Leanne had worked all night on chipping away at the window frame and had just managed to loosen the bars. Her injured wrist throbbed even though she used her other hand.
The first deadbolt clunked.
She slipped the knife between the mattress and box spring as the door opened.
“I told you to clean this up,” he snarled, pointing to last night’s meal that was now hardened to the wall and the carpet. “Do it before I see you next.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll get it right now.” She made a move toward it, but he held up his hand. Gracie ran to Leanne’s side and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Not now. After I leave, but when I come back it better be—”
“It will be cleaned up. I promise.” Tremors ran through Leanne, but with any luck, when he returned they’d be gone.
“I see you ate some.”
Leanne had picked at the potatoes and carrots during the night, finally surrendering to her body’s needs, but there had been no protein to complement the vegetables. She refused to put the flesh of a once-living being into her mouth.
He turned his gaze to Gracie, and Leanne’s insides burned. She hated it when he looked at her. A protective instinct bubbled within her. Who knew what perverted thoughts danced through that warped mind of his? He was obviously some sort of deviant—that much was clear simply because he was holding them prisoner.
“We have people who will be looking for us.” Leanne puffed out her chest to be convincing, but even she didn’t buy her words and posture.
“No. You have me.” He said nothing more as he gathered the plates and cutlery and left.
Leanne let out a deep breath. He hadn’t noticed the missing knife.
Gracie tugged on her shirt. “Mommy? When can we go home?”
Her daughter’s tiny voice pierced her heart, and Leanne sniffled and blinked back tears. “Soon.” She got onto her haunches and hugged her daughter, tighter than she had in her life. She’d only concocted a half-ass plan, brought about on the wings of hope. Well, hope let you down more than half the time.
There was the rumble of his truck coming to life.
She hurried to the window and watched as the two-tone blue Ford 150 disappeared into the distance, the tires kicking up plumes of dust from the gravel drive.
Maybe luck was finally on their side. They had daylight to put to use, and the man was gone. Only for how long? They had to hurry.
Leanne turned her focus to the immediate area beneath the window. A garbage and recycling bin—the kind that were tipped by specialized trucks—were down there. They were about four-and-a-half feet tall. Nothing to offset a straight descent.
But, surely, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to end for her and Gracie.
Herself maybe. She had made so many stupid choices in life, starting with marrying Bill. Then they seemed to build from there. But little Gracie had done nothing wrong. She was innocent, blameless.
Why are you doing this? She yelled the question, directed at the man, in her head, not wanting to startle her daughter.
She had to be strong for her, protect her, rescue her. She pulled the bars from the window and set them on the floor, leaning them against the wall. Her injured wrist was throbbing.
“What are you…?” The rest of the question dried on Gracie’s lips.
“Mommy just needs to think, baby.” Last night she’d had the hare-brained scheme to tie the bedsheets together and slip out. There was too much chance for things to go wrong. With a direct fall, they’d be lucky if all they broke was an arm or a leg. And how was she going to manage rappelling with an injured wrist and ankle? Would the sheets even be strong enough to hold her suspended weight?
She opened the window and clawed out the screen, then stuck her head through the opening. The bedroom was at the end of the house, and there was a downspout less than a foot to the right.
She could shimmy down and go for help. But leaving Gracie here—even for a second—wasn’t acceptable. And this escape plan was one for the movies. She was no hero.
The thought pinched her heart, and an ache burrowed into her chest. But she squeezed out the self-judgment. She had to at least try to get them out of here—and now was the time for action.
There was no way Gracie could manage on the spout though. It would be tough enough for Leanne with her injuries.
Leanne rushed to the beds and yanked off the bedding. She rolled the four sheets like cigars and tied the ends together. She laid them out in the room, getting a feel for the length, and how this would work.
Now, what to secure the sheets to…?
The leg of a bed might be the best option, but the nearest one would eat up too much length. “Can you help Mommy move the bed?”
“Uh-huh.”
The frame was heavy with the box spring and mattress. Her vision flashed white a few times from pulsating aches in her wrist and ankle. “You’re doing a great job, baby,” she winced through gritted teeth, trying to bite back the pain.
They eventually got the bed against the wall beneath the window, and Leanne tied the sheets to a leg. She then stood back, lowered herself to her daughter’s height. She fingered a wisp of her hair and tucked it behind an ear. “You’re a brave girl, and you’ll need to pull on that. Okay?”
“Okay.” Gracie’s cheeks were red, and her eyes glistened.
“We’re going to slip out the window and down the side—”
“I don’t like heights.”
