A vent.
Cautiously, I lurch to my feet. Without something to climb on, it’s too far out of my reach, and the wardrobe towers too high to stand on. Frantic, I race toward the bed, but the frame is solid wood, impossible to budge.
“Hello,” I call to the other woman. “Is there a vent in your ceiling?”
“Yes,” she whispers back. “But I can’t reach it.”
“Damn it.” I fight against the panic building in my skull, warning me that it’s futile.Just give in.“Is there anything heavy in your room? A table? Anything you can move or stand on?”
I hear a scraping sound like someone rising to their feet. Then soft, hesitant footsteps. Finally, I sense her return to the wall.
“Yes,” she says. “There is a table.”
“Good.” It takes everything I have to keep my building hope from my voice. “If you stand on it, do you think you can reach the vent?”
More silence.
“Yes,” she says nearly a minute later. “I…I think so.”
“Thank God.” I swallow hard, knowing that what I’m asking is more than anyone ever should of a stranger. But this isn’t the time for pleasantries. “I need you to climb into the vent, Ama. If you come to my room, you can open mine. If you can bring me a sheet, anything like a rope, then I can climb. We can leave.”
It’s far-fetched. I know that even as the plan leaves my mouth. Far-fetched. Stupid. Futile.
But it’s all I have.
“If we can make it out—no. Iknowwe can make it. I know we can.”
I hear nothing from the other end, but for good, I suspect. Ama’s stopped listening.
But I can’t stop talking.
“He’ll kill you,” I tell her. “He’ll kill me too.”
One day, eventually. I know as much with a certainty even Mischa’s madness couldn’t inspire.
“But I can’t stay here. Not anymore. And you have a child with you?”
I hear a sharp intake of air.
“Yes,” she admits.
“Then please…”
Silence falls again and I’m too tired to make another attempt. Instead, I curl onto my side and will my conscious mind far away.
It turns to Mischa, a fitting tool to compound on Robert’s prison; before he can do it, I’ll drive myself insane.
I can feel him inside me, my own devious, maddening parasite.Is this how it ends, Little Rose?he taunts.With you on your knees, too pathetic to run? No. Get the fuck up. Try again. Run!
Gasping, I pull myself upright, clinging to the wall for balance. My first few steps carry me in a pathetic circle. Then farther. Faster. Feeling along the walls, I test for any breaks. When that fails, I try moving the bed again. Then I retest the windows, running my fingers along the impenetrable wood. Still, I keep moving. Thinking. Trying—anything.
Everything.
I’ll give in by the end. Robert will come for me before dawn. I know it.
But still, I resist the inevitable for as long as I can, even if it hurts.
Even if it leaves me too tired to fight back when my captor returns. Even if it leaves me exhausted and panting, I keep trying.