CHAPTER ELEVEN - Vanessa The Escape

C HAPTER E LEVEN

Vanessa The Escape

V anessa wasn’t sure how many days she had been locked in what appeared to be a basement in a commercial building. There was a small awning window near the ceiling. It had bars on the inside to allow the window to open a few inches, but she noticed the crank was missing. She thought she heard trucks pass by from time to time. Otherwise, it was quiet.

The room looked as if it had been set up for someone to crash for the night. It had two cots, an upholstered armchair, and a small table with a lamp. A microwave sat on a narrow shelf on the opposite wall next to a closet-sized toilet area with an accordion door. There was a step-in shower with a plastic curtain, a wall-hung sink, and a bare lightbulb over the spot where a mirror should have been. Privacy and luxury were not on the menu. Stairs led to a locked and bolted door. Once a day, someone would unlock it, open it quickly, and leave a tray of food for her. The timing of the food delivery was also difficult to track.

By the second day, she realized she was being held captive. But why? Was it the pills she’d seen tumble out of the box? Why would anyone care? She rubbed the side of her face. It felt swollen. She figured she probably had a bruise, as well. But there were no mirrors. No way to tell. Her wrists were still raw from the rope, and her lips still had some of the glue from the tape. During the last food drop, she ran up the stairs and started yelling. “Somebody please! Tell me what is going on!” But she got no answer. Her backpack was gone, and of course, her phone. All she had were the clothes she had been wearing.

By the second, or perhaps the third day, the armpits of her shirt were beginning to stink. And her underwear? She didn’t want to think about it. After her sandwich was delivered, she took a quick shower. At least her body was clean. Her hair was a different story. She used the strong-smelling soap that got most of the oil out of her hair, but she didn’t have a comb, and it dried in clumps around her head. She wanted to wash her clothes in the sink but feared being found naked would only add to her misery. Someone might think it was an invitation to rape. Rape . At least she hadn’t been through that torture. Yet. In fact, the only harm done her was the initial punch in the face. But why?

The light from the window was her only point of reference as to how many days she had been there. She surmised it was maybe a week. There was absolutely nothing for her to do except sleep, think, and eat the sandwiches she received every day.

It was early in the morning when she decided to pull the small table against the wall and try to see what was on the other side of the window. She moved it very quietly and hoisted herself up so that her eyes were above the window frame. And the bars. She could see a parking lot that butted against a dense wooded area. As she stood on her tiptoes, she saw heavy boots walking in her direction. She ducked and almost lost her balance, but her expertise on the balance beam from gymnastics saved her from falling off the table. The person kept walking and tossed a cigarette butt onto the pavement. She noticed several of them. Maybe this was where he took his break.

When he was long past the window, she returned the table to its original place, just in case someone appeared. The next morning, she did the same thing, trying to formulate some kind of pattern, a schedule besides the appearance of a tray of ham and cheese.

She willed herself to wake up at the same time, even though she had no idea what time that was. She’d go by the amount of light coming through the window. She listened for sounds. Nothing. She quietly moved the table to the window again. She saw the boots and the cigarette butts. She did this for several days before she realized it was a pattern. The Boots Man’s pattern. He was the only one. There were no others loitering in the parking lot at night. She checked. The lampposts lit the corners, and shadows were cast outside her window. It was eerily quiet.

As she began to step off the table, she grabbed one of the bars on the window. It was loose. She tugged on it. It wasn’t her imagination. Little crumbles of concrete dribbled from the holes where the fasteners attached to the wall. She gave it another tug. More crumbles. But it was still intact. She needed something to wrench the fasteners away from the concrete. The lamp. It was one of those high-intensity lamps. If she could pull off the top, she might be able to use the lip to wedge it between the screws. But then she’d have no light at night except for the bare bulb over the sink. She decided to wait until the next morning, after her food drop and after Boots went off his break. Her mind was racing. She was formulating a plan. If she got caught, they would probably kill her. But if she stayed, she might be killed anyway. It was worth the effort.

That evening, she couldn’t sleep. She was anticipating her escape. Once her food was delivered in the morning, she pulled the lamp apart. After Boots’s cigarette, she moved the table and began to work on the bars. It took some time, but she was able to pull one side of the bars away from the window. It still wasn’t enough to get through. She kept working on it until her muscles were beginning to burn. She had to take a rest, and it was getting dark. She would resume her project the next morning when she was fortified. Ham and cheese. Couldn’t they change it up a bit?

The adrenaline she had been experiencing was spent. She was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, she jumped at the sound of a door slamming. Breakfast. Thankfully, no one came down the stairs. She waited for Boots to pass by, then continued chipping away at the bars. They were coming loose. She tugged. And again. With her last effort, they gave way, catapulting her off the table and onto the floor. She was stunned but unharmed. She waited and listened. Nothing. It occurred to her the room was soundproof. But why? That was one question she really didn’t care about. It was the only thing in her favor at the moment.

Her next challenge was to open the window, but the crank had been removed. She was going to have to break it. That would have to wait until nightfall, when the building was empty or close to empty. She studied the twenty-four-by-thirty-inch glass. She looked around the room again. Could she break one of the legs off the table? But then what would she stand on? She looked over at the glaring bulb hanging over the sink. Maybe the toilet seat? She hurried over, got on the floor, and unfastened the screws. She’d try using the lid first. If that didn’t work, she’d try using the seat.

After darkness fell, Vanessa moved the table to the wall, hopped up, and began to bang the lid against the glass. Over and over again. Her arms were getting tired. She raised the lid over her head one more time and thrust it at the glass. Little cracks began to run through the window. She jumped down and got the pillow off the cot, then returned to her perch. She placed the pillow against the glass and gave it her last, best shove. Shards spilled in both directions. She stopped. Listened. Nothing. She took the pillowcase off the pillow and placed it over the jagged bottom edge of the frame. It wouldn’t completely prevent her from getting cut, but it would help. She hoisted herself up and pulled herself through the window until her body lay flat on the asphalt. She looked around. No one. She scrambled toward the woods with blood running down her arms and her face, with branches lashing at her wounds as she ran for her life into the dark.

She finally stopped when she was deep into the woods. She listened. No one had followed her. She was exhausted. She leaned against a large western red cedar and slid to the ground. It was dark as pitch. She’d have to wait until dawn to get her bearings and hope she wouldn’t encounter any creatures of the night, animal or human. The sound of a cracked branch stirred her awake. She was almost face-to-face with a deer. They looked at each other curiously; then the deer turned and continued on its journey.