Page 86 of To Have and to Hold

No one was coming.

My voice became a wail, then a bark, then a scratch until there was nothing left. I gathered the remainder of my mental resources and used the bucket for sound—this wonderful bucket that served as a container for explosives and a physical weapon but was only meant to be a latrine. It served me well and was about to embark on its third career: my noisemaking machine. I banged it against the wall before rolling the flashlight over and crashing the bucket on top of it with the music of a toddler clanging pots and pans. A few times I looked over at my cellmate and started off hesitant in making sounds, but he didn’t twitch. Not even an eyebrow furrow. My captor was out for the count and may be well and truly dead. That incentivized me for a few glorious minutes.

Until I realized he’d locked us in here and he was my last-ditch chance in getting out.

Fatigue was also stiffening my muscles, making it increasingly difficult to make the sounds I needed to be discovered, if there was indeed anyone in the vicinity. After a few more smacks against the floor, I gave up and melted against the wall, so close to accepting sleep as my ultimate escape. Aches beat in time with my pulse, my whole body becoming one large bruise with stinging agony in key areas—like my right arm and knee. During the brief time I’d had to recover from the Skull’s recent manhandling, the right side of my face had swelled three times its size—or that was what it felt like. I couldn’t see out of one eye, couldn’t breathe out of both nostrils, and I’d cut my tongue on my chipped teeth more than once. Every time I moved my head, my neck reacted as though I were wearing a brace—stiff and reinforced with growing bruises that likely had the shape of fingers.

I felt eviscerated. To continue grasping at hope and then hitting hard chipped away at my spirit each time. And if the Skull was really dead, then I could end up exactly like him. Curled up and bleeding onto the floor until there was nothing left of me but bones.

I sighed, almost wishing my brain wasn’t still as active as it was. It was preferable to give up, slide sideways, and enter slumber, even if it was for a moment. Instead, my thought was that I had to search him. The key to getting out might be somewhere on his person. He had back-up lights installed in this room, and while he never shut the door when he entered here, there must be some kind of fail-safe he’d thought of, just in case the door shut on him. It was what I would do—what any intellectual being would do—when dealing with a panic room that had an automatic lock. No one wanted to be stuck in an area with no means of escape but for an outside lever, least of all its creator.

Moaning, I bent forward, my palms meeting the floor, and carted myself over to his form, the paranoia of him waking up rising swiftly with each slide closer. Soon, I was within grabbing distance, then strangling distance, and the tremor in my fingers could no longer be ignored. I quieted my breaths as if that would be the noise that woke him and not my continuous clashing of metal against metal. With the delicacy of a heart surgeon, I reached into the single pocket of his hoodie, feeling for anything resembling an opener of some kind, but was met with cotton. Removing my hand was just as painfully quiet and terrifying, but he remained motionless underneath me, eyes closed. I made the mistake of glancing at his face and pictured them snapping open, his torso arching up and his hands encircling my neck and froze. I calmed myself by channeling some yoga breaths, arms primed to fend off any attack, but there was none. His mouth remained slack against the stone floor, drool and blood mixing into an unconscious grime.

Next, I moved to his denim pockets, mentally screaming against such an idea. My touch would be so close to his skin, he would absolutely feel me if I dipped into his jeans, but what other choice was there?

There are no heroes coming for you. You’re the only savior you’ve got.

I took a deep inhale and held it.

My fingers slipped into his back pocket.

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