Page 20 of Mason

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The sound of rain wakes me.

Heavy rain.

I don’t know how long it’s been since the stranger left, and as my eyes flutter open, I realize it isn’t just the sound that’d woken me.

Fat, cold drops strike my head in a steady rhythm from above.

I glance up to find the source of the drops, seeing the faint shimmer of water slipping between the ceiling’s logs.

I take in the dark room around me, piecing together the scene until I figure out it’s a bathroom with a utility sink on the far wall and a rusted-out toilet next to me. The claw foot tub to my left would almost be welcome if it weren’t for the chain wrapped around its feet that connects to the handcuffs around my wrists.

The urge to cry comes rushing in, but I bat it away just as fast. Crying won’t do me any good right now. I need to think. To make sense of all this.

My skin pebbles with goosebumps from the cool air, the gift from the stranger now pooling at my waist after apparently slipping in my sleep. It’s a man’s gray coat, and I can still smell his cologne on it. If he weren’t a kidnapping creep, I might like the scent. It’s warm and inviting, unlike the sharp citrus that Papa wears.

Pushing it off, I move to my knees, my body aching from being folded up for so long. I’m still in my dress from Down Under, though it’s showing a hell of a lot more than it should’ve with the skirt riding up to bear my thong to the world.

For a moment, horror seizes my core, the fear of rape front and center.

But with a nervous glance down, everything looks in place. There isn’t any blood, and that area feels fine. Nothing hurts in the slightest.

Other than stiff joints and a headache, I feel surprisingly ok physically, given the circumstances.

As I inch to my feet, I listen closely, praying my kidnappers won’t come rushing in. I need to think. To assess the situation. Planning an escape takes time.

My heels are long gone, leaving me barefoot on the rough wooden floorboards. Dirt and dried pine needles coat them, the combination harsh against my skin.

I barely have two feet of chain to work with, leaving me enough room to waddle to the toilet from the bathtub. Crouching, I study the chain around the tub, touching my fingers to the cool basin and quivering inside. It’s cast iron. There’s no hope of breaking a leg off of it and running. The chain is thick, weighing painfully on the metal shackles around my wrists.

Checking the cuffs, I mentally kick myself for not opting for an updo last night. At least then I’d have a bobby pin to work with. I don’t know how to pick a lock, but I could’ve figured it out, eventually.

I’m trapped. Hopelessly.

And completely at the mercy of my captors.

“Hello?” I call, turning my back to the tub and looking at the room’s only door, a faint wooden slab I can barely make out in the dim light streaming through a sliver of a window high above. “I’m awake in here.”

I remember the stranger mentioning it’d be a lonely few days, but I highly doubt someone would leave a prisoner alone.

“Hurry, already!” I challenge. “You said people call you Death. You can’t just declare that and march off into the unknown and have other people do your bidding, buddy.”

I could very well be talking to no one, but I don’t care. I want to punch that asshole in the face. And when I get home, I plan on slapping Rachel silly. If she hadn’t snuck off for bathroom dick, I probably wouldn’t be standing here in handcuffs.

“Come on! Show yourself!” I shout, glaring at the door while wiggling my wrists in the cuffs, trying to fold my hands small enough to slip through them with little success.

Death is smarter than he looks. The cuffs are snug, and as I give the chain a tug, I realize this isn’t bargain bin material. These aren’t restraints you’d have lying around the house. Not even if you’re kink-minded.

Staring at the filthy bathroom, reality swoops in. Death didn’t merely snatch me on a whim. He planned this. He’s countless steps ahead of Papa and his men, even if they’re tearing the city apart looking for me. Well, if anyone realizes I’m missing yet.

The rain makes it hard to gauge the time, but it has to be morning already.

Someone will realize I’m missing. Rachel should’ve already told Papa. I hope.

Panic sets in, drenching me in a cold sweat. I lift my hands and slam them back down, rattling the chain against the tub. “Help me!”

If there is any hope of getting out, it’s up to me. Maybe I’m still in the city, in a hovel somewhere. I might be physically helpless, but I still have my mouth and a decent set of lungs. Inheriting Mama’s big mouth might come in handy.

Again and again, I slash the chain down, screaming.

I keep at it until my voice is hoarse and my arms throb from the movement, so tired I can barely lift them.

It feels like hours have passed.

And no one comes.

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