Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of these unproductive negative thoughts, and then raise my feet and bring them both down on the step with as much force as I can muster.
It does make a good, loud sound. So I pause, listening for footsteps above.
Nothing.
I do it again. Harder this time.
But there’s no sound from above.
I pound my feet again, and again, and again but if he hears it, he ignores it. Because he doesn’t come. So much time passes as my pounding continues, I fall asleep from utter exhaustion. Only to wake up and do it all again.
Months have passed at this point. I’m sure of it.
My lips and mouth are so dry now, the corners become painful cracks and I taste blood.
I cry, sobbing into the smelly rag as the tears streak down my cheeks, and I wish that one of them would drip into my mouth, but they don’t. They only find the cracked corners of my lips and make them burn.
I sleep again, then wake up.
And I decide this is it. One more try and then I’ll give up. I’ll just stay here and die of thirst. And my body will rot, and decay, and some unsuspecting construction worker will find me months from now.
My feet come down one last time, making the loudest thud so far, and as the pain shoots up my legs the trapdoor above me opens.
I feel him before he speaks.
An angry presence.
He’s not going to help me and I’ve got no chance in hell of tempting him with my womanly ways to earn his sympathy.
So I just cry.
CHAPTER 4 - RIGGS
Iflip on the lights and stare down at the woman at the bottom of the stairs, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. “What the…” There is blood everywhere. “What the fuck did you do?”
I descend and a moment later, I’m jumping over her bloody feet and reaching under her arms to pull her away from the stairs.
After I left her this morning, I stuck around for a little while, listening to see if she’d start making noise or just in case she managed to get free, because I was organizing all the equipment that still needed to be put up before I can start testing things and go home.
When I didn’t hear anything, I left and was gone for about four hours. But as soon as I opened the front door, I heard the banging.
Looking at her now, it appears that she’s been kicking her feet against the bottom step for quite a long time because her heels are a mess of broken skin and blood.
She’s crying, so she hasn’t bothered to answer my question.
“You stupid, stupid woman.” I bend down, reach under the t-shirt blindfold that’s flapping over her face, and pull the rag out of her mouth.
She starts gasping for breath in between sobs, which makes the whole scene even more dramatic than it already was.
“If you were trying to piss me off, you’ve done a good job.”
“You left me!” she screams. Her voice is hoarse and raspy. “You piece-of-shit asshole! I’ve been down here for days with no water! No food! No nothing! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and die of thirst?”
I kinda chuckle. Not that it’s funny, because it’s not. She’s a mess. It’s just… wow. Dramatic. “Well, that’s an impressive bit of theatre. I suppose you learned all about acting, growing up in this fake-ass town.”
“Acting!” She’s still got the t-shirt over her face, so she can’t see me and I can’t really see her either, but it’s pretty clear she’s angry. “I’m not acting! I can barely breathe. I’m starving, and thirsty, and I have to pee! I’m not acting!”
“Woman.” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “It’s been like six hours. You’re not starving or dying of thirst. What you are doing is overreacting.”
“Over—” She scoffs, then starts again. “Overreacting? I was fired from my job, kicked out of my cottage, and came home ready for a good cry and I was kidnapped in my own house! I am not overreacting, you bastard. My behavior is entirely appropriate!”
“Well, you’re definitely screaming, so… tone that down a little, because it’s too loud for me.”
“Too loud?!”
“Should I gag you back up and leave?”
“If you leave me here, I swear—”
“You’ll what?” Even though she can’t see me, my eyes go squinty. I’m pretty sure all this annoyance is conveyed in my tone because she doesn’t finish her threat.
Instead, she takes a deep breath like she’s trying to pull herself together and gather up the last of her self-respect. After a few seconds of that she says, “May I please have a drink of water and may I please use the bathroom?”
When I first threw her down here, I didn’t actually think about how much trouble a prisoner might be. I was only thinking about how much I want to be done with this job so I can go home and show my father and the Colony directors that my word is good now, and have that final hearing where they say my debt has been paid and I will not be sent back down to work the tunnels.