Page 7 of Wings of Lies
I shook my head. It was time to leave.
I tensed, then pushed the door open. My shoulders sagged. The larger cement room was doorless and empty, except for the eerie lights that buzzed above, interrupting the ringing in my ears.
Inhaling, I pushed myself off the table—and crumpled to the floor.
My forearms caught me before my face hit.
I glared at my traitorous legs. Black shorts barely covered my pelvis, and a white t-shirt hung loosely around my frame, leaving bone starved of muscle and dotted with blood. I looked like a three-year-old’s stick figure drawing.
With the help of the doorframe, I pulled myself up and took a tentative step. Each step faltered, my insides flinching in discomfort.But when I reached the next doorway and rested my sweaty forehead against the cool cement, I didn’t care.
I peered around the corner into a long, dimly lit hallway. One side led to a dead end, and the other led to a turn. Everything was solid cement, unadorned, and smooth.
No wonder no one heard me when I screamed. They held me in a cement room within a cement room within—based on the lack of windows—a basement.
At the corner of the turn, something tightened in my chest.
Why did it do that?
Along with the pressurized ache, the stabbing needle sensation was back, too.
I peered around the safety of the wall, and my stomach sank.
Stairs.Great.
Using the wall for support, I climbed. Sweat beaded on my forehead and underarms. My breaths came out in soft pants that I prayed no one heard. At the last step, I placed my hand against the brass doorknob and pleaded to whoever was listening that it wasn’t locked.
The knob turned.
As I pushed the door open, I entered an unlit hallway flanked by closed rooms, stretching towards an entryway and the front door. Beyond the glass, trees swayed, urging me to sprint toward them and escape.
Instead, I crept.
The bottoms of my clammy feet stuck to the polished wood floor. I tensed with each suctioned step, moving down the sterile white hallway. I was one step away from entering the foyer when I heard a snore. My hand flew up to muffle my nose and mouth as Ishrank back against the wall. Pressure surged inside my body alongside the stabbing needles.
I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I should retreat. But I snuck one look.
A man in a cream cowboy hat slept in a recliner with most of his face covered. I panned between the door and the man. Twelve feet separated me from escape. I lifted my foot, cringing as my ankle popped, and stepped back.
Uncertain whether the door was unlocked and wary of the noise it’d make, I couldn’t afford to take the risk. I crept back down the hallway toward a room at the end and scurried inside.
Two floor-length windows faced a vast evergreen forest.
I stumbled over to one, relieved by the sliding tracks and easy locks. I grabbed the lip of the sill and pulled.
It didn’t budge.
My fingers grazed the top of the frame, flipping the locks, and I tried again. When nothing happened, I tried the other window with the same results.Why wouldn’t these damn windows open?
I sat down on the sill, taking stock of the furnished bedroom. There had to be something that could help me pry them open.Maybe something in the closet.
I slid open the closet doors and rifled through musty clothes. Hangers scraped against the metal pole, making me cringe. I dropped to the shoes, poking around for something useful. But unless I wanted to chuck high heels and sneakers at the glass until it shattered, I was screwed.
Although… I sat, found a pair of sneakers, and tied them as tight as I could. I didn’t want to run barefoot through a forest.
The warmth of the sunlight hit my face as I turned back to the windows.Why wouldn’t they open?Then something occurred to me.
It was me. I didn’t have the strength. My useless, bony arms couldn’t pull open the window.
