Chapter 47

FORTY-SEVEN

Victoria cried herself to sleep and when she awoke in the darkness, she was no longer afraid but angry. Neither the man nor the woman had come into the room to taunt her since they'd come and cut her finger off. After what they'd done to her, there was no chance they would ever allow her to be ransomed. She was free to move around her jail cell but it was hard with the blindfold still on.

She pulled the blindfold down and could barely make out her own hand, though it was mere inches from her eyes. She stretched her uninjured arm out in front of her and felt her way around the four walls. The walls were concrete block, the floor a rough concrete, one door, one small casement window. The bucket was useless as a tool and the room was empty of any item she could use to pry the door open. The door was metal, with an industrial-type handle and no keyhole. The hinges were on the inside and she'd torn two fingernails trying to pry the pin out of the hinge.

The woman especially took pleasure in inflicting pain and humiliation. The next time they came in, she would fight for all she was worth. She wouldn't die here. Not by these people. She'd fight them with her last breath. There were two of them but she had daughters, a husband, a brother. Someone would come for her.

She's standing in front of the door when it suddenly opens, knocking her to the floor. She scoots away from the door and suddenly the lights come on. Blinding her before she reflexively puts her hand in front of her face, blocking the light. Squinting through slits of her fingers she sees the white tennis shoes at the bottom of skinny blue-jean-clad legs.

"I wondered when you'd take this off."

He squats and pulls her hands down and yanks the blindfold up over her head, scraping it across her broken nose and causing her to cry out.

"Stop crying or she'll come back in here."

Victoria knows who he means by "she" and covers her mouth.

"That's better. I just want you to know this wasn't my idea."

"Who…" Victoria mutters before she stops herself.

"Who? Well, that's a good question. Why is a better one."

Her vision is clearing and the light doesn't hurt. She sees the man's face for the first time. He's late twenties, maybe thirty years old. A black bandana is tied around his forehead holding long greasy dark hair back from his face. His arms are covered with tattoos in what the kids call a sleeve. On his right wrist is a tattoo of a woven bracelet that hasn't yet healed. It takes all her will to not grab the tin pail and smash it into his head.

He wrinkles his nose and looks at the floor that she's been forced to use as a toilet. "Now look at the mess you made. Whoa! Number two? How disgusting. I hope you don't expect me to clean that up." A chuckle comes from somewhere outside of the room. "Well, it looks like you're in no condition to do it. But you'll have to. This is all the water you get today so ration."

The woman moves to the side of the door, and Victoria sees she's holding a camera. It looks like one Victoria had years ago for recording family outings. "Get it done," the woman says.

The man steps beside Victoria, close enough she can smell his sweat and horrible halitosis breath. "Oh, I almost forgot. Hold your hands out."

When she hesitates he raises a fist and she relents. He was going to hurt her after all. She holds her hands out and when he touches the injured one, she feels faint.

"Now the other."

She does as she is told this time and he grips her wrist so tight she can feel the bones grinding.

"That's a fancy wedding ring. What's these other ones?"

She is wearing a ring Jack gave her after Ronnie's birth. It had birthstones in it for both of her daughters. She doesn't answer fearing he'll steal them. It's a silly thought but she has nothing left. Not even her dignity.

"Will he know these are yours?" the man asks.

"What…"

"The rings. Will hubby know they're yours?"

"Why would you…?"

"Wrong answer again." His fist slams into the side of her face and she's falling.