Creep - Jennifer Hillier [60]
“How about no chains?” Sheila wanted to cry. “It’s not as if I can beat you up.”
She finally got her left hand free, then attempted to bend forward to her ankles. Every muscle and nerve in her back was instantly on fire.
“Does it hurt?” His concern seemed genuine. “Your back?”
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Take your time, then. After you’ve unlocked yourself, I’ll let you stand up. You can stretch, get the blood flowing. It’s about time we did this, anyway.”
She managed to get her ankles free, sweating from the exertion. He offered her his hand, and she moved her bare legs carefully over the edge of the bed so her feet dangled.
Taking a deep breath, she stood. A million burning needles flooded through her body. In desperation, she gripped Ethan’s arm for support.
“Take your time,” he said again.
After what seemed like a lifetime, relief set in. She put her arms over her head and stretched. The bones in her back cracked and the sound was like microwave popcorn.
“Better?”
“A little.” She had never before despised another human being this way in her life.
“Walk over there.” He pointed to the far wall she’d spent almost every waking hour staring at. A doorway was to the left, but no door. “Remember, you move funny and I’ll have no choice but to blow your head off.”
The gun looked too small to blow anyone’s head off, but she wasn’t going to argue semantics with a murderer. She didn’t doubt the little gun could punch a nice, neat hole in her skull, the bullet bouncing around, shredding the very essence of who she was into pulp.
She shuffled toward the wall, feeling the blood rush through her legs and feet. The pain was finally subsiding and it felt good to move. They passed through the doorway, and she wasn’t entirely surprised to find a long corridor behind it.
She couldn’t believe how large this place was. She’d come to assume she was in a basement, but now that she was getting a better idea of the size, it seemed too big for that. The house above them would have to be huge. Maybe a warehouse of some sort?
Two doors were at the end of the corridor, one with a keypad bolted beside it, and one without. Sheila wondered if the door without the keypad was the bathroom.
“Stop,” Ethan commanded. With the gun trained on her head, he reached past her and punched a code into the keypad. His arm was in the way and she couldn’t tell what he’d entered. After a short beep, the door popped open.
“Go on,” he said, nudging her lower back. “Go see. Everything you wanted to know is inside.”
Sheila shuffled forward.
The room was dark and Ethan reached past her again. The lights came on suddenly, glaringly. It took her a moment to focus on what she was looking at. Even then, she didn’t know what to make of it.
It was a room wrapped entirely in plastic.
She blinked, trying to take it all in. The space was large, approximately twenty by twenty feet, about the same size as the area where her bed was. In the middle sat a folding table resembling something a traveling massage therapist would tote, only it was wrapped snugly in some kind of cellophane. The walls were also covered in plastic and, through the transparency, she could see stained concrete cinder blocks underneath.
Against the wall to the right, a six-foot-tall stainless steel cabinet showcased a bevy of weaponry. It was mostly guns and knives, but she could also see a small ax, an ice pick, and a sledgehammer. A large freezer sat beside it. Leaning against that was a chain saw, and a few feet away was something that looked like a mini-forklift.
Her bare feet felt cold, and she looked down. Unlike the wall, the cement floor was exposed and pristine. He followed her gaze.
“You’re right, I have to remember to lay down fresh plastic.” He sounded pleasant and matter-of-fact. “You can’t get blood out of concrete.”
Though she hadn’t entirely processed what she was seeing, she felt faint. Her knees buckled and Ethan placed an arm around her waist to keep her steady.