The Detour by S. A. Bodeen

thought that it might seem petty of me to pursue a lawsuit and that I would look better in the press if I ignored it. But I chose to write a blog entry about it.
    That post resulted in many of my fans going into a bit of a frenzy, crucifying J. M. Cutler as a plagiarist. They went on all the online review sites for readers and wrote horrible reviews of his books. I felt kind of bad about it. But J. M. Cutler never came forward or posted a rebuttal of any kind. Billy said he thought that J. M. Cutler was a pseudonym, probably made up by a book packager looking to cash in on a hot property.
    I dropped the book back in the bin and quickly perused some of the other titles. Most were YA. I’d read many of them, since I liked to keep up with the competition. At least I would have something to pass the time if I wanted. I set the lid back on top. Books, art supplies. Other than the starvation, pain, torment, and torture, this incarceration was turning out to be almost like summer camp.
    I rolled my eyes. I could read a book, paint a picture, maybe even make some fancy paper if I felt so inclined—
    I gasped as something suddenly dawned on me.
    I ripped off the top of the container with the paper in it. I quickly dug through the stack, searching. Nothing. Nothing but paper.
    â€œWhere is it?” I shoved that tub aside and went to the only other one I hadn’t rummaged through. “Please. Be there.” Wax paper. A wax paper box had a slicing edge on it that was sharp as hell.
    I pulled off the top.
    â€œYes!”
    If there had been clouds in that basement, they would have parted and a heavenly choir would have kicked in, singing “Hallelujah!” at the top of their lungs . Because there, resting on top, was a blue box of Cut-Rite Wax Paper. For the first time in the past couple of days, something had actually gone my way.
    I reached into the plastic tub and lifted out the box, quickly flipping up the top to view the cutting edge. I raised my eyebrows at the warning. Caution: Cutting Edge Is Sharp. Avoid Contact.
    A smile spread across my face.
    Another phrase declared: The Perfect Kitchen Assistant . “Oh, buddy, if all goes well, you’re going to be assisting me in something far more nefarious.”
    Carefully, I tore the cardboard, pulling off the front of the box with the whole cutting edge. The thing rolled up, wilting in my hand. Too long to be of any use. So I bent the metal back and forth, attempting to break off a length that could be easily concealed.
    Finally, the metal strip snapped in two.
    I smiled and stuffed the rest of the strip into the wax paper box, then closed it, and placed it back into the container, shoving it under a ball of red yarn. I replaced the top of the tub and straightened it and the others so that they appeared untouched.
    The tub of books tempted me. A lot. But if they found me reading, they’d know I’d been snooping. They might look to see if I’d taken anything else.
    That couldn’t happen.
    Back at the bed, I reached down and slipped the slim strip of metal and cardboard between the mattress and the box spring, pushing only far enough to hide it. I slid my fingers in the gap to check. The strip was right there, easily within reach of my good hand.
    Okay. Okay.
    Without looking, I reached down and took it out, then put it back. Then I did it all over again. And again and again, until I knew exactly where to reach.
    Leaving the cardboard attached had been a smart move because it gave me something to hold on to. Otherwise the strip would have been unwieldy and sharp. I found my best grip was holding it between my thumb and forefinger. Then I practiced slashing at the air.
    It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it could buy me a moment. A moment was all it took to slip out the door. And if I could get out that door, I knew I could make it out and find help. I knew I could.
    I put my weapon away and leaned back against the head-board. My stomach