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“Yes, thank you,” I reply as I jump away from the window, sitting down on the toilet like I wasn’t just about to risk my life for the taste of freedom.
The door opens a few inches, and a bottle rolls in.
Even though I’m in the middle of a potential escape, I hadn’t realized how ravenously thirsty I am, and now the water seems like a better use of my time than trying to fling myself out the window. I wasn’t lying to the doctor when I said I didn’t know how long it had been since I drank something.
Besides, it will be easier to sustain an escape if I’m at least a little more hydrated than I am now.
I cautiously walk over to the bottle, picking it up and trying to take my time examining it for tampering before I crack the seal. It’s ice cold in my hand, and I’m unable to stop myself from opening it and gulping it down in under thirty seconds.
Jesus Christ, I needed that.
“We can conduct the rest of the examination in the office while you wait for the fluids to go through you. If you haven’t eaten anything, it shouldn’t take long,” the doctor says from outside the door.
No, I need more time.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I feel like I might be able to give a sample in a minute.” I drop the plastic bottle onto the floor and ease my way back over to the window. It’s now or never.
“Fine, but if I have to wait longer than two minutes, I’m going to come in there and get you,” he responds with a note of agitation in his voice.
I can probably get away in that time. It’s possible.
“Okay, that’s fine. Thank you for being so patient with me,” I grovel. I hate how it feels to extend gratitude to someone who is facilitating my imprisonment, but if watching true crime documentaries has taught me anything, it’s important to flatter your captor and sympathize with them.
I hear the doctor scoff on the other side of the door, but he doesn’t say anything else.
20
Delilah
I’m fully out the window with my feet on the ledge by the time the doctor starts to knock again. I hug the wall as much as I can before I begin to inch my way toward the tree branch. I don’t hear anybody outside, and I don’t detect anybody around me, so I continue onward until I’m touching the tip of the branch.
Panic doesn’t truly set in until I hear shouting coming from the door inside the bathroom. The doctor will be inside in seconds, and if he doesn’t grab me and yank me back inside, he’ll push me and break every bone in my body.
The tree branch by the window doesn’t feel quite strong enough to hold my entire weight, but I know that it will at least ease me down to the ground instead of snapping and sending me to my death. Arielle and I used to do this all the time on the trees at our grandparents’ house when we were kids. I can do this.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath in before opening them again. I lift my foot, placing it down on the branch and easing my weight onto it.
It doesn’t even bend.
Holy shit, this is working!
I put more weight on it, letting go of the side of the building in a moment of misplaced faith.
The sickening crack of dry wood sends a chill through my body just before I begin falling. It feels like I’m moving in slow motion, like everything around me is chilled in a vat of syrup, and even the sunlight drifts slowly through the atmosphere as the entire world pauses to witness me fall.
I don’t land on my legs, and that’s probably good because I’m certain they would’ve been useless after a fall like that.
Instead, I slam down on my left shoulder, my arm searing with agonizing pain as soon as I’m able to feel anything at all. I would lay here like this for ages to feel out my injuries, but I can already hear the doctor’s clearer as he enters the bathroom above me.
The possibility of getting caught and dragged back into the basement spikes adrenaline through my veins, and I forget the pain of my fall, getting up and sprinting through the backyard towards the road.
My lungs burn, but I don’t dare slow down until I’ve reached the road.
It’s a bit more secluded here than it is in the middle of the city, and I’m sure that was by design, considering the horrible things that Luka does to make money. I limp along the road as my eyes dart around, searching for a temporary place to hide or even a person who can help me.
I’m far enough away from the estate now that I can’t hear the doctor, but I’m certain he’s gone to warn Luka that I’ve escaped by now. The idea of Luka finding me and beating me within an inch of my life for escaping sends chills down my spine, prompting me to run even faster despite the untold damage done to my body on my descent from the third floor.
After ten minutes of hobbling down the road, a building appears in the distance. It’s an old gas station, sitting like a beacon of hope on the horizon. I run to it, praying there’s someone who can help me.
