Quinn

 

No one’s coming for me.

I stare at the morning sunlight streaking in from the basement’s windows. It’s now been twenty-four hours since I’d last seen Shane. Yesterday, I’d assumed he was watching the house and maybe trying to set up Colt. When the afternoon had turned to evening, I’d kept waiting for the police to find me.

Now, it’s sinking in that Shane is probably in custody, and he’s not revealing my whereabouts. I’m in this alone, and all hope of being found is dwindling fast. I lick my dry lips and look around the empty basement. I’ve tried screaming for help, and all that’s accomplished is a sore throat.

This is not how I want to die. Yesterday, I’d pissed the mattress when I couldn’t hold my bladder anymore, so now I smell horribly of urine and blood. I’ve gone almost forty-eight hours without water, and it’s beginning to affect me. My head is pounding, and I’m weak and sleepy. There’s a hint of nausea creeping up on me, and I’m trying to ignore it. I blearily look around, hoping for an idea to help me out of this mess. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind, and all my thoughts are consumed with desperately craving water.

I’m so thirsty.

My eyes close on their own accord, and I doze for a while until I realize that if I keep falling asleep, I’ll certainly die. I need to stay awake. I blink and look at the windows. The sunlight is gone. I’m certain I hadn’t slept long, so that must mean the clouds have overtaken the sun.

Think, Quinn.

I turn my throbbing head and look down at my hands still cuffed to the wall beside my left hip. Bruises have formed along my wrists, and dried blood coats my fingers. Knowing that I need to keep trying, I spend the next five minutes struggling to pull my hands out of the cuffs. I whimper and hiss, and the skin tears where the metal digs into my wrists.

I begin to shiver, and my eyes drop to my chest where the wounds are still raw, refusing to heal. They hurt terribly, but I’ve grown accustomed to the pain. It’s become a minor irritation compared to my thirst and hunger. Unfortunately, I think one of the cuts has become infected, because the one above my breast is swollen, and the skin surrounding it is turning an angry red.

Colt’s face flashes in my mind, and my heart grows heavy. I never thought that my time with him would be so short. I drop my head forward, giving into my emotional turmoil. There was still so much that I wanted to tell him. I’d wanted to be there as he’d embraced our relationship and began to believe that he did indeed deserve happiness. I wanted to prove to him that we’d be together forever—that I would never leave him.

One week is all I’d had with him—one week that he hadn’t pushed me away and had embraced what we were feeling.

One week wasn’t nearly long enough.

I ache to be back in his arms, and I blink and lift my head, straightening my spine even as I long to lie down and give into the lethargy that’s tugging at me. I’ve never given up on anything, and I can’t give up now. This is my life. I can’t just give up and let myself fade away in this horrible room.

I want to see Colt again.

“Hey!!” I yell at the top of my lungs, using precious energy as I once again call for help. As long as I am lucid and able to still fight, I refuse to give up. “Help me!!” I shout weakly.

Only silence answers. Then, a low rumble of thunder.

My eyes slide to the window, and I scowl. Really? Is God trying to torture me with the temptation of water on the other side of this wall? I scan the room, eyeing the tall light and the sleeping bag across the room. I am so fucking cold.

There has to be a way out of this.

Wait a second.

My earrings are regular diamond studs, but I’d forgotten about my helix piercing. It’s a silver ring, and it might just work with the screws. I’m excited, but also tired enough that it takes me a moment to work up the energy to begin scooting my body down the mattress so I can lower my head to my hands. The cuts on my body protest, and new droplets of blood form and begin dripping down my skin.

The scent of my own urine has my stomach turning over, but I struggle against the nausea and use my fingers to reach blindly for the loop in my ear. Very carefully, I remove it and painstakingly sit up so I can see what I’m doing. The loop is a little bigger than the screws, but I think it’ll work. I slip it along the inner slot on the screw and then begin trying to turn it. It’s not easy since the ring is small, but it is big enough to grip the screw. I keep trying to turn it with the earring, and even as I get nowhere, I know I can’t afford to give up. I have to keep trying. I’m not sure how long I spend working that little ring with the screw, but when the screw eventually begins to give a little, at first, I think it’s my imagination. But no…it’s moving! It’s moving! I release a yelp of excitement and continue forcing the ring to move—unscrewing the screw. When it’s nearly out, I begin working on the next one. I don’t dare set the little ring down to use my fingers to pull out the screw. I’ll put the ring down when I know my freedom is imminent.

It doesn’t take much for me to grow tired, and as much as I hate it, I have to take breaks here and there before I continue working on the screws. It feels like it takes half the day to loosen them, and by the time the fourth one is nearly out of its hole, the sky has darkened outside and it’s pouring.

I grip the ring in my right hand, refusing to set it down yet. With my left hand, I use my fingers to twist all the screws entirely out of the metal panel. It falls from the wall, and I stare numbly as it dangles from the cuffs. I’m free.

I want to howl with joy, but that would take too much energy, and I still have a way to go. I’m obviously in a remote area, and I need to find help.

When I first rise to my feet and stumble off the mattress, I collapse to the unforgiving cement floor in a heap. It’s been days since I’ve walked. I draw in a couple of deep breaths and force myself to my feet once more, moving slow.

Slow and steady, I tell myself.

Before I reach the stairs, I pick up the sleeping bag from the floor and wrap it around my wounded body. Then, I cautiously make my way up the stairs. Everything within me wants to run towards freedom, but I don’t have it in me to exert that kind of energy.

When I approach the top of the stairs, the basement door is wide open. I step through the shadowed doorway and look around the vacant kitchen. My eyes catch on one of the windows. It’s still daylight, it’s just really cloudy outside.

The door in the corner draws me like a moth to a flame, and I tuck the sleeping bag tighter around myself and walk bare foot across the linoleum. I try the knob, and it turns freely in my grip. I pull the door open and reach for the screen door. I carefully push on it and step outside onto the porch.

The fresh air is intoxicating after being in the basement without proper ventilation, and I take a moment to breathe in deeply. When I’ve savored the clean, wet air, I step off the porch and into the rain. I tilt my head back, opening my mouth. It’s not enough to quench my thirst, but the droplets make me want to laugh with the joy of being free.

I’m not going to die today.

I’m not going to die.

I smile with happiness until I remind myself that I still need help. I step further into the yard, the grass feeling heavenly beneath my bare feet. I turn and gaze at the house that had been my prison for two days. It’s old and run down, and I look around at all the trees surrounding the small, secluded property. The for sale sign at the end of the gravel driveway snags my attention. It looks as if no one’s been here in a very long time, and now I know why Shane had picked it.

My eyes lift to the sky once more, and I estimate that it’s late afternoon. I need to find help before it darkens. With more determination than I feel, I walk through the grass beside the gravel driveway until I reach the paved road. When I step onto its solid surface, dizziness causes me to stumble, and I go still, trying to reorient myself once more. After my eyes clear, I try to focus on the road. There are trees lining both sides and no vehicles in sight.

I push forward, putting one foot in front of the other. If I’d just come from a house, there’s likely more somewhere in the area. I’m assuming I’m up in the hills, and as I continue to walk through the rain, my feet become heavier and heavier.

Dizziness causes me to falter, and then my knees buckle as I drop to the pavement. I can’t go on anymore. I want to, but physically, I’ve reached my limit.

As I lie there, I close my eyes tiredly. I’m on the side of the road where I’ll be seen if someone drives by.

Someone will come.