Beyond Revenge (The Ransom Series) (12 page)

“I can understand what she sees in
you,” he finally says, his voice catching slightly.  “I had the wrong opinion
of you for a long time, even after we started this unlikely partnership.  I’m glad
you’ve proved me wrong
. 
I would be happy to see my
daughter in your arms again.”

I don’t know what to say. 
The father
of the love of my life just gave me his approval, not just of me as a human
being, but of me as man in love with his daughter.  It’s something I wasn’t
sure I’d ever be able to earn after how I drastically I’ve caused his
daughter’s life to change.

I’m barely able to hold his gaze
,
but I maintain it.  I clear my throat and try to keep some amount
of normalcy to my voice.
 
“It means a lot to hear you
say that
, m
ore than you know.”

Robert pats my shoulder one last time. 
When our moment passes
,
he lets go of me and returns
his attention to the laptop to begin the next phase of our search.

His Concern

∞

Stubborn he called
me.

Questioning my
thoughts and actions,

though only
because he cared.

But I’m open,
flying, unbound.

Choosing my
future, directing my fate.

I may seem
irrational, wild, foolish.

Out of my mind.

But I am here,
sound inside.

Doing that which
is necessary

to be me.

∞

“Lie down on the bed.”

Mark’s sudden intrusion into the
basement and worrisome instructions cause adrenaline to shoot wildly through my
veins, zapping my body
to life
despite the tiredness I
feel at being awakened so early in the morning.  I don’t like where this is
going, b
ut I
comply without a word
, reluctantly
lying down from my sitting position on the bed
.

He pulls out pair after pair of
handcuffs, and my heart falls out of my chest.  He hasn’t done this since the
early days here when
I fought back against him when he came to force
himself inside me.  Since the moment he knew I was likely pregnant
,
he hasn’t touched me like that again.  Why would he suddenly come
for this when I’m
sixteen weeks into this pregnancy
?

As
Mark
’s hurriedly
securing a pair of handcuffs around each of my wrists and attaching them to the
bed, I can’t help
starting to
panic.
 
It’s taken me months to get over what he did to me those first
couple
weeks
of being here
.  I can’t open
up those wounds again.

“Please don’t do this,” I beg, trying
to maintain a steady voice.  “You already got what you wanted.”

Mark laughs at me, his evil, satanic
laugh that makes me want to scream and cry and give in to the anger and hatred
that swells within me because of him.  It’s not until he’s secured the last
handcuff around my ankle that his maniacal jubilation at my plea stops.
 
“I’m not going to fuck you, girl.  As much as I’d love to,
I’m not going to risk anything happening to my baby.”

Deep inside I want nothing more than to
be stubborn and talk back to him, but I think better of it and keep my mouth
shut.

Once Mark finishes attaching the other ends of the
handcuffs at each of
my limbs to the bed
, he
stands up and admires his handiwork for just a moment before turning
toward the door.
 
The lack of explanation for
his
actions
eats away at me with each step he takes.  It pisses
me off, so I decide to call after him.  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

He stops mid-step before turning around
to look at me.  He’s clearly annoyed.  “We’re going on a supply run.  You get
the stay here and be pretty and pregnant.”

I scowl at him as he smiles and leaves
the room, closing the door behind him.

In the few minutes it takes for me to
calm down
,
I can hear the
muffled
sound of a car engine starting somewhere outside the building.  The
engine sound gets louder briefly before fading away until I’m left in complete
silence.

It’s both relieving and discomforting
to be in this place by myself.  I feel like this is my chance.  I’m finally left
alone and have an opportunity to truly get away from Mark for the first time
since
he brought me here
.

Of course
,
there’s the problem of the handcuffs.

I’ve fought against them before.  On
numerous occasions
I’ve tried
to writhe and yank my
way out of them
,
but I’ve only ever caused my wrists
to bruise and bleed.

I focus on my left wrist, the less
important one given that I’m right-handed.  Sitting my torso up as much as I
can at the head of the bed, I relax my left hand and pull upward with my arm
using
all my strength.  The pressure of the metal burns against my skin
,
but there’s no movement of my hand through the cuff.  I try
pressing down with my right palm against the
mattress
to leverage my body and yank my left hand again.  It hurts even more until I’m
to the point of tears and I have to stop.

It takes a few more tries
,
but I finally come to the realization that if I have any chance of
getting out of here
,
I’ll have to do something
drastic.  With as much leverage as I can get on my right hand, I brace myself
and pull violently at the cuff with my left arm in sharp tugs.  On the third
try I give it everything I have, and something snaps.  I hear the crack of bone
in my hand and scream out at the agony of it, but my hand breaks free.  The
empty cuff clanks
down
loudly to where it’s attached
to the bed
frame below.

I clutch my injured hand to my chest,
breathing heavily and willing myself to push through the pain.  I know I have
more work to do.

For a moment I evaluate my options for
my right hand.  I can’t afford to break both of my hands, so I need a different
approach.  I take this side slow and steady and get whatever use I can out of
my left hand to assist me. 
Mark was sloppy in his rush to attach me to
this bed. 
Th
is
cuff
is
a little looser than the other side.  I can already feel the tiny
movements of my wrist through it with my
firm
pull.

Despite the efforts of my left fingers
to compress the skin at the edge of the cuff, the
contact
against the metal is
still
so tight and
abrasive that it slowly and painfully rips at my skin, tearing layers off as my
hand works through it.

I can’t handle the slow and steady
anymore.  I tighten my right hand as much as possible and pull while I try to
squeeze the knuckles together with
the limited ability of
my left fingers.  With one final tearing of the skin
,
my hand pulls through the cuff and I collapse backward onto the
bed.

