Listening to Rex’s growl was nearly unbearable. But he was safely behind a locked door, while Savannah was in here with me, breathing so fast it was almost a pant, clearly freaking out.
“Are you okay?” I asked her. Savannah was starting to remind me of a broken doll.
Her voice was so soft I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or herself. “I can’t be here forever and ever. Stuck in this tiny space.” She looked toward the door, and her voice got stronger. “When’s he coming back?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. He wants to put a cast on your arm, but the swelling has to go down before he can do that. He said that might take a couple of days.”
She bit her lower lip. It was flawless, red and plump. “And how long was I out?”
“I think close to twenty-four hours. I don’t have a clock or anything. The only way I can tell time is by looking at the sky through the vent in the hall.”
“Then I’d better hurry and figure out how to get us out of here before he comes back.”
With Savannah’s plans and schemes and refusal to accept reality, she reminded me of me.
Me when I first came here. Me when I had made the split-second decision to try to escape the first day.
When Rex had leapt toward me, I had felt his hot breath wash across me. Smelled the stink of it, the fug of something rotting. When he clamped his jaws onto my face, I instinctively pulled back. It didn’t even hurt. Not at first. The feeling was not so much of pain, but of pressure. Still, I knew I was in terrible trouble. Knew Rex was doing damage. And that if he managed to knock me off my feet, he would surely kill me.
Sir was yelling, “Nein! Aus! Aus!” Finally, he pressed the Taser against Rex, holding the trigger to deliver a sustained shock. The dog’s jaws instantly loosened. I heard him squealing as he thrashed in the dirt.
Meanwhile, despite my bound wrists, I somehow managed to push myself to my feet. With my hands holding my face together, I was able to stagger forward a single step. Then another. My hands were coated with blood, but I still made for the gap.
Then Sir grabbed me.
The months since had been a slow-motion nightmare. After they were stitched, the wounds swelled and turned red, inflamed from infection. Fever left me weak and delirious. I slept for days on end. But even in the depths of it, whenever I was alone and aware, I left fingerprints everywhere. In case one day, after I was gone, the police thought to search the motor home.
Sir eventually brought me a bottle of antibiotics with a missing label. Had he lied to a doctor? Bought them from someone on the street? Slowly, my body recovered, even if my face remained a horror. At first, Sir tried to make me be the obedient girl of his twisted dreams, grooming me for the day my scars would finally heal. Now he left me alone for two or three days at a time.
Whenever he did come by with more food or toilet paper, I tried to stay out of sight. But even in the bedroom I could hear him muttering and swearing. About how I was no good to him now. Not with my disgusting scars.
So while Rex had nearly killed me, he’d also saved me. But if I went back out there, if I tried again to escape, Rex would definitely finish the job. And I thought Sir would let him.
Now I grabbed Savannah’s chin, her perfect unmarred chin, and forced her to turn toward me. “Look at me! This is what happens when you try to get out. It’s a miracle I didn’t die out there. Sometimes I wish I had.”
With a twist of her shoulder and a press of her arm, Savannah easily broke my grip and stepped away. Like kicking the window, it seemed something she might have learned from that Bruce Lee book of hers.
Her gaze suddenly sharpened. I turned my head to see what she was looking at.
She pointed. “What about the vent?” Made of translucent plastic, it was in the hallway ceiling, next to the bathroom, and could be raised a few inches with a metal arm. On warm days, I kept it open.
We moved to stand directly under it. I felt the floor dip under my weight. I was standing on the spongy part, the spot that got wet every time it rained hard enough and the vent leaked. The vent was held in place with six screws: one on each corner and then two in the middle, where there was a dividing arm.
“But I don’t have a screwdriver.”
I’d searched the motor home from top to bottom, but I’d found nothing I could use against Sir.
And nothing I could use against myself.