Page 112 of Coach
Was he going to hurt me? Rape me? Keep me like a girlfriend for days? Weeks? Months?
Would anyone ever find me?
Tears welled up and flooded my cheeks before I could try to stop them.
I turned my head, using my shoulder to wipe them away.
This was no time for tears. If I had any hope of getting out of here, I had to keep my wits about me, stay sharp, and look for any opportunity to get free.
I let my eyes slide closed, focusing on my breath, releasing all of the panic, all of the uselesswhat-ifs.
Only when I didn’t feel dizzy with worry did I let my eyes open again.
Just as I did, I heard my name.
“Este!”
Saul.
Saul was at my door.
Sucking in a breath, I opened my mouth and screamed.
Once.
Twice.
Saul’s voice moved overhead, walking through my apartment, hopefully finding Trix.
Trix.
I screamed and screamed.
I pleaded for Saul to justsenseI was right there, below his feet.
But… nothing.
Eventually, everything went silent in my home above me.
Saul was gone.
He wasn’t coming to save me.
I comforted myself with the knowledge that hewouldsave Trix, that he was likely already halfway to the emergency vet with her.
If Saul wasn’t going to save me, I had to try to save myself.
I shifted up, forcing my bound legs beneath me, allowing me to look around the basement.
Coach Dover had spared no expense with the soundproofing tiles. They were floor-to-ceiling on every inch of the basement, covering the ceiling above me.
Something about the space felt wrong.
I mean, aside from the soundproofing, the staged house, complete with a tiny kitchen, dining space, living room, and a makeshift bathroom. Makeshift, because there must not have been any running water in the basement.
So instead of a flushing toilet, it seemed to sport a composting one. A giant plastic container of sawdust sat beside it. There was a small cabinet with a washbasin and pitcher sitting on it. Beside that was what I assumed was supposed to be the bath. All it was, in reality was a kiddie pool with a shower curtain half pulled around it, and a bucket with a camping shower wand hanging out of it.
It was absurd to feel relief at a toilet and the potential of not stewing in my own filth for who knew how long.
