he began to tug at the rope. The table, with the lamp atop it, began to inch away from the window. He drew the table three feet nearer and the lamp’s cord went taut. He stopped.
He stood, holding the broken table leg with its bent crown of nail. He leaned as far as he could. The nail caught the edge of the lampshade and came free. He tried again, pulling the lampshade toward him, every muscle straining against his chains.
The lamp tottered and it fell to the floor.
Darkness. But he saw as the light died where the lamp fell. He groped in the dark, used the nail to catch the lampshade now on the floor. He could feel the counter tension of the lamp’s power cord, still mired in the outlet. If the lamp’s cord broke he was finished.
The lampshade crumpled, but he kept pulling on the top of the lamp. He heard the plug fall to the wooden floor. Breathless, he pulled the cord toward him.
His fingertips caressed the narrow edges of the plug’s metal tips. Thin and strong.
Luke inched to the bed leg. Groping in the dark, he wedged the plug against the groove in the bolt.
The screw turned.
He fought down the hammer in his heart. He worked with the calm of a jeweler setting a tiny stone. Don’t rush, don’t lose patience.
He pulled the first screw free. It worked. Four screws on each base of the cot’s legs. Sixteen screws total. Fifteen to go.
He worked steadily in the darkness, without panic. He unscrewed the first leg and worked the chain loose. Moved to the second. Now the back legs of the bed were both free. He started on the third leg. Then the fourth. His fingertips felt raw.
And with the last leg removed, he shivered in relief. He staggered to the far wall, the chains still on his ankles and wrists, but free from the bed.
The barest glimmer of light began to touch the edge of the curtains.
Flashlights?
Whoever was coming would hear him, running with the clinking shackles. He remembered Eric had taken the keys to unlock the shackles from underneath the flowerpot. God only knew if Eric or Aubrey had returned them.
If he went out the front door whoever was coming would see him. He opened the room’s door, shuffled toward the back door. He tested it. Locked. He undid the deadbolt, eased the door open, and waddled out, trying to keep the chains silent.
He closed the door behind him.
The night lay heavy and dark against the trees. The rain had stopped, and the wind hissed in the pines. Luke could hear voices and footsteps on gravel. A man. A woman. For a crazy moment he thought Eric and Aubrey had returned. But too much time had passed, and they had been far too anxious to escape and leave him to his fate.
‘Here’s the problem with blowing up casinos,’ the man said. A bit of complaint in his voice. ‘It’s mostly going to affect just one industry.’
‘No,’ the woman said. ‘It makes entertainment venues likely targets. There’s a trickle-down effect, to theme parks, movie houses, resorts …’
They clearly weren’t cops coming to rescue him. Blowing up casinos sounded like a plan hatched by one of his Night Road buddies. His heart boomed in his chest.
Luke heard another mumbled cursing - from the woman - and then the key working the lock, the front door opening.
Luke ran along the edge of the house, toward the front door, clutching the chains closer to him. He lay in the dirt close to the cabin. Risked a look around the corner. The front door was open and light came from the rectangle of the door. The flowerpot had been moved from its base.
Maybe the keys to the shackles were still there, waiting for Henry if he’d changed his mind about the ransom. He stood, slowly, trying to see if he could spot a silvery glint on the step.
‘We’re screwed,’ he heard the woman say. She had a low, raspy voice. ‘Or maybe he was never here.’
‘Someone was chained to that bed. He dismantled it. We better report in,’ the man answered in a heavy baritone.
‘He’s in chains, he can’t have
He stood, holding the broken table leg with its bent crown of nail. He leaned as far as he could. The nail caught the edge of the lampshade and came free. He tried again, pulling the lampshade toward him, every muscle straining against his chains.
The lamp tottered and it fell to the floor.
Darkness. But he saw as the light died where the lamp fell. He groped in the dark, used the nail to catch the lampshade now on the floor. He could feel the counter tension of the lamp’s power cord, still mired in the outlet. If the lamp’s cord broke he was finished.
The lampshade crumpled, but he kept pulling on the top of the lamp. He heard the plug fall to the wooden floor. Breathless, he pulled the cord toward him.
His fingertips caressed the narrow edges of the plug’s metal tips. Thin and strong.
Luke inched to the bed leg. Groping in the dark, he wedged the plug against the groove in the bolt.
The screw turned.
He fought down the hammer in his heart. He worked with the calm of a jeweler setting a tiny stone. Don’t rush, don’t lose patience.
He pulled the first screw free. It worked. Four screws on each base of the cot’s legs. Sixteen screws total. Fifteen to go.
He worked steadily in the darkness, without panic. He unscrewed the first leg and worked the chain loose. Moved to the second. Now the back legs of the bed were both free. He started on the third leg. Then the fourth. His fingertips felt raw.
And with the last leg removed, he shivered in relief. He staggered to the far wall, the chains still on his ankles and wrists, but free from the bed.
The barest glimmer of light began to touch the edge of the curtains.
Flashlights?
Whoever was coming would hear him, running with the clinking shackles. He remembered Eric had taken the keys to unlock the shackles from underneath the flowerpot. God only knew if Eric or Aubrey had returned them.
If he went out the front door whoever was coming would see him. He opened the room’s door, shuffled toward the back door. He tested it. Locked. He undid the deadbolt, eased the door open, and waddled out, trying to keep the chains silent.
He closed the door behind him.
The night lay heavy and dark against the trees. The rain had stopped, and the wind hissed in the pines. Luke could hear voices and footsteps on gravel. A man. A woman. For a crazy moment he thought Eric and Aubrey had returned. But too much time had passed, and they had been far too anxious to escape and leave him to his fate.
‘Here’s the problem with blowing up casinos,’ the man said. A bit of complaint in his voice. ‘It’s mostly going to affect just one industry.’
‘No,’ the woman said. ‘It makes entertainment venues likely targets. There’s a trickle-down effect, to theme parks, movie houses, resorts …’
They clearly weren’t cops coming to rescue him. Blowing up casinos sounded like a plan hatched by one of his Night Road buddies. His heart boomed in his chest.
Luke heard another mumbled cursing - from the woman - and then the key working the lock, the front door opening.
Luke ran along the edge of the house, toward the front door, clutching the chains closer to him. He lay in the dirt close to the cabin. Risked a look around the corner. The front door was open and light came from the rectangle of the door. The flowerpot had been moved from its base.
Maybe the keys to the shackles were still there, waiting for Henry if he’d changed his mind about the ransom. He stood, slowly, trying to see if he could spot a silvery glint on the step.
‘We’re screwed,’ he heard the woman say. She had a low, raspy voice. ‘Or maybe he was never here.’
‘Someone was chained to that bed. He dismantled it. We better report in,’ the man answered in a heavy baritone.
‘He’s in chains, he can’t have
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