Page 98 of The Taskmaster
But they never did.
This was my only chance.
I could hear the other boys getting ready for lights out. The staff called out for them to turn off the lights and stay in their rooms. It was evening, and that meant one thing for me, excruciating pain and degradation of the worst kind.
I sat on the floor, my knees tucked under my chin as I hugged my legs and rocked to try and soothe my racing mind.
When the door eventually opened, I already felt like I would throw up. I usually did that during or after, but tonight, everything was different.
“Get up!” Wilson barked, storming into my space with Cane and Fraser behind him.
The three of them yanked me up by my arms and marched me out of the room, led me down the corridor, then practically threw me down the stairs as they pushed me towards the basement.
Usually, my legs gave way beneath me. They didn’t feed me much, just enough to keep me here. But the new lady had given me a bigger portion today. My energy levels were better than they normally were. Not that they were good. I still felt weak, but there was something different tonight. Tonight wasn’t going to go their way.
I stood in the basement, staring at the table with the restraints. I couldn’t let them lock me into that tonight. I had to act fast. Be decisive and stay strong.
“You know the drill, Ghost Boy,” Fraser sneered. “Get on the table.”
Cane walked past me, heading to the cupboard where he kept his whips and chains. I had two men in front of me, and one I could deal with later. It was now or never.
Wilson started unbuckling his belt, dropping his head to pop the buttons on his jeans. I took that distraction and used it, letting the fork I’d stuffed up the sleeve of my top fall into myhand. I launched myself at Fraser, stabbing the fork into his neck as hard as I could, and then I raced towards the staircase.
“Ah! The fucker got me!” Fraser screamed, and Wilson stumbled as the jeans around his ankles stopped him from grabbing me. Fraser was clutching his neck, blood gushing through his fingers as he shouted, “Fucking get him. Don’t let him get away.”
I shot up the stairs, sensing their presence close behind, hearing their huffs as they chased after me. I still had the knife up my other sleeve. If I needed to, I’d stab them. I’d do anything to get away.
I made it to the top of the basement and slammed the door behind me to slow them down a little more. Then I ran through the corridors of the house, heading to the back door in the kitchen.
The place was empty; no other staff were around. I burst into the kitchen and ran to the back door, scrabbling to turn the doorknob, but it was locked.
“Fuck,” I cursed, grabbing fistfuls of my hair in frustration.
They’d find me in here soon.
I didn’t have much time.
I tried the handle again, throwing my body against the doorframe, but it was useless. I was stuck.
I started to open drawers, frantically searching for anything I could use to escape or defend myself. But they didn’t have anything useful. No carving knife or meat cleavers. I guess they locked those away.
And then I noticed the cookie jar in the shape of a policeman. A few years ago, I’d seen the staff laughing about the fact that when you lifted the officer’s hat, the jar hollered, “Step away from the cookie jar.”
They’d all thought it was hilarious. I hated it. It reminded me that I couldn’t trust the police. They’d done nothing to helpme. But looking at it now, as I heard their thumping steps growing nearer down the hall, something told me to look inside it.
I don’t know why.
But it did.
I prayed it wouldn’t make a noise, alert them to where I was, and bring this to a disastrous end. If they caught me, they’d kill me.
I flipped the policeman’s hat to open the jar. A quiet mechanical sound crackled, but that was it. And at the bottom, was a key.
I grabbed the key, ran to the door and pushed it into the lock.
“Come here, you little shit,” I heard Cane shout, but I didn’t stop. I turned the key in the lock and thrust the door open, running out into the yard towards the fence at the back.
I started to hear banging on the windows and hollering. The other boys could see me from their rooms upstairs, and they were screaming at me, chanting and whooping, spurring me on.
