Page 42 of Deliver us from Evil

Trinity

The urge to start feeling sorry for myself is back, and twice as strong as before. Honest to God, I don’t know how the Brotherhood did it. I’ve been tied to a rusty bed in my family’s basement for what feels like days, and I’m about ready to lose my mind.

The rats don’t help. I can’t see them, only hear them, and that makes it worse somehow.

Gabriel turned the lights off before he left. Something about the dark helping me find the light I was so desperately seeking.

I should have known he had me figured out. I mean, he’d told me so himself. I’d never considered myself an optimist, so I guess I’m just naive then. A hopeless romantic—

Gah!

I cut off the thought with a grimace. That’s what he’d said when he’d been talking about my parents. And God he’d even sounded a little lovesick.

Which makesmefeel sick.

I test the ropes again, rattling the metal bed frame, but they’re as tight and unyielding as the previous thousand times.

All this time I was living right above this room, and I had no idea.

Rattle. Squeak.

He’s coming back. And soon. He doesn’t have to—I’m sure he thinks I’m pretty secure—but it was the way he said those words.

You should pray, Trinity. Pray to God for forgiveness.

Forgiveness? How fuckingdarehe? I don’t believe for a second he wasn’t a key player in this whole thing. Of course he’d try and shift the blame—he’ll die a horrible death in prison. And it’s not like my parents can testify against him.

Rattle, rattle, SQUEAK.

I stop moving. That last squeak sounded different. Like something was giving.

Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle—

The part of the bed frame designed to hold the mattress collapses under me. Pain dashes through my wrists and ankles as I’m suddenly suspended limb from limb in the air. I gasp, let out a breath, inhale deep. When I squirm, my butt barely brushes the mattress under me.

Fuck.

My wrists ache and burn where the ropes are cutting into me. My left hand especially—there’s a dull, thumping ache coming from the base of my thumb, as if the sudden tensing on the ropes did some serious damage.

As soon as I can breathe through the pain, I start shifting again, tugging at the ropes.

I’m loathe to try with my left because it already hurts so much. I go around again. Right hand, right foot, left foot. Nothing. The bed’s posts are still rooted to the spot. Nothing seems to have changed except the fact that I might have a dislocated thumb.

My left hand aches even more, as if thinking about it aggravates the injury.

Huh. Houdini would pull off a famous escape like this in the blink of an eye. But those were all tricks. Wasn’t he double-jointed or something? He could put his shoulder out of its socket and—

My eyes swivel to my left hand. In the dark, I can’t see anything.

Oh God.

No.

Can I?

It’s already hurting so much…

But what if I managed to dislocate my thumb? Then I could slip my hand out of that rope, right?

---