by Karin Story
Assuming it was just another meal coming in, she nonetheless clutched her knife in her hand. By some miracle, no one had taken it from her. Her backpack with her gun was long gone, but her knife had still been buried deep in the pocket of her jeans. It was her lone asset. That and her clear head.
Peering discreetly between her fingers, she saw the door open the normal few inches, then it continued to open. A bolt of fear swept through her.
God, please don't let it be him again.
But a small figure entered the room. Not much taller than she was, and thin as a rail, a serene Asian man stood just inside her doorway. He pushed the door shut behind him.
No door lock clicked into place. No deadbolt slid home.
The silence was deafening.
Who was he? And why did a ripple of fear dance down her spine?
He just stood there, passionless, watching her. Making no move toward her.
It took all her self-possession not to look at him directly, but she rather enjoyed her secret view because he wasn't alerted yet to her watchful gaze.
And it gave her time to think. As long as he just stood there, she had time to make a plan.
After a couple of minutes, he suddenly shifted into motion as if he'd been waiting for some kind of a cue he'd just received. His hand swept into the folds of his blousy shirt and withdrew a long, gleaming knife.
Maris's skin crawled and her heart tried to run away, but she held it firmly in position. That didn't stop the steady pounding in her ears, however.
Her knife warmed in her hand, as if it had a life of its own. The blade wasn't out yet, but she was an expert at flipping it open in less than the blink of an eye. It was best to keep it hidden in her hand until the perfect moment.
Smoothly, almost floating, the man crossed the room, until he stood in front of her.
Knowing it was time, she raised her head and looked at him, trying her best to appear drugged and hazy.
He smiled, and it was almost businesslike.
Maris stared at him, honestly not sure what to say or how to respond to his presence. But she figured being "drugged" excused her from lengthy conversations.
He grabbed her around one arm, his grasp much tighter than she would have expected. The little man had the strength of a python. Relentlessly, he squeezed, his fingers pressing into her flesh, cutting off her circulation, causing an ache to throb through her arm.
Unable to remain passive, she began to struggle. That only caused him to squeeze tighter. Damned if he wasn't a python A sparkle lit up his eyes and they began to pulse with a maniacal glow. Each movement of hers resulted in the grip around her arm tightening.
He loomed over her, holding fast to her arm with one hand, the other poised to strike with the evil knife.
Panic began to spread in Maris's system.
No. No panic. Think. Act.
Instead of focusing her concentration on trying to squirm free from the agonizing grasp, she forced her thoughts onto the pulsating warmth in her right hand. Conveniently for her, the python had hold of her left arm. But it wouldn't have mattered. She was adept at passing her knife from hand to hand, and even though her right was the stronger, she could wield it in either. From the strength of this little snake, however, she was grateful her right was free.
Knowing surprise was still her best bet, she suddenly went limp. Let him think she'd fainted.
Immediately, the painful grip on her arm loosened and blood coursed through it again, biting and stinging as it made its way to her hand and fingertips.
Through half-closed eyes, she watched as he lay her back on the bed while he readjusted his hold on her. He leaned forward over her, and just as he was about to wrap his hands around her upper body with the intent of picking her up, she flipped open the knife and drove it home in his neck.
His eyes widened in surprise, and like a robot, he dropped her.
Her heart pounding in her ears, she pulled the knife out and drove it in again.
His body twitched, and blood spouted like a red fountain from the initial entry.
The scene was surreal. Maris pulled the knife out again and watched in morbid fascination as another fountain sprang out of his neck.
She'd hit the artery just as she'd intended. But nothing had prepared her for this. All she could do was stare in frozen horror at the spout of red that pumped out of him and splashed onto the white tile floor next to the bed.
The little man watched, too, in shock. Then slowly, he crumpled to the ground.
Maris sat up, and stared at him. The surprise on his face would have been comical at any other time. But now, her gaze was drawn to his eyes, which glazed over, then closed forever. The ugly knife, which no doubt had been meant to end her life, clattered to the floor.
Springing into action, her breathing coming in sharp gasps, she wrestled his body to the bed. Quickly, she pulled off the blood spattered sheet, using it to towel up the floor and wall as best she could, then stuffed it next to the body.
She searched through the man's pockets and discovered a ring of keys. As she pulled the rest of the bed covers up over him, she discovered the small earphone in his ear, and the wire leading down under his shirt.
So he had been waiting for a cue of some sort before he attacked her. Well, he wouldn't be needing it now. She pulled the small speaker out and followed the lead down to the credit card sized receiver taped to his chest. Detaching the whole apparatus, she laid it on the floor and stomped on it, then shoved the crushed pieces under the covers with the body.
She knew when she came up with this plan that its success would depend entirely on whether or not fate was smiling upon her. If someone was actually watching the video monitor now, she was in deep shit. However, she'd taken a chance that it wasn't constantly monitored.
Tearing across the room, she slowly opened the door and peered out. No one about. Yet. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had been less than a minute since she'd killed the man.
