Watery blood dribbled down my chin as I gnawed at the rope around my wrists. I had stopped wiping wiping my face hours ago, concentrating all my strength at the task at hand: getting out.
I could barely sit up straight in this cellar, surrounded by dirty blankets and beasties that wrapped around my ankles and crawled into my unkempt hair while I tried to sleep.
A thud came from above. I stopped, staring up at the hatch. It began to rattle and I quickly swiped at my face then hid my wrists.
The door above me opened, flooding my little crypt with light.
"Hello, my little Sweeting," he said. The light covered him completely and shaded his face, making him look like Azrael coming for my soul.
"Have we been good?" he said, laying the hatch door down and stepping down onto the short ladder. I pressed my back against the stone, hands still hidden in my lap. He descended and knelt at the bottom. He smiled, misshapen teeth pointing every which way.
Just thinking about his hands on me again made my stomach roll in revolt. As he crawled toward me, I began to squirm away from him.
"Come here, Sweeting," he said, reaching out a hand. It touched my knee and my body convulsed.
With a primitive scream, I dove at the ladder, aiming for over his shoulder. My hands were yanked back behind me, but the momentum caused the fraying and saliva soaked rope to snap. I toppled on top of him and he made a noise in surprise. Without a second thought, I clambered up the ladder. His hand caught my foot and I kicked him away.
"Oh!" he cried, falling back.
My legs were weak from the time spent crouching in my dungeon and I stumbled throughout the garage, looking for a way out. As I limped around, I screamed and banged on the garage door. "Help!"
As he climbed out of the hole, I spotted an ax on a shelf. I grabbed it, heaving it over my shoulder with shaking arms.
"Don't you dare-" he said, stumbling to his feet.
"HELP ME!" I screamed, vocal cords feeling like they would tear.
A side door was thrown off its hinges, dousing the dingy garage in sunshine. A man stood there, outlined in the sun. "Maggie Arnolds?" he said. I dove for him, ax hitting the floor in abandon. "Help me," I gasped. He opened his arms and I fell into them. I buried my face in this stranger's shirt. I was aware of the roughness of it and realized it was a bulletproof vest.
Flashing lights filled my vision and a paramedic took me gently. My legs gave out but she caught me, holding me tight. "Come here," she said soothingly. "You're going to come with me."
"Am I alive?" I said wearily. She chuckled lightly. "Doesn't matter," she said. "Dead or alive, you're coming with me. You're safe."
YOU ARE READING
Write to Rank - 2nd Edition
Action"Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire." Another edition of Write to Rank!
