But it was almost as if her body and mind had been on edge for so long that they’d just shut down.
She’d had strange dreams. Dreams that Max and her mother had come to rescue her. Max had a pump-action shotgun instead of his normal Glock, and he was ruthless with it, although he didn’t actually shoot with it. Instead, he used it like a baseball bat, swinging it in long, high arcs. Her mother, instead of her normal rifle, was at Max’s side with a pickaxe that she played like a guitar.
What did it all mean, that crazy dream? Nothing. That’s what it meant. Not a thing.
It was just her mind making up a story. And for what purpose? She didn’t know. She’d never gotten to that lesson in school, apparently.
Her own education had continued, of course, but not in the way that it would have had she remained in school.
How long had she been asleep?
She didn’t know, but outside it looked like late afternoon. What had the sun been like when she’d arrived? She couldn’t remember.
Sadie tried to move, the way she normally would upon waking, and she suddenly realized that she couldn’t move.
She couldn’t move her arms. Or her legs.
Not only that, but she couldn’t feel them.
They were completely numb.
The realization of that sensation made her start to freak out. Her mind started racing a mile a minute.
Could she move her fingers? Her toes.
She tried. But she couldn’t feel them.
Shit.
Her vision was still sort of blurry, the way it often was when she woke up.
She looked down, craning her neck.
She was in a weird position, like a crab on its back. Sure enough, her legs and arms were bound tightly together by rope.
The memories all came flooding back to Sadie.
Shit.
She’d shot Terry.
His wife had tied her up.
And then what?
Sadie looked around, craning her neck more. It was one of the only parts of her body that she could still move. And it was uncomfortable to do so.
It was a little back room. Some might have called it a mudroom. There was a small window there. There was some junk against the wall, and some more junk on a steel shelving unit, the kind that you’d typically find in a garage.
What would her mom have done if she were in this situation? What would Max have done?
Look for useful things. Find some way to influence the outcome, and do that to the best of their ability.
But Sadie couldn’t move. Not really, anyway.
She could move her back, wiggling it as if she were a worm.
Maybe she could move this way. Maybe she could worm her way across the floor, find something to cut the rope with.
It was worth a try.
It was a horrible feeling, having her feet, legs, arms, and hands completely numb. Like everyone else, she’d experienced the sensation of pins and needles, and the progression of that, that lead to numbness.
But this was something different. This was complete numbness. She really couldn’t feel them at all.
Would she ever feel them again? Or had the blood supply been cut off for so long that she’d never regain feeling or use of them?
It was a scary thought, but Sadie thought about what Max might do if he were in this situation. He wouldn’t have wasted time worrying about a possible future without even figuring out how to escape.
He would have made escape his priority. He would have used everything at his disposal.
Sadie wormed her away over across the room. She made it about six inches. It was tough going. She was exhausted already. How did snakes move like this? It seemed to take a huge amount of energy.
The little mudroom that Sadie was in was small. Very small. There was only about another two feet before she got to the steel shelving unit.
Sadie couldn’t make out exactly what was on the shelving unit. Right now, it looked like some cans of paint. And something behind the cans. Maybe there were tools, or something that could cut the rope.
Sadie didn’t have the slightest idea yet how she’d use a tool to cut the rope when she couldn’t move her hands.
She’d figure that out when the time came.
The thing now was just to get there. Just get to that shelving unit.
It took her what felt like forever. Maybe in reality it was about a half an hour.
By the time she was just a couple inches from the shelving unit, Sadie was breathing very hard from exhaustion, and she felt even more exhausted than before. The feeling in her extremities hadn’t come back. And now her back, for the first time in her young life, hurt her, and she understood what John was always complaining about.
Back pain sucked.
Just a couple more inches.
Sadie was going to do it.
She got herself ready for the last final push.
Then she did it, launching herself sideways towards the shelf.
She misjudged and launched herself too hard. She slammed into the metal shelves, her head knocking against a can of paint that was on the lowest shelf.
It hurt. But not that bad.
Her head flopped back, as if she was a rag doll.
Something on one of the upper shelves, that she couldn’t see, fell off. She heard the things on the upper shelves knocking around as they destabilized.
A smallish can of paint hit Sadie in the neck and the jaw. It may have been a small can of paint, but it was still heavy.
There was pain. A good bit of it. More than she’d felt in a long time.
She didn’t want to make any noise, but she let out a cry of pain.
The paint can hit the floor with a clatter. Sadie couldn’t see it, with her head facing the other way, but she heard the lid pop off. The sound reminded her of a soda can being opened.
Sadie began feeling the paint. It was oozing around on the floor, the thick substance getting in her hair. It smelled horrible. She’d always hated the smell of paint, and it always seemed to give her a headache.
The door to the room flew open.
Sadie was already facing the door.
A woman appeared. The same woman Sadie had seen earlier. Terry’s wife. What was her name again? Olivia?
Sadie scowled at Olivia. She was just as bad as Terry.
Suddenly, Sadie’s expression changed from a scowl to one of fear. She couldn’t help it.
She was afraid.
The woman towered above Sadie. She looked terrifying. There was a horrible look on her face. A look of disgust and despair.
What was she going to do?
Had Terry already died? Would he die?
“You’ll be happy to know that my husband is on his last legs,” she said. She spoke the words with disdain. She spoke the words with quiet, intense fury. “He’s got minutes to live. Not hours.”
Sadie decided to tell the truth. “I’m sorry,” she said.
It was true. She hadn’t wanted to shoot Terry. She’d rather have had the situation turn out completely differently. But what other options had she had? She’d needed to try to defend herself.
“That’s not going to do any good,” said the woman, spitting on the floor, her eyes barely looking at Sadie, as if Sadie was some kind of disgusting specimen that was too horrible to actually look at.
It was clear what was happening.
Maybe this woman wouldn’t have had kidnapped Sadie on her own. Maybe she had been a nice woman.
But her husband had done the deed. And now, with her husband dying from a bullet to the stomach, she was going to blame everything on Sadie.
Sadie was going to become the complete focal point for this woman’s rage and despair.
“I’m still trying to decide what to do with you,” said the woman. “Terry told me all about where you’re from. Apparently you told him quite a bit on the walk here. So we know all about you.”
“They’ll give you whatever you want,” said Sadie.