Chapter 41 PAIGE

Chapter 41

PAIGE

Day 8

He's distracted.

He's barely talked to me in the last twenty-four hours. I can see in his gaze that he's moved on. When he looks at me, surprise flashes in his eyes. As if he's forgotten I'm here.

He won't let me live.

I know this in the depths of my soul.

It's up to me to survive.

In the beginning we slept in the same room. He'd lock the bedroom door from the inside, the key always hidden. But lately, he sleeps in the living room and locks me in the bedroom. I refuse to sleep in that bed, so I sleep on the floor with the pad from my crate.

This morning he unlocked the bedroom door so I could use the bathroom, and then he ordered me into the crate, but left its door open. I waited for my breakfast, but I think he forgot it again.

I don't care; I'm not hungry.

I hear the clank of his coffee cup as he sets it in the sink. I know this means he'll shower next. I close my eyes and curl my legs closer inside the crate. His steps pause at the bedroom door, and I feel his heavy gaze on me. I stay still, my mouth slightly open as if in sleep, but I worry he can hear my heart pounding.

The bathroom door closes, and I open my eyes.

Now.

I crawl out of the crate and silently dart into the living room. I don't dare take time to dress. I've seen him slip the keys into the pocket for remotes on the side of his easy chair. I plunge my hand into the pocket.

Nothing.

I shove both hands in, checking the corners.

Where are they?

Breathing hard, I yank open all the kitchen drawers searching for the keys, careful to be as quiet as possible. I hear the shower start, and I know he showers quickly. Maybe two minutes at the most. I glance at the front door. Three locks.

What if they're not all on the same key ring?

I've never seen him unlock the front door. But the key ring has several keys. They must be for those other bolts.

I find nothing in the drawers. I start on the cabinets, peeking into everything that could possibly hide a set of keys. Again I end up empty-handed. Tears stream down my face, and I brush them aside.

The fridge.

I shake my head. I can't do it. Surely the keys are somewhere else. Maybe he took them into the bathroom. I refuse to consider that possibility. I open the hall closet and check the pockets of every coat. No keys.

The fridge.

I freeze. Every cell in my body screams for me to stay away from the tall appliance.

The shower goes silent.

I'm going to die.

I turn off my thoughts, stride to the fridge, and open it, my gaze locked on the containers in its door. A plastic butter tub rattles as I shake it. My fingers tremble as I pry off the lid and grab the keys. I thrust the tub back into the fridge door and push it shut. I tear over to the front door, fumbling through the keys. There are eight. Two are vehicle keys. I single out the first key that looks right and shove it into the top lock.

It won't turn. I try the next lock. No movement. I try the third lock. No movement.

I choose the next key. It slides open the top bolt, and a bubble of celebration explodes in my chest. The following key is useless in the remaining two locks. Same with the next.

Two keys and two locks left.

The next key fits the second lock.

The bathroom door opens.

My fingers refuse to cooperate, and I drop the keys. I snatch them up as his roar fills my ears. His steps shake the floor as he races toward me. I can't breathe. In my head, I'm screaming as my hands seem to move in slow motion.

I plunge the last key into the last lock, slide the bolt, and rip the door open.

Go!

On my second step out the door, he grabs my hair and yanks. My scalp burns, but I fling my weight to the side, still screaming. My feet shoot out from under me, and his fingers sink into my upper arm.

Go!

I land on my knees on the porch, but his hands still have hold of my hair and arm. I swing at his face, but it's too far away, and he slaps me, knocking my scream into silence. He drags me backward, my scalp and face in pain. I fight for breath as my butt slides across the doorstep, back into the house of hell.

I'm going to die.