Page 84 of Caged
TRY!
My eyelids flutter open. The bedspread, the pillow…
I don’t remember getting into bed. Pushing myself to a seated position is a momentous task.
I hobble over the window, teetering with each step.
One more time,I tell myself.
I wrap my fingers around the metal handle, squat slightly like a professional weightlifter, and yank…
A strained groan fills the room as I pull, and pull, and…
“FUCK!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
I stumble, the abrupt shift throws me off-balance.
“No,” I laugh, hysterical in my delirium. “No, you can’t. No, it’s not possible!”
I wrap my hands around the handle once more, pulling, jimmying the frame, pulling more, until crisp, cold air floods into the room. Dropping to my knees, I inhale the glorious fresh atmosphere. Relief floods my system. Oxygen.
Moisture clusters along my lashes at my victory. I’ve done it…
Blinking my eyes open, I look outside and to the right of the open window. The fire escape is within reach. Granted, I’ll have to carefully balance on the windowsill and swing a leg over the railing in a tricky maneuver that could result in falling to my death, but I’ve never been scared of heights. My grandmother used to tell me how I would climb anything remotely climbable, determined to see how high I could get, and then jump. She said I was convinced I had the ability to fly and would flap my armslike a deranged chicken with each leap. By some miracle, I never broke any bones.
Scaling this fire escape won’t be a problem, although I do question the imbecile who designed a fire escape that didn’t run directly under the window for easy access. But then again, this is a fraternity, likely built by men, for men, and only a man could have designed something so inferior.
Hastily, I start shoving critical belongings into my backpack. Computer, charger, wallet, purse, a few items of clothing, and my toothbrush. Gagging at the smell in the bathroom, I tie the trash bag closed in the small waste can. I know what I’m about to do is disgusting, wrong in every sense of the word, but as I watch the blood-filled trash bag drop three stories and land behind the bushes that ring the lower level of Sigma, I feel nothing but triumph at my purge. Hopefully, a wild animal finds it and decides to take up residence in the bushes. Hopefully, that animal is a fucking wolf.
I ready myself, leaning my hip onto the windowsill, but I pause and wonder if I should take Kieren’s ceremonial mask as evidence. No, I decide. No one will take me seriously unless I have real proof that Sigma is behind the disappearance of Rory. I need those emails between Kieren and X, not to mention a body. They’ll think the mask is nothing more than a costume and that I’m nothing more than a lunatic.
An idea sparks in my mind. Kieren’s ring. If Rory’s body is found, the brand on her ass cheek like mine, the Sigma symbol set in the middle of crossed lines, combined with Kieren’s ring, might be enough to arouse suspicion. It wouldn’t be enough for an indictment against Kieren himself but certainly shine a scrutinous spotlight on Sigma as an organization. And, if I can get this story in the right hands, perhaps it will be enough to open an investigation. I mean, I know nothing about the law, but the brand is practically a fucking monogram.
Later, I tell myself as I swing a leg over the ledge. I take a deep breath, and…
Tires.
Gravel.
Shit.
I scramble back inside the window, barely shutting it, when Kieren’s black BMW pulls into the back parking lot. Jumping out of view, my heart pounds. Blood rushes to my head, and I brace myself against the wall until the dizzying blackness in my vision subsides.
Shit!
I toss my backpack onto the bed and frantically unpack, returning each item to its original spot so nothing looks out of place. Footsteps thunder down the hall like a death march. I hadn’t gotten this far. I hadn’t planned for this scenario.
Grabbing my textbook, I leap onto the bed.
A key turns in the lock.
Anxiety snakes up my throat like a vine as I pretend to read, and I don’t know if it’s instinct or learned behavior, but I know exactly what to do. I should spit in his face. I should hide behind the door and throw this book at him.
But I won’t.
Because right now, I need food more than I need redemption.
The door creaks, announcing his presence. My eyes flick up to meet his. Dark, roiling, hostile.
