Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Like Father promised, they leave me alone. It’s clearly the middle of the night, and the lights are out. I crawl from the bed and into the bathroom, where there are no cameras. Why would they be necessary when there is no escape route? Or so they think.

Shutting the lid on the toilet, I ignore the ache in my body. Above the toilet is the vent for the room. It’s a square that will fit my body at a squeeze. I’m taking a guess that the air ducts are beyond, but it’s worth a shot. I need to get around without being seen.

I stare at the screws for a moment until I spot the shampoo bottle. Ripping off the lid, I twist the plastic, and with frustrating patience, I slowly undo the screws. When enough are out, the top swings down. I leave the bottom attached in case I need to hide quickly and recap the bottle of shampoo, even if it is bent, and then I peer into the vent. Well, here goes nothing.

Gripping the edge, I lift myself up and into it. It’s a tight squeeze, and I think about Nico and how he would freak out right now. Pushing thoughts of them away, I use my arms to crawl through the vent as quietly as I can. It’s straight for about three feet before it branches left and right. Closing my eyes, I remember the hallways I was dragged through and choose right. The motions allow my mind to settle. If they find me, they will punish me, but they already are so it doesn’t bother me.

I peer down the first open vent I come to and see a corridor, so I keep going. I stop over the fifth vent when guards sweep the corridor, relaxed and chatting away. I wait as they pass, not wanting to give my position away. When it’s quiet again, I carry on, coming to a four-way junction. I haven’t seen a control room on this floor, and I’ve seen a lot of it, so I’m guessing it’s either up or down. If it were me, I would have it near the entrance, so I head that way. I squeeze and twist until I can stand up, and then I press my back to one of the metal duct walls and my hands to the other, watching it dent slightly, before I begin to climb. I grit my teeth as my muscles strain, thanks to the beatings I have been taking and the lack of exercise, but the burn is good because it clears my mind and takes it off my itching throat and worry for my guys.

Sweat beads on my forehead, but I continue to climb until I come to a junction once more, this one going left and right. I pick left this time for no other reason than I went right last time. It’s a squeeze as I wiggle up and into the tunnels. I hit some of my bruises and cuts and have to breathe through the pain, but it keeps me alert and awake, so at least that’s something, I shimmy down the tunnel, and it eventually stops at a dead end with a grate. I peer through the slats to the room beyond. It appears to be empty, so I open it and drop down onto an unmade bed. It cushions my fall, and I roll onto my feet, glancing around.

I got lucky. It seems to be an unused medical room with another two-way mirror. Moving to the door, I look out to see the numbers in the corridor. This one seems to be empty, but there’s a camera in the upper right-hand corner. Blowing out a breath, I look around and find what I’m looking for. Grabbing a metal pole, I open the door a crack and swing the opposite door open, activating an alarm, and then I wait. Not too long after, guards come surging down the hallway, opening the door and stepping inside. With them distracted, I hurry out and along the corridor. When no alarms blare, I figure they are focused on the room. I make it to a junction, looking left and right, and find what I want at the end on the right—a nearly white door with a word saying, “Security.”

Bingo.

The door is slightly open, so I hurry inside and shut it. The guards must have gone to the room to investigate. There are rows upon rows of monitors, and I quickly memorise the camera locations before moving to the unlocked computer.

Idiots.

I scan through the contents as quickly as possible, finding the alarm map. It shows me the layout of the building we are in, which seems to be a three-story industrial unit above and a bunker of five levels below. I memorise it and click it all shut before focusing on the cameras. I carefully turn some just a few inches to create blind spots, knowing I might need them in the future. Without much else to do, and knowing I’m running out of time, I slip out and into the closet room just as the guards storm past, muttering about idiot newbies. I dart out after them and back to the room I climbed out of. Jumping, I catch onto the vent, haul myself up, and shut it after me.

It’s like I was never there, unless they watch the cameras.

They seem almost bored with this job, however, thinking it’s too easy, so that works well. As quickly as I can, I make my way back to my room, shutting the vent. I use my fingers and nails to slide the screws back, but not all the way. My fingers bleed after, and my nails are jagged and broken, but I wash them and ignore the pulsing pain and ripped skin as I slide back into bed.

They will come to check on me soon.

It’s almost all too easy.

This is going to be fun.

Not five minutes later, the door opens, and a guard peers in before it shuts again.

I lie back in bed and wait, knowing I need the rest, so I shut my eyes for a few hours.

* * *

I wake up with a groan when the door opens. My eyelids are heavy, and my body is sluggish from the lack of sleep and the round-the-clock torture and experiments, but I force myself to sit up as a guard throws a tray on the bed next to me. I glare at him until he huffs and leaves, then I pick up the tray. I know they could have drugged the food or done something to it, but I also know I need to eat or I won’t be at my full strength, and that outweighs the other risks.

There’s chicken with mixed veggies, some bread, and yogurt. It’s not Bert’s cooking, but I use my hands to eat it because obviously, why would I need cutlery? Fucking assholes. I have to use the lid of the yogurt for a spoon, and when I’m done, I toss it at the door, watching it clatter, the mess bringing me great joy.

It’s the little victories.

The same guard comes back and cleans it up, glaring at me the entire time before he stomps off. He lets the door swing shut behind him, but I hurry over and put my foot in it. When he doesn’t reappear, I peek out to see the corridor is empty. The camera here is one I moved a few inches to give me a blind spot, so it will work when I need it to. Not right now though.

Ripping the bottom of my shirt, I ball it up and stick it in the lock, so the door shuts but won’t lock properly. Unless they look closely, they won’t notice, which is exactly what I want. I begin to stretch out my body, flipping off the camera as I loosen up, and then fall into a usual routine—one I haven’t used since before I was alone and moving constantly. Jumping jacks turn into burpees then sit-ups and push-ups, and then I stretch out my body and do it again. I’ll need to keep my strength and speed up. I finally collapse onto the bed, panting and covered in sweat, with that telltale burn in my muscles.

I eventually manage to drag myself to the shower and wash off all the sweat and dried blood. Watching it circle the drain, I trace the bruises across my body. There are older, yellowing ones and bright black and purple ones. I let the shower spray hit the laceration on my side and peel off the gauze. It’s healing well, and I shouldn’t need it anymore, so I gently wash that before doing the same to the one on my hip and then turning to scrub my back. I wash my hair a few times to get the feel of their hands and leers out of it, and then I stand under the spray, letting the lukewarm water take me away to a different shower, where hands slid possessively across my body.

Jonas loved joining me in the shower. I press my hands to the wall, wishing he were here touching me, loving me, and making me laugh.

I wish they were all here.

And Ana.

Fuck.

The tears start, but I let them fall, washed away by the shower until there are no more, and then I dry off and slip on some grey shorts and a matching shirt they provided before collapsing onto the bed and turning away from the camera.

The lights go off shortly after, and in the dark, I imagine a body behind me in the bed, never letting me sleep alone. I envision their comfort and lov and not for the first time, I wonder what they are doing. Have they stopped looking? Have they let me go?

Fuck, I hope so. I would hate for them to end up trapped here once more. I’m not worth it. I want them to trust in me to finish this and find the life they deserve, but even as I think that, I know they won’t. They are loyal, and they love me. They have proven over and over that we are in this together and that they will always come for me.

I just hope that when they do find me, it’s not too early.

I want them to arrive when this place is up in flames and understand it’s over. Then, they can mourn me and move on.

I hope they find the happiness they deserve. I send it as a prayer as I stare into the darkness.