Twelve

Something woke Stephanie from a dream that evaporated as soon as she opened her eyes. It was morning. She’d been coughing all night and didn’t feel well enough to get out of bed. All at once, the front door slammed and footsteps clattered overhead. She could hear men’s voices, loud and argumentative, although it was hard to make out what they were saying.

She forced herself to get up. Maybe her captors were here to deliver food and coffee or tea. If they did, she was going to drink whatever beverage they brought. If it put her to sleep, all the better. Anything would be an improvement over lying in bed all day, coughing and agonizing over her fate.

She grabbed her flashlight and crept up the stairs. At the top, she put her ear to the door. She could make out voices of two men. It had to be Ryan and the guy in the suit. Matt was probably laid up with his injured arm.

“No way I’m doing it,” one said. His voice was high pitched and nervous.

“Well, it’s not going to be me.” This voice, deep and a bit gravelly, she recognized as Ryan’s. He sounded calmer and more assertive than before. “No way I’m cutting a finger off. Just the idea of touching her—”

“It won’t be that bad because—” There was a loud shushing sound, and they lowered their voices. Now all she could hear was mumbling.

The hairs on Stephanie’s neck stood up, and she found herself trembling. They were talking about her. They were planning to cut off one of her fingers and were fighting about which one had to do it.

The shock almost made her step backward. Just in time, she remembered the missing step. She grabbed the doorknob to catch herself. The near fall made her stomach somersault, and she felt as if she were going to be sick. She hurried down the stairs, looking for a place to hide. She went into the bathroom, but the lock was broken. Besides, the door was too flimsy to hold. One good kick would break it down.

She paused only long enough to grab the flashlight before dashing under the stairs. She shone the light around. There was nowhere to hide. All she could think of was to crouch in the shadows at the far side of the freezer. She put her back against the wall and sat down, crossing her legs in front and pulling them toward her. She listened for the basement door to open. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could hardly breathe.

It wasn’t long before one of the men clambered down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. “Hey,” he yelled. “She’s not here!” Then apparently realizing his associate couldn’t hear, he ran back up, shouting, “She’s gone! She escaped!”

“That’s impossible,” the one named Ryan said. “She’s got to be here. There’s no way out except through that door. It was locked and nailed shut.” This time both of them came down the steps.

Stephanie could see a powerful flashlight beam moving around the basement and into the crawlspace. Meanwhile, a second flashlight clicked on. The person holding it ducked under the stairs and moved the light around. It was the tall guy who’d been wearing the suit and tie, now dressed in a hoody and jeans. His light rested on her a moment before he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. What surprised her was that he looked every bit as frightened as she felt.

“Ow,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

He eased his grip slightly, forcing her out of the stairwell. “I found her!” he said.

“All right,” Ryan said. “Let’s tie her up and get this over with.”

“Right.”

Sobbing, she tried to resist as they pulled her along. When Stephanie’s shins hit the side of the bed, Ryan said, “Lie face down and shut your eyes. Do as I say or I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

“Ye—yes,” The word came out in a stutter because her teeth were chattering. She felt her hands being tied. This struck her as odd. Why would they tie her hands together if they were planning to cut off a finger? The grip on her arms was released.

“I’ve got a gun,” Ryan said. “Keep your head down. Don’t move or I’ll shoot you.” She did what he said, crying into the blanket. She was shaking with fear, thinking of what they were about to do. Could someone bleed to death from a severed finger? She remembered their last visit when the guy in the suit had argued Ryan out of throwing her down the stairs or tying her up. He’d protected her that time. Was it possible he’d step in and rescue her now? Her thoughts bounced back to the conversation she’d overheard about cutting off her finger. Both men sounded as if they’d bought into the plan, although neither wanted to actually do it.

She held her breath, waiting for them to start. To her surprise, they walked away. It sounded as if they were headed for the area under the stairs. There were scuffling noises, a click, some creaking, then what sounded like the rattling of plastic. All was quiet until one yelled, “Damn it!” After that, they started muttering in a way that indicated profound frustration with whatever they were doing. They seemed to be struggling with something. After more rustling of plastic, there was a loud snap.

“See how easy that was?” Ryan said, giving an unpleasant snort of laughter. The other man didn’t answer.

The door of an appliance, either the refrigerator or the freezer, was then slammed shut. When she heard footsteps approaching, she started trembling again.

One of them used a knife to cut the rope from around her wrists. He tried to grab her left hand, but she snatched it away and, out of sheer panic, rose up on her hands and knees, trying to resist.

“Stop struggling, you stupid bitch,” Ryan said. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Don’t just stand there,” he told his partner. “Hold her down.”

Someone pressed on her shoulders and put a knee in the middle of her back, forcing her to lie flat. One of them grabbed her left arm, pulling her hand out from under her. He opened her hand and stretched out her fingers. She screamed, bracing herself for what was to come.