I had no concept of time, but the sunlight faded and shadows lengthened across the room. I prayed I would get free. I made deals with God as I continued to saw through the cord.
Minutes passed, maybe an hour, and then the small area I had been working on severed. I was so relieved, tears stung my eyes.
I again tried to pull my wrists apart. They moved maybe half an inch. Still, success.
A door slammed in the distance. Panic bolted through me. Steve was home.
Chapter 35
My whole body trembled. What would he do when he realized I tried to break free?
I looked around the dim room for the largest piece of glass I could find. There was a curved piece about two inches wide lying close to the door.
I scooted my butt across the floor. I reached for the glass, but my hands were shaking so badly, I dropped it twice. On the third time, I held it tightly in my right hand. It felt awkward, thin and fragile, and I was so afraid I was going to drop it again. Then I heard the floorboard above me creak.
Holding the glass as tightly as my bloodless fingers would allow, I quickly scooted next to the door, positioning myself behind it, and slid up the wall. I clung to the piece of glass, knowing it could be the only thing between me and death. And seeing Steve Gunderson’s stupid face was not going to be the last thing I saw before I died.
I heard the lock slide, and I prepared myself. I’d only get one shot. The door opened and he walked into the room. “Rose?”
I shoved the door with my forearms as hard as I could, knocking him off balance. He stumbled forward and before he could straighten, I hurled myself at him, my weight pushing him to the floor. I landed on his back, slashed it with the shard.
Steve screamed and tried to buck me off of him.
I dropped the glass.
But I was in a frenzy of anger and fear. I bit the side of the neck. Hard. I tasted blood.
He reached back and pulled my hair. I retaliated by grabbing his hair, as much as I could anyway, in my numb, bound hands.
When he tried to stand up, I pulled a Mike Tyson and bit his ear as hard as I could. A chunk of cartilage came off in my mouth. I gagged and spit it on the floor.
He flailed and screeched. I didn’t let go of his hair, but he let go of mine as he covered his bloody, severed ear with one hand.
Using his hair as leverage, I pounded his forehead into the cement. Over and over and over until he stopped moving.
I stretched out on top of him, panting and wheezing. I rolled off of him and sat up. I kicked at him with my feet to make sure he wasn’t going to hop up like Michael Myers in the
Steve was unconscious. And bleeding. Blood pooled around his head.
I scooted toward the door, which was still half way open. Using the doorjamb, I managed to stand. I grabbed the knob with my hands and hopped backward. I fell on my butt twice, my eyes never leaving Steve’s prone, bleeding body. I shut the door and slid the lock in place.
I leaned against the cement wall of the stairwell. My chest heaving, I gagged, and threw up what little I had in me.
I lifted my arms and twisted my head, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, before I turned around and sat my butt on the first stair. Leaning my head against the wall, I just sat there, every muscle in my body aching. I knew I was going to have to get up those steps, but it looked like Mount Everest to me.
I’m not sure how long it took, but I finally I gathered my strength to move and slowly climbed the stairs, using my legs to push my ass to the next step. Just make it up the stairs, I told myself over and over.
I took a few minutes to catch my breath when I finally reached the top. Then, as best I could, I clung to the wrought iron railing, and hopped up the last stair. The door to the family room was open.
I rolled over on my side and tried to catch my breath. Steve’s house was small. It looked like it had been built in the seventies. Or at least that was the last time it had been updated. Brown shag carpeting and ugly flocked wallpaper. The family room held a flat screen TV and one recliner.
Gathering my strength, I crawled like an inchworm across the floor to the kitchen, but the carpet burned my belly and arms, even through my sweatshirt. I flipped over, sat up, and went back to the old butt scoot.
I made it to the kitchen and stood up using the refrigerator as leverage. I glanced at the harvest gold stove and the wallpaper covered in red and green mushrooms. On the gold laminate counter next to the phone, I spied my purse.
Hopping a couple of times, I unzipped the bag with my teeth, and upended it on the countertop. My wallet, keys, lip gloss, tampons, and various receipts went flying. I leaned down and managed to grab a pen with my tongue and work it into my mouth, then reached for the phone. It skidded out of my hands, landed next to the garbage can. Sinking to the floor, I snagged for it and struggled to sit back up. It was difficult trying to flip open the phone with my hands still tied, but I managed. With the pen clenched between my teeth, I dialed and hit send. I spit the pen out on the floor.
“Help me.”
Within fifteen minutes Sullivan kicked in Steve’s front door. “Rose?”
“In here,” I said. My voice sounded scratchy and faint.
Seconds later, he was in the kitchen. Shock marred his handsome face as his gaze swept over me. He bent down next to me on the floor, his hands probing my head and torso. “Where’s the bleeding coming from?” His elegant fingers glided over my jaw. I winced.
“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s. He’s in the basement.”
“Henry,” he said. His attention to me never wavered.
“I’m on it.”
I heard Henry stomp through the family room.
“Untie me,” I said.
He looked strange, swallowed a few times, and seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He went to work on the cords. Once I was free, he rubbed my wrists and hands. Tingling was too mild a word for what I felt when the blood started flowing back into my fingers and toes.
“Did you kill him?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Henry walked into the kitchen. Eyes on Sullivan, he shook his head.
“I bit him. I bit off his ear,” I whispered.
Sullivan smoothed a hand over my hair.
He stayed with me, crouching in front of me, petting me. Then he sat down next to me, pulling me onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, while he murmured into my hair and continued to stroke my head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said after a while.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” I snapped.
“Okay. I’ll wait right here for you.”
He helped me up. My muscles were stiff and achy, and I shuffled like a little old woman down the hall.
I turned on the overhead light in the bathroom, realizing for the first time it was fully dark outside. I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped. I looked like Ma’s video game zombie who’d gone on a feeding frenzy. Steve’s dried blood smeared my pale face, and there was a dark bruise covering my jaw.
I bent over the sink and scrubbed at my face with hot water. It floated through my mind that I would need an
