Chapter 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

When the man leaves the room and she hears the door latch, hesitantly she lifts the bottom of her blindfold. The room is dark except for a sliver of light at the bottom of a door. She can make shapes out. She quickly looks around the room expecting to see instruments of torture. No furniture of any kind. On the wall furthest from the door is a small rectangle window. She remembers her father calling it a hopper window. It's a foot tall and maybe three feet wide. She can't escape through it; there are bars welded to the frame.

Something hard presses into the bottom of her calf. She finds the zip tie that had been used to bind her wrists. The scuffing sound of boots is coming down the hall. She scoots over until the zip tie is under her buttock and pulls the blindfold back in place.

The door unlatches and she feels a waft of air on her face as the door opens. She hasn't felt this before. The air is fresh and damp and reminds her of how wet asphalt smells after a hard rain. She thinks maybe a door leading to the outside has been left open. Maybe there's a chance she can run? But where if she doesn't know where she is? She inhales the air but blood and snot run back in her throat and gag her.

Something metal clumps to the floor beside her and she can hear liquid sloshing.

"I'm going to cut your ankles free. Don't get any ideas. My girl is just outside the door and believe me, she will enjoy killing you."

"Please try something," the woman's voice comes from the doorway.

Victoria shivers. It's cold. The ground is cold. But it's her fear that has frozen her.

Something about the woman disturbs her even more than the man, who is more physically imposing. The woman really seems to despise her. But how can that be, when she doesn't even know her?

Victoria knows she has to get out of here. She'll crawl if she has to. The woman is going to kill her in any case. Better to die gaining her freedom than trussed up waiting to be butchered. She puts both palms on the floor and leans forward but a hand goes on her head and pushes her back.

"Victoria, you don't want to try that. For one thing, even if you got lucky, you'd never find your way out of here."

He puts the metal bucket beside her and takes the old one. "Here," he says, and the woman answers, "I'm not her damn maid."

"Take it," the man says forcefully, and the woman mutters but apparently has taken the bucket from him.

Victoria finds her voice. "Have you contacted my husband yet? Is he going to pay you?"

"Well, now, that's what we need to talk about. You and me. Let me cut you loose and you and me will talk."

From inside the room, closer now, the woman scoffs. "Talk. Yeah. We'll all talk and talk and talk."

"Shut up and do what I told you," the man says.

Victoria straightens her back and waits with her arms to her sides. Before she can say anything more, his strong hands grip her right hand. She can't pull it back and almost yanks the blindfold off, but she knows they will kill her if she sees them. She relaxes the hand. What else can she do? The grip grows tighter and her hand is pinned against the man's chest.

"Straighten your fingers," he says, and she can smell cigarette smoke on his breath. His face is a mere foot away from hers. She does what he says, and he forces her fingers out and bends them back until the pain is excruciating. Is he trying to break her finger?

And then something cold and hard presses around her little finger, and she realizes it's worse than that. Her heartrate quickens and she mumbles, "No," trying to pull her hand away.

The man holds firm and before the pain comes, she hears a snip, like a branch breaking. The pain is sudden and excruciating. She screams out and writhes against the arms clutching her. She can feel blood running down her crushed wrist.

She goes lightheaded. As she starts to slip into merciful unconsciousness, she dimly registers the man tightly wrapping a piece of cloth around the severed finger stump.

"Keep that tight and you won't die," are the last words she hears before she blacks out.