My cheeks are wet with involuntary
tears of pain
as
I take a moment to rest
and
breathe.  I think of Leo and how he would be scolding me if he saw
what I was doing.  He’d never let me hurt myself like this, even if it meant
possible escape.  He’d point out the key
word in that sentence: possible.  He wouldn’t want me to risk my
own health and safety for this.  He cares too much.

In my
mind,
I
care too much about getting the hell out of here to even worry about the cost. 
I’ll do anything
to get me and my baby to safety
, as
evidenced by my broken hand and bleeding wrist.

I sit up and scoot to the
bottom
of the bed to evaluate the situation at my ankles.  Unlike my
hands, there
’
s no way to get my bare feet through the
se
cuffs.  I look over the end of the bed at where the other ends of
the cuffs attach to
it
.  The cuffs at my hands were
attached around the actual bed frame, but the cuffs at my ankles are attached
around the metal legs of the bed, and the legs are loose to the floor.

I need to flip the bed, or flip myself
off the bed and lift it up.

With one look at the noticeable bump
that now shows in my belly, I’m immediately nervous about the next part of this
impromptu
plan.  If I weren’t pregnant
,
I’d throw myself off the end of the bed and not worry about the
consequences, but I’m currently sharing this body with another
life. 
I can’t do anything that would potentially harm the passenger growing
within me.

Very slowly and carefully
,
I lean forward until gravity pulls my weight from the bed face
first to the floor.  My hands catch me before the rest of my body can hit the
hard cement, my left hand immediately giving out at the sheer pain of putting
so much weight and pressure on the broken bone, but it’s still enough to catch my
fall.  I lower
the rest of
my body gently to the
floor
with my right hand and rest there for only a moment.

I don’t like the thought of lying on my
belly even though I know it’s absurd to think that I’m
actually
crushing the baby.  I push up on my right hand and knees and
shuffle backward until I can reach the legs of the bed.  One by one
,
I unsteadily lift them and pull the other ends of my cuffed ankles
out from under the legs.

When I’m completely free
,
I waste no time struggling up to standing and moving toward the
door, though the loose ends of the cuffs
around
my
ankles make it
more
difficult to walk.  That becomes
the least of my worries upon reaching the door handle.  A wave of
disappointment and fear washes over me.

Mark locked the door.  How the hell am
I supposed to get out?

I look to the sparse accommodations of
the small basement around me.  There’s not much other than the bed
and
a
flimsy plastic table with matching
chairs. 
The attached bathroom contains unmovable fixtures and nothing else.

With few options before me, I kneel
down and inspect one of the legs of the bed.  If I could detach it from the bed
frame
,
I could try to whack the door handle with it. 
I bend down and examine it, finding the couple large screws that attach the
metal leg to the frame.

Blood
has dripped
all the way to the finger
tips
of my right
hand, making it to slippery to twist at the screws.  I wipe the blood off as
best I can on my shirt and try to work at the screws again.  They feel like they
have some give to them.  A
shudder
runs through me at
the thought of what happened
o
n this bed to cause the
screws to loosen in the first place, but I quickly push away that thought and
focus again on the task at hand.

With
some
elbow
grease and determination
,
I finally get the screw to
loosen until I pull it off completely.  I repeat the struggle with the other
screw until I’ve successfully removed the metal leg of the bed
.  I
clutch it by the narrower end in my right hand.

I raise it above my head and bring the
wider end down hard on the door handle.  It clatters and shakes at my blow
against it but otherwise remains unaffected.  I hit the handle over and over
again
, funneling every bit of anger and frustration in me
through my hand and into the force of my
heavy strikes
against it until the handle breaks off and goes clattering to the floor.

Using the narrow end of the leg of the
bed in my hand, I poke through the hole in the door and push the door handle on
the other side all the way through until it falls to the floor.
 
I drop the leg and sneak my right hand through the newly created
hole, readjusting to extend my reach up enough to grab and turn the
knob
on the
deadbolt
lock
.  I pull the
door toward me
,
and it actually moves.

I’m free.

The
early morning
sun is low in the sky, its light beaming directly through the
parted
curtains
of the
window
so that it blinds
me
as
I reach the top of the stairs
from the basement.  My eyes have trouble adjusting
,
but once they do
,
I finally get to see what kind of
place I’ve been living in for
over three months
.

It looks like a
simple
cabin.  Exposed wood beams run the full length of the ceiling to
match what looks like homemade wooden furniture in the living room and dining
area as well as rustic cabinets in the kitchen.  It’s a homey space with a
fireplace, wool blankets, and various knickknacks
all around
.  One would never know that a madman has been living here with a
pregnant girl held captive in his basement.

I
glance at the two empty
bedrooms in the adjacent hallway before my eyes
locate
the
door that
lead
s
outside
.  When I
unlock it and throw it
open
, t
he beautiful fresh air of early spring touches
my skin and breezes through my hair.  With just a few steps out
onto
the porch
,
I feel the morning sun
touching my body with its rays, enveloping me, showering me with its warmth and
comfort that I’ve been kept from for so long.

I almost don’t know what to do next. 
I’ve thought so much about being free of this place but not about what I’d do
if I ever actually got the chance to escape.

My surroundings are intimidating: and
endless sea of
mountains
around me, dipping into
valleys and rising up into peaks,
thick with trees in some areas and
sparse with trees in others,
void of civilization everywhere
I look.
 
There are no other vehicles here, no garage
that would have a bike or ATV.  It’s just the
brown
cabin
sitting atop a hill surrounded by forest.  I don’t really have much choice.