Beside Still Waters (21 page)

             
She finally made it to the door.  She didn’t know how long the journey from the closet had taken.  Minutes?  Hours?  She studied the door for a moment, looking for anything that might help her, a rough bit of wood or a nail perhaps.  She nudged it slightly so she could crane her neck and get a look at the inside of the door.

             
There was a mirror.  She blinked at it for a moment, mind fuzzy, trying to comprehend why she felt a sudden surge of excitement.  And then it came to her.  If she could smash it, she could use the shards of glass to saw through her ropes.  She stared at it intently, willing herself to think and cursing the fog that seemed to be descending on her. 

             
Smash it, ram it with something, anything, your head
, she urged herself.

             
But another voice whispered caution.  If she did this wrong she risked cutting herself badly and possibly bleeding to death.  For one crazed minute she thought that at least that would be quicker than the dehydration death Mr. Black had described.

             
No, she couldn’t ram it with her own body, and even if she wanted to risk it she might not be able to slam it hard enough to break it.  The chair, on the other hand, was metal, plenty hard.  She shoved the door with her fingers, trying to get it closed so that it wouldn’t be able to move.

             
Once she had accomplished that she contorted in the chair, turning it around an inch at a time and closer to the mirror.  When at last her back was to the mirror, and she was just a couple of inches away from it she shifted her weight forward and then threw it backwards, trying to cause the chair to tilt.

             
It moved slightly, but not enough.  She rocked forward, heart stuttering as she felt the back legs come off the ground.  Then she threw herself backwards again and the back legs crashed down even as the front ones came up.  It still wasn’t enough.

             
“Please, God,” she prayed silently as she rocked forward again, nearly losing her balance and falling forward but catching herself just in time to send herself backward and as the chair tilted back she remembered just in time to lean her head forward so it, too, wouldn’t slam into the mirror.

             
The back of the chair struck the mirror with a cracking sound.  It wasn’t enough to merely crack the mirror, though.  As soon as the front legs came back down she continued her rocking and smashed into the mirror again.  The cracking was much more ominous and she bit her lip, tasting blood.  Once more she rocked forward and then back.

             
The chair struck the mirror and suddenly the sound of shattering glass was overpowering as it all came down, raining onto her and the floor, shattering into smaller and ever small pieces.  She felt tiny shards embed themselves in her legs and she cried out with the pain, her voice hoarse and unrecognizable even to her own ears.

             
She looked down, there were a couple of large pieces on her lap, but she couldn’t reach them with either hand.  There was no way she could manipulate her legs with the way they were bound to the chair in order to help.  She looked down at the floor and all the other shards that were out of reach. 

             
If they couldn’t come to her, she would have to go to them.  Before she could change her mind she threw herself sideways in the chair.  She did it with enough force that she went over, crashing to the ground.  She landed hard on her right shoulder and heard a sickening popping sound.  Pain knifed through her and she squinted against it.  She had bit the inside of her cheek as well and the blood welled up in her mouth.

             
By a miracle she had landed with her fingers within reach of a particularly long and jagged shard of mirror.  She grasped it between her thumb and forefinger and was able to twist it around to bring it against the ropes around her wrist.  She began to saw back and forth flexing her wrist as much as she could and manipulating the shard with the two fingers.

             
Back and forth she sawed as time seemed to stand still.  She could smell the blood in her mouth and the glass embedded in her legs burned like fire, but none of it was anything compared to the pain that flooded her shoulder.  It was throbbing now and it was becoming harder and harder to control and manipulate the shard of mirror.

             
Her arm was probably broken, she realized, struggling not to let the pain overcome her completely.  The first strand of the rope began to fray beneath the constant sawing motion.  If only she could make bigger sweeps or apply more pressure it would go faster, but she would do what she could, praying it would be enough in the end.

             
A sudden slamming sound somewhere else in the house caused her to freeze for a moment in terror.  She stared toward the door, expecting it to fly open at any minute and Mr. Black or one of his associates to come in and catch her.

             
Move faster
, a voice seemed to whisper inside her head.  It made sense.  If someone was in the house she needed to do everything she could to free herself before they came back to check on her.

             
She sawed away frantically and she began to feel the rope give.  She strained, trying to break it, even as she kept sawing away.  Finally the strand she was working on gave way with a snap.  She wiggled her wrist, pulling at the rope, and she felt it slacking.

             
She twisted her wrist back and forth until it was coated in blood.  The lubricant helped her and she finally managed to pull her wrist free of the restraints.  With a gasp she picked the shard back up and moved it over to her other hand.  It felt so amazing to be able to move even that much, but the stabbing pain in her arm reminded her of her injury.

             
She sawed away at a strand of the robe binding her left hand and because she had more motion and pressure she could bring to it the rope began to give away much faster.  The rope finally snapped and she was able to yank that hand free as well.  She twisted on the floor so that she could reach the ropes binding her legs.  She felt the knot and realized after a moment that she wouldn’t be able to untie it.

             
The shard again went to work, this time in her left hand as she kept her right arm as still as she could.  Because her feet were completely numb she had to saw through three strands before she was able to move them.  Agony shot through her as she pulled them free and blood began to rush into them.  She shook them hard, hoping that when she stood they would take her weight. 

