Just as I make my way onto the front porch, Kynan steps out of his Jeep. Before he can shut the door, the kids throw themselves at him.
Strange. I know they’re my children, but I can’t recall their names. I just know I love them in a way I could never love my husband.
Not more. Not less.
Simply in a different way.
Kynan’s head rises, his eyes locking with mine across the front yard. Smiling, I hurry off the porch where he reaches to pull me into the family embrace.
He kisses my cheek and says, “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too.” Grinning, I give him a slight tickle on his ribs. “I have to change the air filter in the upstairs hallway, but it’s too high up.”
Kynan frowns and shakes his head. “You don’t need my help to do that.”
I frown right back. “Yes, I do. It’s too high for me to reach, and you need to do it.”
“Joslyn,” he chides. “I can’t always be here to help you do things. You’re just going to have to figure it out on your own.”
The words punch through me. For a moment, I think he’s being inconsiderate of my feelings.
And then I realize… I can do it on my own.
I snap wide awake, blinking into the darkness. The last of the sedative has worn away, and my mind is finally clear. Without any struggle to remember, I know I am tied to a chair in a shipping container and I’m being held at the whim of a madman.
I also know my dream just gave me the answer to what should have been my first cognizant question upon waking up. “What the hell do I do now?”
I have to figure out how to get out of here.
The first and obviously the most pressing issue is the fact I’m tied to a chair. When the man had come into the container and turned on the light, I hadn’t bothered to try to see the bonds around my ankles. It feels like rope, and there’s no sense in struggling to figure it out now since it’s too dark to see anything. But my ankles can wait. I need to free my hands, so I twist my wrists and feel about with my fingertips. I’m able to touch what feels like silken rope, wrapped many times around me in several knots. There’s no way I can maneuver my hands so my fingers can work at the knots. It’s just too tight.
My mind races, trying to remember if I ever learned anything from watching MacGyver about how to help me out of this situation. Without a paper clip, it seems hopeless.
I’m just going to have to use brute strength and determination to get out of my restraints.
Twisting, turning, and pulling, I use the muscles in my arms to try to wrench my wrists apart for some distance to stretch my bindings. The ropes are incredibly tight, but unless it’s my imagination, I feel like there might be some give. I envision becoming free, opening the crate, and running, running, running. My end goal is to reach somewhere safe where I can call Kynan and the police. At which point, they can arrest this bastard and free me from this nightmare.
It’s good motivation.
I work harder, sawing my hands back and forth as much as I can under the restraints. Before long, my skin is burning. The burn turns to true pain as I pull, struggle, and groan and grunt, tears pricking my eyes.
“Come on, you motherfucking bastard,” I scream. The words are released into the darkness, but they give me added strength. I start to really move my wrists under the bonds. Thankfully, the pain eventually gives way to a bit of numbness, which lets me keep working hard at my task.
Then I feel wetness.
What is that? Water?
No. Blood.
I’m bleeding.
Self-preservation kicks in. I consider stopping. Can I bleed to death?
Of course not, Joslyn. That’s ridiculous. Keep working.
My chest heaves with the effort. Tears flow freely down my face, a mixture of pain and frustration. I viciously twist and turn my wrists, this way and that, until there is a distinct popping sound. For a moment, I think I dislocated something. When there is no rush of pain to accompany it, I realize the ropes have loosened significantly. I think one of the loops may have slipped over a knot creating some space.
The immediate appearance of slack in my restraints rejuvenates me, and I work even more furiously. I’m breathing so hard I’m afraid I’m going to hyperventilate, so I try to center myself. “Come on you bastard. Loosen up.”
Suddenly, one wrist comes completely free. When I pull my arm up, a sharp stab of pain hits me in that shoulder, rushing up the side of my neck. I breathe through it, telling myself it’s nothing more than the strange position my arms have been locked in for God knows how long.