the other half hoped it wouldn’t.
Maybe Mr. Evil wasn’t anywhere around.
He’ll just kill Jules if it ended up he was on the other side of that door.
The only thing he’d regret was not getting to have a proper relationship with Hacen and Tommy.
The second his foot hit that first stair, all Jules’ bravado fled away as if it were attached to a flock of birds going south. His hands shook as he gripped the rail. Still, he forced himself to continue.
Hacen and Tommy. They needed him.
He took another step and then another. One foot after the other. That’s all it took. Nothing more.
Sucking air through his mouth and letting it out through his nose, kept his chest from aching unbearably.
He made it more than halfway when he felt Lucas in his mind. He sucked in a breath and let it out in a hysterical half-laugh, half-cry that he’d never heard himself make. He sounded like a crazy man, even to his own ears.
Just knowing Lucas was so close gave Jules the confidence to take the stairs at a quicker pace. He stopped at the top step, though. His hand gripped the doorknob and he held it there for long seconds.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on Lucas’ comforting presence.
When he opened them again, he turned to knob quickly, wanting it over with as if he were ripping a bandage off. Nothing lay on the other side of the door but an open kitchen, with a table off to the right.
He stood there, listening for anything breaking the silence.
Nothing stirred except a few bugs or frogs singing from their hiding spots outside.
He stepped into the room and shut the door to the basement softly. A window lay above the sink showing darkness. Some of the night spilled into the room. His eyes had adjusted long ago in the dim basement, so he could see the place just fine. There was a door off to his right, a couple of meters away.
He took a step in its direction, but something about it didn’t feel right.
The door seemed normal enough. So what stopped him?
Some big bug landed on the glass and sizzled with blue and white sparks shooting from it right before it fell. Jules closed the distance quickly, seeing what happened to the bug all while not touching the door at all. It was too dark to see, but he imagined it on its back with its feet up in the air, unmoving and lifeless.
There must have been a spell on the door or someone legitimately hooked the door up to an electrical charge. Was glass conductive? Jules didn’t pay enough attention in high school science class. He bet it was a spell rather than science, though.
Having a warlock or a witch put a spell on the house seemed more Mr. Evil’s speed.
Jules turned from the door. He’d find another way. All houses had more than one entry, right?
The opening for another room lay to his left, so he headed that way, looking around with caution before entering. Nothing was in the room except painted walls and a black cable snaking out from one of the corners. The hardwood floors looked scratched up, but it could have been the lack of lighting that made everything look battered.
The night sky and a few trees showed through a sliding glass door. The view would have been beautiful under different circumstances, but he only saw a way out.
He nearly ran to the door but remembered the zapped bug as he reached for the door handle. He froze inches from it and held the position as he tried to figure out how to test the door.
Just touch it, Jules. It’s the only way to know for sure.
Jules sighed and touched the glass with one of his fingers. A zing of electricity ran through him. He pulled back on instinct and let the frustration roll through him.
Tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks.
Why rope his wrists if that monster just put a spell on all the exits? Idiot.
Jules wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Unless he didn’t.
Jules sniffled and looked around the room, searching for a window. He found one in another room. The room was more of a small closed in porch than anything else.
He sucked in his breath and shored up his courage.
Like a bandage.
Jules took a few quick breaths and touched his finger to the window. There were blue sparks at the same time pain shot up his arm. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
He growled and blindly picked something up, slamming it against the floor. Pain ricocheted through his arms as whatever he held bounced around, protesting the violent act. He screamed the second time he brought his weapon around.
He ran on pure instinct, releasing his frustrations one swing at a time, and took satisfaction when his weapon hit something, and glass shattered, so he did it again to feel more relief. The shattering became less and less until he hit something substantial.
It wasn’t enough to make him stop, though. Only fatigue did that, stopping when he heaved in air. The thing he held fell from his hands as he sank to the floor, folding in on himself. The tears flowed freely, making his cheeks itch. He wiped his face on his knees as he hugged them to his chest.
Hacen was right. Being held captive by him and Tommy wasn’t the same as when Mr. Evil did it. It wasn’t even close mainly because he just wanted to go home to his mates. He’d let them hold him captive all they wanted if he got to see them again.
A wave of chilly air washed over him. He pulled in on himself even more in an attempt to keep the cold at bay.
He had come so close to escaping.
Lucas must have felt Jules’ negativity because he sent reassurance to him, which helped but only a little. They didn’t know where he was. If they did, they’d be there to rescue him. Maybe Mr. Evil had a spell on the house as a whole, hiding it visually.
He thought he might be in the middle of some forest, but he doubted he was still in Saint Lakes. A neighboring town was most likely. Mr. Evil ran all the way here, although his speed defied common human abilities. The running had turned Jules stomach to the point he nearly vomited.
Okay, he needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t wait for someone to save him. Not when he could maybe do it himself. He managed to get pretty far.
Jules shivered.
He lifted his head enough to get a look around him. A wooden chair lay inches from him on its side. He didn’t remember seeing a chair at all but figured out quickly that it had been his weapon.
When he finally looked around at the destruction, he couldn’t believe he took out so many windows. He even bent the metal frame on one of them. The lack of glass explained the chill that entered the room.
Wait!
No glass.
Shit.
Jules scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the wooden chair and placed it against the metal frame. When nothing happened, he set the chair down and touched the metal with his finger. A jolt of electricity ran through it to his hand. “Ow. Fucker.”
Duh. Wood wasn’t a conductor of electricity, which was why it didn’t zap the chair.
He put his finger in his mouth as if that would help the pain.
How would he get out without zapping the crap out of himself?
He stuck his head out the window, judging the distance to the ground.
The window had a large enough opening that if he put the chair on the ground, he could use it as a step, which may keep the zapping to a minimum. He hoped.
He only zapped his arm once as he put the chair on the ground below. He wiggled it around a few times, making sure it was stable enough to hold him without falling over. Once he was satisfied, he put his leg out but stopped when he realized his balls would get zapped if he put his leg on the chair. Even through his pants that shit would hurt.
He used the inside wall of the house to brace himself and cupped his free hand around his package, figuring that would hurt less.
When his hand touched the metal frame, he cursed. Yeah, maybe not. Ouch.
He was never so glad to be skinny in his whole life as he was when he slid through the window as if he were made to climb out of them every day. Freedom coursed through his veins and took hold of him. It ramped up his heartbeat, sending a giddy jolt through his body.
He was pretty sure being held captive three times in his short life made him crazy because, as he jumped from the chair and ran through the forest away from the house, he laughed.