             
She wished she could take the time to pluck the slivers from her legs, but every second lost was a second closer to being discovered.  She managed to turn over onto her stomach and she got her arms and legs under her and heaved up.

             
She collapsed almost instantly and she pounded the floor with her fist in rage and frustration.  She reached out and grabbed the corner of the wall where it formed the closet and used it to help haul herself to her feet.  She stamped her feet a couple of times as they came tingling back to life, praying that she would be able to walk.

             
Finally she let go of the wall.  She tottered for a moment on legs that felt like jelly.  She wasn’t sure what was a result of the prolonged immobilization and what was a result of the lack of food, water and sleep.  She took a step forward, knee nearly giving way beneath her.  She grabbed the doorknob, though, and steadied herself.  Then she eased the door open, holding her breath as she peered down the hallway.

             
A sudden high-pitched sound split the air around her, drowning out the television easily.  It seemed to be coming from just outside the window in the room.  She froze.  Had she set off some kind of alarm system?

             
It blared loud and sharp, making her ears ache.  And then, finally, it ended.  She blinked, not sure what it was or what had caused it.  Was it possible it was some sort of air raid siren, a natural disaster alert?  She’d heard they used such a system in the islands.

             
If there was some sort of disaster, though, she didn’t have time to worry about what it could be.

             
The hallway was empty.  She could see a door on the left, a door at the far end which seemed to lead to another bedroom, a door on the right which she suspected was also a bedroom, and past that a hallway also heading off to the right. 

             
She opened the door wide and stepped out into the hall, her hands on the walls to help balance herself.  She debated closing the door.  If Mr. Black saw it he would instantly know something was wrong, but if one of his associates was guarding her, he might not realize it was supposed to be open and it might buy her some more time.

             
After a moment’s hesitation she shut the door most of the way so that noise from the television was still coming through clearly but anyone glancing casually that way wouldn’t see the chair or the broken glass.

             
She walked down the hallway, pausing to peek around the corner of the bedroom on the right and a bathroom on the left.  They were both empty.  The bathroom didn’t even have toilet paper in it.  At the hallway she turned and kept going.  A few feet and then the hallway let out into a great room meant to be kitchen, dining room and living room combined.  Sliding glass doors were on the left, another hallway straight ahead.  And to the right, next to the kitchen, was a front door with beveled glass.

             
She made her way toward it, her legs a little stronger.  On the kitchen counter she saw several bottles of water.  With a shaking hand she grabbed one and slid it into the pocket of her skirt.  She wanted the others, wanted to stand there and drink her fill, but she had to keep going while she could.  She thought about the thudding sound she had heard earlier.  Maybe it had been someone leaving the house instead of entering.

             
Or maybe they were just in one of the other rooms she hadn’t explored yet.

             
She reached the front door and twisted it open.  It wasn’t even locked.  Mr. Black really wasn’t worried about being disturbed there.

             
She opened it and stepped cautiously out onto a lanai.  To the left was a door back into the other part of the house.  To the right were the stairs that headed down to the ground and the open air carport underneath the house.

             
She lurched toward the stairs, grasping the banisters firmly in each hand.  The pain in her right arm was becoming overwhelming and as she made it down the first two steps she was terrified that she was going to pass out.

             
There was a landing a little ways down and then the stairs twisted downward again.

             
You can make it, get to the landing
, she ordered herself.  Each downward step felt like it jolted every bone in her body, like it was rattling them together.  She could hear her breath coming as uneven gasps.  The water bottle in her pocket banged against her leg, tempting her even while it weighed her down.

             
She made it to the landing, and turned slowly, and faced the last set of stairs.  The carport was empty and so was what little she could see of the gravel driveway from where she was.

             
Hurry, Cindy, hurry and you’re free
, she told herself.

             
She pushed through the pain, taking each step as it came, until it seemed like all her life she had been climbing stairs and nothing else.  When at last she reached the bottom she stood for a moment, afraid that if she let go of the railings she would fall.

             
But sooner or later she had to risk it.  Sooner could save her life.  She let go, tottering for a moment.  She took a step forward, and then another, aiming for a line of trees just a few steps away.  She made it and pushed through them.  They were thick and close together, but she could still make her way through without too much effort.

             
A flash of yellow among the green caught her eye and she turned her head to see that she was nearly eye-level with a whole bunch of apple bananas.  They were small, nearly ripe, and right there in front of her.  A cluster of banana trees.  That’s what she was standing in.

             
She reached out and grabbed a banana and yanked it free.  It was harder than she had anticipated and the effort almost knocked her over.  But the fruit came free and she stuffed it and then a second one into her other pocket.  Sticky sap coated her hands and she wiped it on her dress.  She had already ruined Geanie’s clothes anyway.

             
She pushed on farther, trying to get as much distance between herself and the house as she could.  She wasn’t thinking straight.  She knew she should have headed toward the road where she could find another house, or a driver, and try to get help. 

             
Of course, she might have run straight into Mr. Black that way.  After it felt like she’d been walking for quite a while she stopped.  She stood for a moment before her legs gave way and she landed on the ground, shaking and in pain.  Her vision seemed to her to be fading, colors were losing their intensity, and her peripheral vision was gone.