Page 29 of Mine

Oh, how he howled! It was a glorious sound, even muffled.

“Now you’ll live for longer,” I said, patting Mr. Steadhill on the shoulder. “I know that might not be what you want, but it’s for the best.”

The music played on and I cleaned up, putting back the silver nitrate and storing the extra operating table off to the side. I did not think Sara would need to come back into this room. I would keep her in the library.

Yes, that would work. I whistled as I washed my hands in the sink, happy to have part of the plan figured out. Mr. Steadhill would die soon; I would keep him around for another couple of days. I had an idea of how to use him, but the idea wasn’t completely clear in my mind. Still, I was happy to have him around to play with, especially since I didn’t have any other clients this week. Perhaps he would offer to pay me for his release.

And Sara.Sara. She was a new instrument to learn. I understood only a tiny sliver of her so far, but I was certain I would know more. I would get better. She was unfamiliar to me now, but I would uncover the desires that ran through her, all of the nuances of what she wanted from my fingers and lips. She was new, and innocent, and although I did not know if she would stay, for now I would keep her and discover more about her. Soon, I would tease out all of her secrets.

Soon, I would make her body sing.

Sara

My fingers moved first, twitching at my side. Once I saw them move, I wiggled my toes. The effect of whatever he used to paralyze me was wearing off quickly. Soon I was able to lift my entire right arm. I pulled my dress down, pulled the straps back up. I used my one good arm to prop myself up on the couch. I still ached for release, but reconnaissance was more important right now. I suppressed my body’s aching and looked around.

The library wasn’t very big. Behind the couch was a wall filled entirely with shelves. I tried to figure out where the opening was. We had come through that wall, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t tell which part of the bookcase was the doorway. Maybe there was a hidden switch or something. There had been a switch from the other side, I remembered, but from this side?

In the corner was a small end table. A stained glass lamp rested on top of it, casting a dim colored light over the room. And there was another door, a real door this time, that led to another part of the house that I hadn’t seen.

I’d walked into this house as Susan, but now I was another character. As I looked around, trying to find a way to escape, I settled into my new character. It was a stereotype, sure, but one that I’d seen acted out a million times in movies. The Survivor. The survivor was a strong woman. She didn’t let anything get in the way of her goal.

What was her goal? Easy.Escape.By any means possible.

I couldn’t do this by myself. I couldn’t do this as Sara. But I could do it as the survivor. That’s who I would be, I decided. From here on out. I would be smart and resourceful. I would look for chances to get out. I would take those chances. And I wouldn’t let him know that I was trying to leave.

The doorknob turned. Startled, I fell back onto the couch. I didn’t want him to guess that the paralysis was wearing off. Secret. That’s what the survivor was. She never let any information slip that could possibly be useful. Already, her presence inside of me made me a little bit more confident. Bold. If I couldn’t figure out how to get out of here, then she would.

Rien came in through the oak door carrying a tray. I peered over and saw a glimpse of a hallway through the door opening before it shut behind him.

“Dinnertime,” he said as he approached the couch. He set the tray down on the floor. It smelled delicious, a warm spicy tomato smell and my stomach growled. I didn’t want to eat anything that he had made me, though. Eating would admit defeat, wouldn’t it? I didn’t want to admit to him or to myself that I was a hostage here. Survivors didn’t admit defeat.

He shifted my body over so that there was room for him on the couch. One of the two decorative pillows fell to the floor. Gently, he put the pillow behind my neck and propped my head on it. I winced as his fingers brushed against my cheek, thinking about what had happened before. Thinking about what he had done to me already. Would he touch me again?

Would I want him to?

He picked up the bowl and offered me a spoonful. I looked down at the bowl. A pesto oil was drizzled on top of the tomato soup. But survivors didn’t eat whatever their captors gave them, not even if it smelled delicious.

“You have the first bite,” I said.

“Me?”

“What if it’s poison?”

Rien let the spoon drop back in the bowl and tilted his head back to laugh. The warmth in his laugh sent a strange thrill through me. He seemed genuinely amused.

“Are you kidding me?” he said. “I could slice your throat open right now if I wanted to.”

I stared down at the bowl, not saying anything. I wasn’t sure what a survivor would say to that. Probably something witty. I was still sinking into the part, though. I only scowled.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

With a smirk, he put the spoonful of tomato soup in his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the underside of his chin dark with stubble. Why was I looking at him like that? He had taken me hostage. Survivors didn’t fall for their captors, no matter how handsome.

“See? No poison.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said, looking away. My stomach growled again, betraying me.

“Your body is hungry.”

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