against her.
She found his hand in the darkness.
Their claws embraced and squeezed through the pain.
After a moment, she heard the sound of elevator doors spreading apart.
They rolled several feet into the car, and as the door closed back, Lucy realized she wasn’t going to be able to stand this much longer. Aside from the pain of Donaldson’s weight on her and the burning in her skin graft, she was having trouble breathing in the confined space.
They ascended one floor and then rolled along again, Lucy beginning to panic, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, get these blankets off me! She was going to scream. Absolutely lose it. Screw the plan and getting out, she just needed oxygen.
The cart stopped.
Henry was pulling the linens off of them—she could feel the weight lessening, and then she saw a light in the ceiling.
Lucy wriggled herself away from Donaldson and clambered to her feet, taking deep, penetrating breaths.
They’d come to an empty patient room, and Lucy saw where Henry had once again jammed a screwdriver into the doorjamb as an added precaution.
The black iron bars that normally covered patient windows had been cut through with a blowtorch, which still lay on the floor underneath the window frame.
Would be so much fun to grab that torch and…
“Hurry up,” Henry said. “Let’s go.”
“Where’s the harness?” Lucy asked. “We paid extra so you could buy one.”
“Didn’t have time. Come on.”
She staggered over to him and he lowered what resembled a lasso over her head, cinching it snugly around her chest under her armpits.
Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, this was going to hurt.
“Up and over,” Henry said, patting the windowsill. Lucy climbed up, and as she squatted on the perch, Henry said, “Oh, yeah, almost forgot.”
He walked over to the laundry cart, reached in, and lifted one of the broken broom handle pieces.
“Bitch, if you so much as make a peep, I will simply let go of the rope, bolt out of the room, and get the hell out of dodge. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes.”
“Open up.”
“Why?”
“Open your mouth.”
Lucy opened her mouth and Henry jammed the broom handle into the hinge of her jaw.
“When the pain comes and you want to scream, just bite down. And remember, if you do scream, I’ll drop your sorry ass.”
It was only twenty feet down, but it might as well have been two hundred. First time Lucy had been outside in years, and the night was cold, the wind wandering up her dress like the finger of a dirty old man. Henry faced her on the other side of the window. He stood braced against the wall with the rope wrapped around his waist, the line already taut.
She eased off the ledge, and as the rope dug into her armpits, she understood that she had not fully contemplated this moment. She’d known it was coming, known the pain would be horrendous, but still she had glossed over just how excruciating the next minute of her life was going to be.
Henry began to lower her.
Slowly.
Inch by inch.
Blood poured down her neck, and she realized she had already bitten into the broom handle with enough force to split her gums. Her claws clenched, sweat dripping down her face, burning her remaining eye.
Scream. I gotta scream. I can’t hold it in.
Her surgery of nine days ago had involved skin grafts on the undersides of her arms, and if the rope tore the skin, which it felt like it was doing, she would bleed out.
She whimpered in her throat, loud enough for Henry to hear, and almost hoped he would go ahead and make good on his promise.
Drop me. Let me die now. At least the pain will be over.
But then her toes were touching the ground, and she was lowered onto what was left of her ass, the edges of her vision narrowing into blackness as unconsciousness took her.
• • •
When she awoke, Donaldson was on the ground next to her, writhing and moaning.
“I need some pills,” he groaned.
“Where’s
She found his hand in the darkness.
Their claws embraced and squeezed through the pain.
After a moment, she heard the sound of elevator doors spreading apart.
They rolled several feet into the car, and as the door closed back, Lucy realized she wasn’t going to be able to stand this much longer. Aside from the pain of Donaldson’s weight on her and the burning in her skin graft, she was having trouble breathing in the confined space.
They ascended one floor and then rolled along again, Lucy beginning to panic, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, get these blankets off me! She was going to scream. Absolutely lose it. Screw the plan and getting out, she just needed oxygen.
The cart stopped.
Henry was pulling the linens off of them—she could feel the weight lessening, and then she saw a light in the ceiling.
Lucy wriggled herself away from Donaldson and clambered to her feet, taking deep, penetrating breaths.
They’d come to an empty patient room, and Lucy saw where Henry had once again jammed a screwdriver into the doorjamb as an added precaution.
The black iron bars that normally covered patient windows had been cut through with a blowtorch, which still lay on the floor underneath the window frame.
Would be so much fun to grab that torch and…
“Hurry up,” Henry said. “Let’s go.”
“Where’s the harness?” Lucy asked. “We paid extra so you could buy one.”
“Didn’t have time. Come on.”
She staggered over to him and he lowered what resembled a lasso over her head, cinching it snugly around her chest under her armpits.
Oh, sweet merciful Jesus, this was going to hurt.
“Up and over,” Henry said, patting the windowsill. Lucy climbed up, and as she squatted on the perch, Henry said, “Oh, yeah, almost forgot.”
He walked over to the laundry cart, reached in, and lifted one of the broken broom handle pieces.
“Bitch, if you so much as make a peep, I will simply let go of the rope, bolt out of the room, and get the hell out of dodge. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes.”
“Open up.”
“Why?”
“Open your mouth.”
Lucy opened her mouth and Henry jammed the broom handle into the hinge of her jaw.
“When the pain comes and you want to scream, just bite down. And remember, if you do scream, I’ll drop your sorry ass.”
It was only twenty feet down, but it might as well have been two hundred. First time Lucy had been outside in years, and the night was cold, the wind wandering up her dress like the finger of a dirty old man. Henry faced her on the other side of the window. He stood braced against the wall with the rope wrapped around his waist, the line already taut.
She eased off the ledge, and as the rope dug into her armpits, she understood that she had not fully contemplated this moment. She’d known it was coming, known the pain would be horrendous, but still she had glossed over just how excruciating the next minute of her life was going to be.
Henry began to lower her.
Slowly.
Inch by inch.
Blood poured down her neck, and she realized she had already bitten into the broom handle with enough force to split her gums. Her claws clenched, sweat dripping down her face, burning her remaining eye.
Scream. I gotta scream. I can’t hold it in.
Her surgery of nine days ago had involved skin grafts on the undersides of her arms, and if the rope tore the skin, which it felt like it was doing, she would bleed out.
She whimpered in her throat, loud enough for Henry to hear, and almost hoped he would go ahead and make good on his promise.
Drop me. Let me die now. At least the pain will be over.
But then her toes were touching the ground, and she was lowered onto what was left of her ass, the edges of her vision narrowing into blackness as unconsciousness took her.
• • •
When she awoke, Donaldson was on the ground next to her, writhing and moaning.
“I need some pills,” he groaned.
“Where’s
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