She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, then slipped out the door and shut and locked it behind her. If anyone cared to look now, it would appear that she was safely tucked away in her bed. If that didn't buy her some time, nothing would.
The room she stood in was little more than an anteroom, with a table, single chair, and yes, a video monitor showing the inside of the cell she'd just come out of. Thank God no one had been here a few minutes ago. She spied another door behind the table. Gripping the knob with a shaking hand, she took a deep breath, and opened it cautiously. A quick peek showed her nothing. It was pitch black beyond the portal.
Oh, God. Not that. Why did it have to be dark?
To make it worse, she got the impression she was underground.
She tried to breathe away the painful clutching in her chest, but it did little good. Heaviness pressed in on her, harder, harder, until she gasped for air. The very earth closed in on her.
Stay calm, Rhodes. Get control of yourself.
Her eyes adjusted, but she really was surrounded by total darkness. She had a vague impression of walls about a meter apart. A hallway?
God, where did she go? How did she get out of this black hell?
Panic assailed her again, and her fear of the dark hovered at the edge of her senses, barely restrained. The cold dampness chilled her skin, causing goose pimples to break out on her arms and legs. She shivered violently.
Okay, girl, move. The faster you move, the faster you'll get out of here.
Feeling and groping her way along, Maris followed the wall toward the right. She took twelve steps before she came to another door. Trying the knob, she discovered it was locked tight.
Forcing herself to continue on, she came to another door. Also locked.
The ring of keys she'd lifted from the little man in her cell weighed heavily in her pocket. There was no way she'd be able to dig up the motor skills to try each key in each lock. It was taking all her energy and control just to keep herself from going mad.
No, s
he just had to make an educated guess that the rooms were similar to the one in which she'd been held.
She needed to get out of here.
Twenty more steps and no more doors.
Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
She sensed rather than saw the airy openness looming in front of her.
Stretching out her hands, a blind person reaching out to find obstacles, at last she touched something cold. Metal. A railing.
Gentle probing with her feet finally gave her a mental if not visual picture. Stairs.
Cautiously, she groped her way upward until a large obstacle blocked her way. A door, and it, too, was locked.
Damn, she had no choice now. Fumbling the key ring in her right hand, and running her fingers over the lock with her left, she began the ordeal of trying each key.
Chanting the mantra calm, calm, calm, calm, to herself, she held the panic at bay. But slowly, it crept in on her. Her hands began to shake and the keys rattled loudly. God, how many were there? She was getting near the end, and had tried how many? Ten? Fifteen of them?
Please, please, please let the right one be here.
It has to be here, she told herself firmly. That little python had to have gotten down here somehow.
Yeah, but this might not even be the right way out. Maybe he came from the other direction.
Stay calm.
Another one refused to enter the lock. Only two left.
Her hands shook for all they were worth and she fought to keep them steady. Twice the key slipped to the side as she tried to put it in the door. Finally, getting it aimed correctly, she held her breath.
It slid all the way into the lock.
Please, let it turn.
It did!
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
But then a new fear hit her. What was she going to find on the other side of the door?
The darkness had taken its toll on her. Her imagination ran wild. Her body shuddered. It didn't matter what was on the other side of the door. As long as it wasn't darkness.
She turned the knob and pushed open the door.
Her heart bottomed out. Another dark void awaited her.
Her legs managed to keep her upright, although she didn't know how. They were rubbery with fright and exhaustion.
Get a move on it, Rhodes. You can't just stand here. You cannot get caught.
Still blind, she reached out with her hands. This time, however, instead of emptiness or a hard wall in front of her, she felt something soft. Fabric? What the…?
Both hands roamed over the cloth in front of her now. A collar? Yes, that's what it was. And next to it, another one. And hangars.
Where was she? A closet?
Why would there be a closet at the top of the stairs? And a locked closet nonetheless? It didn't make any sense. No one in their right mind would build a set of steps just to get to a closet. Would they? But since she wasn't particularly in her right mind at the moment, it was difficult to ascertain what someone else might have been thinking.
Thrusting the musty coats aside, she felt for the back wall. As soon as the coats were out of the way, to her ultimate joy she discovered a thin crack of light under the back wall. But…it wasn't a wall. It was another door.
A closet with two doors, one on either side?
Who cares. There's light!
Her slightly off-balance mind wondered if she'd been dreaming this whole affair and that now she was safely back in the wardrobe, about to step out of Narnia and return to the real world.
Shivering from the odd thought, she found the door knob and placed her palsied hand on it.
Not sure what she was going to find when the door opened, and having no way to tell ahead of time whether she was entering the old English house from the C.S. Lewis books, or a room full of people as friendly and well-meaning as the demonic Mr. Evil or the wiry little python, she held her breath and turned the knob.
It squeaked slightly and a cold sweat broke out over her body. But she had no choice. There was no way she could go back.
Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the door knob turned until at last, it had reached its limit.
Her palms so slick with sweat she was afraid the one holding the door knob would slip, she opened the door a mere crack. She clutched her knife tightly in the other hand.
Nothing.
She heard no sounds at all. A small sigh of relief escaped her. But not for long. Just because she didn't hear anything at the moment didn't mean there wasn't someone there. For all she knew, the demon had watched the whole episode in her room and was sitting there with that cold, evil smile on his face, waiting for her.
A bubble of hatred rushed forward at that thought. If he was there, she'd kill him.
That bubble gave her the push she needed. The door opened a few more inches, until she could stick her head out.
Hallelujah! The room was empty. And glorious light encompassed her, folding her in its warm embrace.
Gasping in relief, Maris shut the door on the darkness.
After being in the pitch black for so long and losing her sense of place and perspective, returning to the world of light was a shock to her senses. It was several seconds before she could stop squinting, even though the room was only lit by a couple of floor lamps. Through a large window on one wall, she could see the night sky.
She stood in a luxuriously appointed living/dining room. A spacious kitchen sat off to her right.
The carpet had to be two or three inches thick if the spring under her feet told her anything. Spotless, black leather furniture clustered in a cozy manor around a shining brass coffee table and end tables. A big screen TV graced one end of the room, and fine art decked the walls and table tops. She was no expert, but the gold Aztec mask hanging on the wall next to her was a museum piece worth a fortune. Another wall showed off a Picasso, and she had a feeling that it, too, belonged in a museum somewhere.
Who was this evil creature who'd kidnapped her? He clearly had bucks to spend.
The long mahogany dining table appeared to have been used recently, as it was set with bone china and elegant crystal. The remains of a meal still rested there, and linen napkins had been tossed onto the table next to the two place settings.
She crossed the room watchfully, afraid at any minute one of the doors bordering the room would open and she'd be caught. Her dread of facing the blond-haired demon urged her forward.
A glance at the window showed her there would be no escape that way. There was no way to open it, and she didn't dare risk breaking it. The noise would give her away instantly. Plus, as best she could tell in the darkness of night outside, it looked like jungle conditions out there. Not conducive to an easy escape.
Scanning the room, she selected a door at random.
A bathroom. No help there.
A bright light shone over the sink, and as she turned to leave, she saw the neatly stacked clothing on the back of the toilet. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but something made her look more closely.
Jeans and a dirty, bloodied, white T-shirt.
Horror knotted her stomach. She knew those clothes.
Lifting them in her hands, she fingered the blood stained shirt. Oblivious to the welling tears in her eyes, she held them to her cheek.
Tom.
They even still had his subtle scent on them.
What had really happened in the apartment when they'd found him asleep? And why were his things here in this bathroom?
A jolt of reality hit her square in the chest.
She remembered all too well the evil, smarmy smile of that monster when he'd told her Tom was dead. The fake sympathy in his eyes. She'd hated him for that, for pretending he'd cared that Tom was dead. But that wasn't it at all. It was fake because Tom wasn't dead.
The bastard had lied to her, played her emotions. Played her for a fool.
She studied the bathroom more closely. The towel on the rack was still damp. The soap in the holder in
the gleaming shower stall, still slippery. The rug next to the shower sported wet footprints.
A fire lit underneath her. Tom was alive! He had to be. There was no other explanation for finding his clothes in this bathroom days after he'd supposedly been murdered.
Holding his jeans and shirt against her chest, she wished she didn't have to let this little part of him go in case she was totally off base and he was gone. These could be her last reminder of him. But it was better to leave things in here undisturbed. Should anyone come looking for her—and she knew it was inevitable they would—she didn't want to give any clues about where she'd wandered after she'd gotten out of her cell.
With one last caress to Tom's things, she replaced them on the toilet back, charged across the living room, and threw open a door at will.
She hadn't heard a sound since she'd come out of the closet, and grew more and more comfortable with the idea that, for the moment, she was here alone.
Behind one door, which led off the kitchen, she found herself in some kind of a control room. Shelving ran along three of the walls, and computer and video monitoring equipment abounded. So this was where the evil clone played the peeper. Another surge of anger tingled her skin. Well, let's see what all he'd been looking at.
The bank of monitors showed a variety of locations. Her cell stood out on one, and the others were views of various outside locales. Jeez, he had this place well covered externally. At least she had to assume these were surveillance cameras mounted outside this house.
Why wasn't this room manned? It seemed strange to have so many cameras, but no one monitoring them.
Although it was nighttime in nearly all of the views, she could make out the thick jungle surrounding the house. On one monitor, she saw a helipad. And walking near the concrete square—two figures. Soldiers? Yeah, most likely soldiers since they were dressed in camouflage uniforms. And even from her view, she could see the weaponry they carried. Submachine guns.
The small sense of security she'd gained when she'd realized she was alone in the house was immediately thrust aside by the sense of urgency that clamored at her now.
