SEVENTEEN
Erin could hardly move. Her breathing quickened.
Don’t panic.
She was on her back, faceup, arms at her sides.
When she tried to lift her head, her forehead smacked against wood. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take calming breaths. But it was no use. She wanted to scream for help.
But then what? Would that alert the freak?
No. No. No. Don’t scream.
She bit down on her lip and counted to five. The sound of her heartbeat pounded inside her head.
How had she come to be there?
The freak had been angry with her. She remembered that much. He’d said something about a box. That was the last thing she’d heard him say before everything went black. Had he hit her over the head? Drugged her? She had no recollection whatsoever.
She used the tips of her bare toes to feel around and get an idea of the length of the box. If she pointed her toe, she touched wood. Damp wood. She could raise her knee only a few inches before making contact. The wood was soft. She jerked her knee upward, quick, to see if she could make a dent, but the wood wouldn’t give. She cried out in pain. Shut up. Shut up.
She stopped to listen. Was he coming?
Suddenly she recalled waking up once before. She’d thought she was having a nightmare. Every time she fell back asleep, Grandma Rose would appear and remind her of her first track meet. “Go for it,” Grandma had whispered in her ear. “Set goals or you’ll have nothing to strive for. And don’t forget to imagine it—see it in your mind—and it will happen.”
Go for it, Erin thought. Go for what?
She looked left, then right. Tiny pinpricks of sunlight had found their way through crevices in the wood. Daytime. Was she inside or outside?
She sniffed the air, concentrating, trying to figure out the smells. Horse manure and straw.
Outside.
There were other smells she couldn’t quite figure out. Every once in a while she’d hear grunting. Pigs?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
How had she let this happen? She was smarter than this. She’d thought she could outsmart him, but she’d failed. He’d known exactly what she was going to do, and he’d been prepared.
Think, Erin. Think.
Stay positive. Stay strong.
She could breathe. That was a good thing. If the wooden box had been constructed of brand-new wood instead of old, she probably wouldn’t have had enough oxygen to stay alive for long. The light coming through was also reassuring since it meant she hadn’t been buried alive.
She couldn’t hear anyone moving around outside, so it wouldn’t do her any good to scream out and risk drawing the freak’s attention. Besides, she didn’t want to waste her energy. She’d watched a show with her mom once about getting out of crazy situations, like if you were trapped in a car that was sinking in water or an attacker came at you in a parking lot. She would have kneed her abductor in the groin if she hadn’t had the Taser. What a waste of effort that had been. In all situations, though, there was one common denominator: never panic. Not panicking wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Neither was getting the image of Garrett’s bloated face and bulging eyes out of her mind.
She worked on keeping her breathing even as she tried to think.
“Start out slow. Finish fast.” Those had been the last words she’d heard Grandma Rose say before she woke up.
Start out slow. Finish fast.
The coins! As he’d dragged her from the cell, before she’d blacked out, she’d felt the coins beneath the straw. Knowing he would take them away if he saw them, she’d quickly shoved one coin in each ear.
Had he taken them from her?
There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the box. It was a tight squeeze, but if she bent her elbow and slid her forearm slowly across her stomach, she could move her hand up toward her face. She put her left finger inside her right ear and squeezed her eyes shut when she realized there was nothing there.
It’s okay. Try the other ear.
She took a calming breath, then moved her right arm in the same fashion, breathing a sigh of relief when the tip of her finger made contact with something hard. She pulled the coin from her ear, taking her time, careful not to drop it as she transferred it from her left hand to her right. It felt about the size of a nickel.
The wood was damp. Could she dig her way out of the box?
She used the coin to poke and dig at the wood near her right hip. After a few minutes, she felt a tiny divot. Making a hole could take days, she realized. How long could she survive inside this box?
As she scraped and dug, she thought about Mom and Dad and how they’d all been arguing about school right before she’d gotten in the car and taken off. She didn’t want to go to college. At the very least, she wanted to take a year off. But they wouldn’t budge. Why did she always have to be so stubborn? It felt as if she’d been fighting with her parents since the day she was born. She couldn’t even remember what they fought about most of the time. If she could find a way out of this, if she could escape the madman, if she could get back to her parents and her siblings and their chaotic lives, she would never argue with them again.
See it. Imagine it. Make it happen.
In her mind’s eye, she imagined making a hole big enough to dig her way out. She watched herself climb out of the box. The sun shone in her eyes and warmed her back. She imagined her legs moving and her arms pumping as she ran from this place.
She could do this.
Coin against wood.
Scraping, scraping, scraping.