I groan, tilting my head to the side. I hold my head with my free hand. I’m not bound, so that’s good.
“Thank god, you’re alive.” The girl sounds relieved.
I blink my eyes to clear the fuzzy edges around my vision, and a stab of pain hits me on the right side of my temple. Damn it, what happened?
I remember the hospital and needing to use the restroom, and then…
Him.
Damn it.
My vision finally clears, and the girl in front of me is almost a mirror image of my reflection. She has long brown hair that’s filthy, dirt and blood all over her naked body, and her green eyes stare directly into mine. There are clean trails down the dirt on her cheeks, and I know she’s been crying.
She’s me.
“What’s your name?” I ask, looking around the very familiar room. It hasn’t changed a bit. Floors have an inch of dust and grime, the two beds have filthy stained mattresses with blankets that have never been washed and have holes in them.
And the hole I escaped out of is covered with another sheet of wood.
“Heather,” she whispers with tears in her eyes, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. “You?”
“Jolie. I was the girl here before you, and he has brought me back.”
“You escaped?” she gasps. “How?”
“I ripped that hole in the wall that’s covered and beat his head in with a plank of wood. And then I ran. I ran to a guy who saved me; his name is Owen. Owen shot this guy when he came looking for me, but somehow, he’s still walking around, ruining people’s lives. Fucker won’t die.”
“Did he … did he, you know…”
“Yeah, he did. For a year and a half.”
“Oh my god.” She covers her mouth and holds back a sob. “How are you alive?”
“I … don’t know. I ran into the right person. He saved me, took care of me, and I lived.” I look around the room and search for a way out, but there is no hope this time. None that I can visibly see. The door is steel with no door handle on the inside, so there is no way of opening it. “He sent pictures of you to me,” I admit, and she doesn’t seem surprised.
“Yeah, I wondered what he was doing with those pictures,” she says, pushing her hair out of her face. “Now I know.”
“He killed my boyfriend’s wife twenty years ago. It’s the only reason why I’m back. He hates Owen.”
“Owen, that’s the guy who saved you? Will he come looking for you then?” she asks, hopeful.
“Yeah, he will. He’ll find us. We’re going to get out of here, but we can’t wait for him. It’s up to us to fight for our lives, so you can’t give up on yourself, okay? That’s what nearly got me killed the first time.”
“I swear, I’m not going to give up. I want out. I want to go back to my family.” She begins to cry. “I don’t want to be here. He’s horrible. I’m worried that I’m pregnant, and I don’t want to have his baby. I don’t want to!” She sobs uncontrollably, shoulder-shaking wails that take the energy right out of you.
I get up and take a few steps across the room and sit next to her. “I know. He got me pregnant too.”
Her eyes widen with fear, and she looks at my flat stomach. “Did you …”
“No,” I cut her off. “I miscarried in this room. I was too malnourished, and I don’t know if it’s a blessing or if it makes me a horrible person that I’m thankful it happened. Probably.”
Her hand lands on mine, and she shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I would feel the same way. The exact same.”
“Well, we need to make sure that we get you out of here and checked out.” I take off my shirt, thankful that I have a tank top on underneath, and hand it to her, then I stand and unbutton my jeans, giving those to her too. “I know it isn’t much, but it’s better than being naked.” She must feel humiliated. I know I did.
“Thank you.” She reaches for the items and hurriedly puts them on, then sighs in relief once she’s covered. “But you … you don’t have pants.”
“I have a tank top and underwear, which was more than what you had. I’ll be okay.” I stand and start to investigate to find a way out. That’s when I see the stirrups on the bed and the straps hanging loose. It wasn’t all the time he tied me up. He liked knowing I roamed free in a room I couldn’t get out of. It think he liked to know that I paced and cried.