She could
not stumble more than a few feet without slipping and tripping over
things. Rocks. Walls. She could not stand upright for more than a few
steps in any direction. She was trapped underground. Buried alive. The
blackness dragged on her, pressed on her, weighted her chest, swallowed
her up. She was sweating, heart racing, throat tight, and she had to take
long, slow breaths to keep from screaming, crying, battering her hands
bloody against the cold stone walls in the dark.
Swallow. Breathe. There was a way in. She was here, wasn’t she?
Another breath.
There had to be a way out.
She just had to find it. On her hands and knees. In the dark. Her heart
thumped uncomfortably.
She explored her prison, fumbling, crawling with a hand or hip
always pressed to the rough rock wall on her right so she could find her
way back, so she wouldn’t get lost. Lost. She swallowed a sob. What a
joke.
She remembered a long-ago shopping trip to Freeport, the mall full
of shoppers, and her kneeling to unzip Nick’s coat outside a store. “If we
get separated, I want you to stay put, okay? Don’t move, and Mommy
will find you.”
She would have torn the mall apart looking for him.
But who would be looking for her? How would they even know
where to begin to search?
97
I’m sorry, Nick. Ma, I’m so sorry.
The heel of her left hand was bruised from supporting her weight.
Her knees ached. The fingers of her right hand were cracked and
bleeding. But she figured out she was in some sort of— tunnel?
chamber?— in the rock, bounded by water at one end. She sniffed. It
smelled fresh. She lifted a cautious finger to her lips. The moisture was
cool and welcome on her parched mouth and burning throat. But the drop
left a mineral aftertaste, a warning hint of brine. With a sigh, she
abandoned it and crawled the other way.
The passage meandered up and down, over boulders and around
curves, gradually getting narrower. Tighter. She bruised her knees;
bumped her head; inched forward on her stomach until she was blocked,
stopped, squeezed in the rock like a roach in a crack.
She laid down her head, resting her cheek on the cold, damp grit, and
cried. She gasped and keened and whimpered until her nose ran with snot
and her throat was on fire. Water. She needed water. She wanted to get
out. She wanted to go home. To Nick. To her mother.
Hot tears leaked from her eyes. Regina wiped her face on her
shoulder. It was so quiet. So dark. She could feel her heart beating in the
darkness, hear each wheezing breath. The silence was a weight like the
rock, pressing down on her.
Slowly, she began to inch backward, pushing herself with fingers
and toes, hissing and gasping when the rocks scraped her hands, when she
bumped her head.
When the tunnel widened again, she curled into a ball with her back
against the wall, listening to the soft lap of the water. Gradually, her
sweat dried. Her breathing evened. She no longer worried Jericho would
come back for her. She worried he would not.
Not a good thought.
Let him come. She’d kick his ass. Bastard.
Of course, she hadn’t done so well in their first round. He’d
practically killed her. She swallowed against the pain of her abused
throat.
98
Why hadn’t he killed her?
Maybe he was coming back after all. She’d seen a news story about
a guy who kept a woman locked in his basement. For years.
Regina shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees to hold in her
body heat. The air was cold and moist. The floor was cold and damp. Her
butt was numb.
She heard a slither and a soft plop as something slid into the water.
A rock? A rat? A snake? What kind of animals lived down here in the
dark, in that water? Things without eyes. White, slimy, hungry things.
Maybe Jericho was still there in the dark, watching her. Waiting for her.
She shook herself. She ought to get up. Get moving. In a minute.
She was so tired, her muscles cramped
not stumble more than a few feet without slipping and tripping over
things. Rocks. Walls. She could not stand upright for more than a few
steps in any direction. She was trapped underground. Buried alive. The
blackness dragged on her, pressed on her, weighted her chest, swallowed
her up. She was sweating, heart racing, throat tight, and she had to take
long, slow breaths to keep from screaming, crying, battering her hands
bloody against the cold stone walls in the dark.
Swallow. Breathe. There was a way in. She was here, wasn’t she?
Another breath.
There had to be a way out.
She just had to find it. On her hands and knees. In the dark. Her heart
thumped uncomfortably.
She explored her prison, fumbling, crawling with a hand or hip
always pressed to the rough rock wall on her right so she could find her
way back, so she wouldn’t get lost. Lost. She swallowed a sob. What a
joke.
She remembered a long-ago shopping trip to Freeport, the mall full
of shoppers, and her kneeling to unzip Nick’s coat outside a store. “If we
get separated, I want you to stay put, okay? Don’t move, and Mommy
will find you.”
She would have torn the mall apart looking for him.
But who would be looking for her? How would they even know
where to begin to search?
97
I’m sorry, Nick. Ma, I’m so sorry.
The heel of her left hand was bruised from supporting her weight.
Her knees ached. The fingers of her right hand were cracked and
bleeding. But she figured out she was in some sort of— tunnel?
chamber?— in the rock, bounded by water at one end. She sniffed. It
smelled fresh. She lifted a cautious finger to her lips. The moisture was
cool and welcome on her parched mouth and burning throat. But the drop
left a mineral aftertaste, a warning hint of brine. With a sigh, she
abandoned it and crawled the other way.
The passage meandered up and down, over boulders and around
curves, gradually getting narrower. Tighter. She bruised her knees;
bumped her head; inched forward on her stomach until she was blocked,
stopped, squeezed in the rock like a roach in a crack.
She laid down her head, resting her cheek on the cold, damp grit, and
cried. She gasped and keened and whimpered until her nose ran with snot
and her throat was on fire. Water. She needed water. She wanted to get
out. She wanted to go home. To Nick. To her mother.
Hot tears leaked from her eyes. Regina wiped her face on her
shoulder. It was so quiet. So dark. She could feel her heart beating in the
darkness, hear each wheezing breath. The silence was a weight like the
rock, pressing down on her.
Slowly, she began to inch backward, pushing herself with fingers
and toes, hissing and gasping when the rocks scraped her hands, when she
bumped her head.
When the tunnel widened again, she curled into a ball with her back
against the wall, listening to the soft lap of the water. Gradually, her
sweat dried. Her breathing evened. She no longer worried Jericho would
come back for her. She worried he would not.
Not a good thought.
Let him come. She’d kick his ass. Bastard.
Of course, she hadn’t done so well in their first round. He’d
practically killed her. She swallowed against the pain of her abused
throat.
98
Why hadn’t he killed her?
Maybe he was coming back after all. She’d seen a news story about
a guy who kept a woman locked in his basement. For years.
Regina shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees to hold in her
body heat. The air was cold and moist. The floor was cold and damp. Her
butt was numb.
She heard a slither and a soft plop as something slid into the water.
A rock? A rat? A snake? What kind of animals lived down here in the
dark, in that water? Things without eyes. White, slimy, hungry things.
Maybe Jericho was still there in the dark, watching her. Waiting for her.
She shook herself. She ought to get up. Get moving. In a minute.
She was so tired, her muscles cramped