Page 2 of Fire Island
As if reading my thoughts, he moves closer, holding out a hand, the way you would to a dangerous animal—injured, but dangerous nonetheless.
“Butte—”
“Don’t call me that!”
His face hardens, eyes mad. “Eve.” He rises and steps forward. “You have one more day, then you will be coming upstairs with me. If you are still thinking of running, forget about it. I’ve secured the lighthouse. A spot for you at the very top. There is no other way out but with me.”
He slides a hand into the pocket of his jeans, producing a set of keys.
He’s locking me away in the tower and throwing away the key.
Literally.
Without another word, he turns on his ridiculous loafer-clad heel and leaves me to my misery in the basement.
The food sits at my side for the next few hours. A potato and a small bowl of something that looks like lumpy stew. If I eat, I have to relieve myself.
The first time with the bucket was humiliating enough to want to avoid it at all costs. I’m guessing my tower prison will also have a bucket.
Maybe chains . . .
Maybe not.
No way down, and the light oscillating all night long, stealing my sleep.
The light . . .
If I can sabotage the generator, the lantern room will have no power. No power means no light. No light would surely prompt someone to come out to the island, wouldn’t it?
Gosh, I’d even be happy to see Errol at this point.
The old diesel machine runs twenty-four-seven, surely it will run out of gas soon enough. The exhaust is vented out of the basement by large piping. I guess I would be either high as a kite or dead from carbon monoxide poisoning by now if it wasn’t.
I scan the old engine for something to break, tamper with, or...
Then I see it.
The kill switch for the machine. A toggle in the center of the aged beast. If I can just?—
Shuffling forward, I reach out, fingers straining for the small metal flip switch. The machine hums against my shoulder as I contort myself, gaining inch by inch.
My fingers swipe past the tiny lever, not affecting it at all. “Dammit.”
The metal around my wrists bites as I push harder, shoulders curled in and chin tucked to my chest, desperate to reach.
The cool, hard switch brushes over my finger. I groan, willing my body into a pliable, boneless form. The generator rumbles against my right side. Holding my breath as if that will wring out the last of my bones’ resistance, I take one last pass at the switch.
Metal hits the pad of my middle finger. And... it gives. Falling with my hand.
The hum fades out, and the small generator room stills with the silence.
I jerk back up, shuffling away from the machine like I’m about to be busted. Like the noise I barely heard in nine months living upstairs will suddenly be missed. My wrists burn from the force of straining against my bonds. I rub them the best I can. The chain rattles as I soothe the angry red skin with a wince.
Now I just need the light to stay out until someone notices tonight.
Fingers crossed.
Nightfall descends and the waters outside are dark.
