Chapter 8 - Rope Burns
I heard his shoes first. Not Nathan's heavy steps. His were quieter on marble, then stopped right above me.
Light cut down in a thin line as the hatch lifted an inch. Dust fell into my eyes and I blinked it away. I could hear my own breathing too loud in that stone box.
"Hey," the man whispered. "It's me. He's gone for a minute."
I pushed myself up against the cold wall. My legs didn't want to work right. Three days on stone does something to your knees. They shook and I locked them to stay upright.
He opened the crack a little wider, just enough for his face. Behind him, I saw the bright hall ceiling. Then Mia's small fingers curled around the edge of the wood.
"Mommy," she breathed.
I tried to smile. "I'm here, baby."
He looked down at my hands. I had them in my lap, trying to hide them, but there wasn't anywhere to hide in that light. The rope was thick and pale and wrapped four times around each wrist and knotted between. The skin underneath was red and split where I'd pulled.
His jaw tightened. He didn't say anything for a second. He just stared.
"How bad?" he asked.
I wanted to lie. Mothers do that without thinking. But my head was swimming from sitting up too fast and the edges of his face blurred.
"I'm dizzy if I stand too quick," I said. "I haven't eaten. It's cold down here at night. The stone pulls it out of you."
He nodded once, like he was filing each thing away.
"Can you feel your fingers?" he asked.
"Mostly. They tingle."
Mia made a small sound. She'd seen the marks. She pressed her cheek to the floor to get closer, her ponytail dragging on the marble.
"Did he hurt you other places?" the man asked, low.
I glanced at my cheek. I knew it was swollen. I could feel it with my tongue from inside.
"Just here," I said. "When I fought the door the first day."
He reached into his suit jacket. No show of it, just a quick move. He pulled out a small plastic water bottle, half full, the kind from a car console. He unscrewed the cap and lowered his arm through the crack as far as it would go.
"Take it slow," he said. "Small sips."
I had to stretch up on my knees to reach it. The rope bit when I lifted my arms. I got both hands around the bottle and drank. The water was warm and it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. I stopped after three sips because my stomach cramped.
"More in a minute," he said, watching me. "Don't rush."
I nodded and held the bottle against my chest like I was afraid he'd take it back. The cold plastic felt good on my wrists.
Above me, Mia wiggled forward. The man put a hand lightly on her back to keep her from slipping in.
"Mommy, I have this," she whispered, and she pulled at her hair. Her little ponytail came loose and blonde hair fell around her face. She held out a thin pink hair tie, stretched out of shape.
She dropped it down through the crack. It landed on the stone near my knee.
"You keep it," she said. "For when you're scared."
My throat closed. I picked it up with my bound hands, clumsy, and slid it over two fingers on my right hand where the rope wasn't rubbing.
"Look," I said, holding it up so she could see. "Right here. I'm not scared now."
Her lip trembled, but she nodded.
The man glanced over his shoulder toward the hall. I heard nothing, but he did. His whole body went still.
"I have to close it," he said fast. "He's coming back. I'll be quick, I promise. You hold on."
He took the bottle from me, capped it, and set it just inside the lip where I could reach it without standing. Then the light started to narrow.
May you like
"Hey," I whispered up. "Thank you."
His eyes held mine for half a second through the shrinking crack. Then the wood settled down and the dark took me again, except for the pink circle around my finger.
