Lily
When I first came back to some hazy semblance of consciousness, I felt things gently rocking beneath me, like I was adrift on a raft on a lake.
I opened my eyes.
I was in a small, dark, windowless room, with a strip of light coming from beneath a door.
I was lying in bed – a narrow bunk set into a wall, with a thin mattress underneath me. Just a few feet away from me was a toilet and a sink. Other than that, the room was bare.
My throat was dry as sunbaked concrete. There was a chemical taste on my parched tongue.
Then I remembered.
The crunch of metal. The shattering of glass.
The sickly sweet smell on the wet cloth forced against my face.
Overcome by panic, I fought to sit up.
Whooooaaa… that isn’t good.
Nauseated, I lay back down and waited for the drugs to wear off. Or at least for the room to stop spinning.
While I lay there, I tried to figure out where I was.
The rocking sensation was real. It was gentle, but it was definitely there – so I was probably on a boat.
Where the boat was, though, I had no idea. New York Harbor? A marina somewhere? The Indian Ocean? Who knew?
Since that proved to be a dead end, I tried to remember more about the accident.
I remembered what had been said right before:
Now Johnny and Sebastian are gone. Japan and Tanzania. And you’re all alone.
He’s going to be even more upset when he hears about you.
Do you have your seatbelt on?… Good. Hang on tight.
And as the chemical-soaked cloth covered my mouth and nose –
Nighty-night.
Armin.
Armin had kidnapped me, with the help of someone else.
I almost asked ‘Why,’ but the answer was obvious.
Or rather, the ‘who’ was obvious.
Miranda.
As soon as I realized it (and yes, it took a little while, but hey, I was on drugs), my panic shot through the roof.
I tried to get up again, and ended up falling off the bed onto the floor.
I just lay there instead of trying to get back on the bed. It was easier.
Eventually I calmed down. If Miranda wanted me dead, I would already be dead.
Although that raised the question of why she wanted me alive. Which was not any more comforting.
It took a long time – maybe an hour – for the drugs to wear off enough to where I could stand. As soon as I could, I stumbled over to the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
I reached up my hands and felt in my hair.
Whoever had brought me here hadn’t searched me thoroughly enough. I pulled out two bobby pins.
Johnny hadn’t just taught me to pick handcuffs; he’d taught me all sorts of locks.
But I wasn’t going to do it just yet.
First I staggered to the sink, turned on the tap, and put my mouth right under the faucet. I could almost feel my tongue plumping back up from the shriveled little raisin it had become.
After I drank, I went back to the door and laid down in front of it. Time to gather intelligence.
The gap under the door was almost an inch high, so I could see a fair amount within a foot or two on either side. There was tile flooring. It must have been a hallway, because I was facing a blank wall with no other visible doors. I could hear a hum, some kind of machinery or motor.
“Hello?” I called out – not too loud for someone to hear down the hall, but definitely loud enough for a sentry stationed by the door to hear.
Nothing happened.
I figured I was alone – or at least unattended to.
I bent the bobby pins and took off the rubber nubs, then set to work on the lock. It was difficult in the dark, but I soldiered on, relying mostly on feel. After about five minutes I was rewarded with a tiny click! and a vibration in the doorknob as the tumblers fell into place.
I turned the doorknob. Unlocked – though I didn’t pull the door open. Not yet.
My heart thudded in my chest as I placed my ear against the door and listened. Other than the hum, I couldn’t hear anything.
This might be my only chance at escape. I had to take it.
I bunched my hand into a fist and put the bobby pins between my fingers so they stuck out like spikes. If anybody came at me, I was going for their eyes.
Then I pulled the doorknob.
Nothing happened.
I looked down in shock. The issue wasn’t the doorknob; it twisted left and right freely.
Maybe the door was stuck. I pulled harder.
Nope.
I braced my foot against the wall and heaved backwards with all my strength.
Nada.
There must have been some other sort of lock – a padlock, maybe, or a bolt – on the other side of the door.
Cursing silently, I used the bobby pins to lock the doorknob again, then re-bent them enough to put them back in my hair. Finally I found the little rubber bobby pin tips I had discarded on the floor, put them in the toilet, and flushed.
Then I laid back down in my bed and wept in frustration.