Leanne wasn’t a fan of heights either, nor did she look forward to taxing her existing injuries, but the end justified the means. “I know, baby. But this is very important, Gracie. It’s our only way out.”
Gracie pointed to the door.
“I can’t get past the locks. We must be brave. Repeat after me—I am bravery, I am courage.” The words were a mantra she’d recently adopted to help her when she faced Bill’s fits of rage.
“I am bravery. I am courage.”
“You are. All right, I’m going first. I’ll be using the downspout, but you will use the sheets.” She had no doubt they’d support her daughter’s weight. But it was a gamble determining which order would be the best. Leaving Gracie in the room made it possible the man would return and she’d still be captive, but if Gracie slipped, Leanne may be able to catch her.
Gracie nodded.
Leanne threw the sheets over the sill and looked out after them. They ended only about a foot from the ground. She tugged on the fabric, and the knot on the bed leg seemed to hold strong. “When I reach the ground, then you go.” She didn’t wait for Gracie to reply and hoisted herself out the window and shimmied over to the downspout. Her wrist and ankle screamed for mercy, but she squeezed out the pain—as she was so used to doing whenever Bill took his fists to her body.
The air was cold, a breeze circled around her. She was only wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants. He’d taken their coats and shoes, and she didn’t know where he’d put them.
The cold from the siding cut through her socks, turning her toes to ice. She counted off the inches that eventually amassed to feet. After a bit, she was farther from the window than she was to the ground.
As her feet touched earth, Leanne let out a breath. “Okay, your turn.”
Gracie filled the window and then turned, coming out.
“You’ve got this.” Leanne coached her the entire way down, filling her daughter’s mind with confidence.
A few feet from the ground, Leanne scooped Gracie into her arms and kissed her forehead.
“I did it.” Gracie grinned at her.
“You did. Now, we need to—” Leave dried on her tongue. The distinct rumble of the man’s truck getting ever closer sent ice through her veins. She ran, holding Gracie in her arms—her additional weight and injuries moot as adrenaline fueled her system.
Leanne kept running, headed toward the barn. The grass along its sides had been left to grow wild. At easily five feet tall and dense, hopefully it would work to conceal them. She tucked close to the barn and went around the back.
She set Gracie down and held a finger to her lips, telling her daughter to keep quiet. But as she did that, her eyes caught two wooden crosses. One was adorned with a fresh floral wreath.
“Stay here.” She walked toward them, feeling drawn to investigate. A glance over her shoulder revealed Gracie hadn’t listened. “Go back.”
“No.” Gracie shook her head.
Leanne took her daughter’s hand and crept to the crosses, even as the engine’s noise grew louder. Both graves were unmarked, but there was a small card attached to the wreath. In handwriting, it read,
Cheryl and Holly, I will love you always.
Cheryl and Holly? Isn’t that what he called them? Dread crept over her shoulders, laced down her arms, lifting the hairs as the flesh became goosebumps.
Tires crunched loudly over the gravel, and the vehicle’s engine cut out. Then a door opened, slammed shut.
She ducked down in the tall grass, and Gracie did too. Leanne closed her eyes, putting all her focus into listening.
His boots kicked stones—he was pacing in the driveway. He would have noticed the sheets and open window the moment he pulled up.
“Cheryl!” he yelled.
Shivers tore through her. Gracie was nestled tightly into her side, and her palm was wet in Leanne’s hand.
“Cheryl,” he called out, his voice drawing closer, but his tone was less threatening. It was like a husband playing hide-and-seek with his family.
Leanne needed Gracie to get as far away from here as possible. She lowered to her haunches to speak with her. Talking in a whisper, she said, “Mommy needs you to run.”
“No. I can’t leave you.”
“You need to. When I say, head in the direction of the road, but don’t go up the driveway. Go through there.” Leanne indicated the surrounding field, which was high with crops. “Understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then you go to the nearest house and call the police. But don’t move until you know the man’s back in the house.”
Gracie nodded, and Leanne tapped a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, not wanting to leave. “Remember, go once he’s in the house.”
“Okay.”
Leanne crept back to the barn, keeping low to the ground and putting distance between herself and her daughter’s hiding spot. She then stepped out and walked along the side to meet her fate. “I’m right here. I just needed fresh air.” She was aware her heart kept an even rhythm though it felt like she was circling above and watching from out of body.
“Where’s Holly?”
The name sent shivers coursing through her. Had Cheryl and Holly been his wife and daughter or were they previous victims? But she knew he referred to Gracie. She nudged out her chin and said, “She’s gone.”
His face became shadows, his gaze briefly flicking to the fields before he yanked on her arm and dragged her back to the house.
Run, Gracie, run like the wind!