Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Why did I go to the bar alone?
Who was I meeting?
Where was I?
A lead.
I was meeting a lead regarding my classmate Megan’s disappearance.
My breathing quickens as I desperately try to piece together my last memory. With the intensified breathing comes a fresh wave of panic over my air supply. I frantically beat my fists on every reachable surface of my wooden cage.
Help!
I feel like I croak out the word, but the sound barely reaches my ears. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my head and the dull thuds of my hands beating on the wood.
Someone put me here. I’m not going to be able to beat my way out of this box I’m in. I need to focus—to pay attention to what I do know.
There was a note about Megan. Bar. And then what?
A cute guy. A little flirting. A drink. A distraction from my task.
Was he the lead?
I don’t think so.
He never mentioned a note.
As I waited for the person I was to meet, I got lured into conversation with…
Green eyes. Floppy brown hair. Crooked grin.
Theo.
I’d become transfixed by a guy I’d just met. Did he roofie my drink and then kidnap me?
I can’t make my thoughts come together to create a clear picture of the puzzle I’m attempting to finish. Usually, puzzles are my superpower. Now, however, everything is fragmented and confusing.
Whatever happened, it wasn’t good. It led to me being confined to this coffin-like space with sketchy recollections. If I have any chance of getting out of here, I need to pay attention to what I’m working with.
So what am I working with?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Despite sweating profusely and soaking through my clothes, I’m thankful I still have them. My kidnapper hasn’t raped me.
Yet.
A ball of emotion clogs my throat, but I swallow it down, ignoring that terrible line of thinking.
Listen, Romy.
I’m reminded of my therapist. She wanted me to listen—to ground myself to the moment rather than letting my unraveling thoughts tear my brain in half. But this exercise was only a coping mechanism. Right now, it’s a useful tool for saving my own life.
The stakes have never been higher.
Thud.
I think I heard something. My breaths come out ragged and too noisy. Pressing my lips together, I suppress another whine and strain my ears to hear something—anything.
Nothing.
Wait.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
The cadence of the thudding is what I’m realizing are footsteps. Firm, long strides. The person is tall and big. Another ripple of fear travels down my spine. Focus. The sounds are getting closer.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
I count each step, mentally calculating how far away the person is coming from. Usually, details don’t matter. They’re not important. That’s what the therapist says. This time, she’d be wrong.
Details—like the distance from my trap to a door to the outside—could be a key to my freedom.
So I continue to count and measure. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. My thoughts race for a moment, making me lose count. But not for long. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline that’s pushed the potency of the drugs forced into my system or just the passing of time, since I have no idea how long I’ve been here—but it’s losing its strong hold on me.
Good.
I lean my head to the side, wondering where the sounds went. Did I imagine them? No, I heard them. I counted them. Fourteen steps. Or was it fifteen? The darkness only confuses me and makes me question reality.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Squeak.
I want to cry out and beg to be released, but I don’t know who’s on the other side. They’re there, though. I can sense them. A weighted presence nearby has each hair on my sweat-slicked arms standing on end. My bladder aches and my thoughts race along, wondering if they’ll release me to use the bathroom. I squeeze my thighs together, shuddering at the thought of peeing on myself.
Focus, Romy.
Your captor is close!
I hear some shuffling and then yellow light slides its way into my space. I’m not exactly sure how it’s getting in, but then I see cracks between wood panels.
I think…I think I’m under the floor.
The sound of keys jangling has me holding my breath in anticipation. I fist my hands and brace myself to attack the second I’m freed from this prison. I’ll catch the captor off guard and run the seventeen or so steps away from this hellhole.
Timing is everything.
Aside from the keys clanking together, I don’t hear anything else. No heavy breathing from the person, no words, nothing. I’m wondering if he’s expecting me to scream or cry. I sure as hell want to, but I’m not stupid. It would become their focus—shutting me up—and I’m not sure what that would entail. I don’t want to know.
I hear more shuffling and the sound of the keys is gone. Then there’s a click—a distinct sound of a lock disengaging.