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Decision made, I pulled open the door, then hefted myself inside.
It wasn’t until I got to my feet inside that I realized I wasn’t alone.
There was a woman toward the far end of the shed.
With a giant shackle around her ankle.
CHAPTER TWO
Vienna
It was getting cold.
With all the other things I had to worry about, that was at the forefront of my mind as I paced the small space of the shed, the chain clinking and swishing as I moved, the cuff a cold ache around my ankle.
I knew that staying still would stop it from biting into my skin, from rubbing it raw.
But I couldn’t seem to force myself to just sit in the corner and wait for him to come back.
Besides, I told myself, letting my muscles atrophy was not going to help me when, one day, I could find a way to get out of the shackle, then make a run for it.
Maybe that was wishful thinking after so many months locked up, but the hope was probably the only thing keeping me from just refusing to eat and drink the meager rations that were brought to me, and let myself dehydrate to death.
I think, when I’d first been tossed in here, some part of me expected to wish for death. And, sure, I had those moments. But I’d been shocked at how strong the human will to survive could be.
Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one of these days, he would screw up. Leave something behind I could use to pick the lock. Be caught unaware and give me an opening to bash him over the head, take the key, and set myself free, then make a run for it.
If I could survive captivity and everything else I’d endured all these months, I damn sure could survive a few days or weeks in the woods.
Not if it got too cold, though.
I might not even survive in this shed if it kept getting colder.
I wish I knew where I was. That would tell me just how dismal my chances of survival were as fall gave way to winter.
The leaves on the trees suggested we weren’t far from colder temperatures.
But how cold?
Was I still in Arkansas?
Or had this monster driven me over a border?
Because if that was the case, it could be as cold as twenty below in no time.
My gaze moved around the shed that had been my jail cell for about four months, give or take a few days when I was not thinking to tick marks into the wall with my fingernails.
While it was a space that had been outfitted to use as a makeshift jail cell, what with the chain driven into the ground and the composting toilet in the corner, it wasn’t meant to be lived in year-round.
The walls had no insulation. And the floor just had one partially rotted layer of plywood protecting me from the cold ground. There was no fireplace or wood-burning stove.
What was the plan then?
To let me succumb to the elements?
To take me into the house?
I think I’d rather die than have that happen.
