We Promised

Chapter 4

I'm chained to a chair in an empty room. There are no decorations, no fridges, no plumbing. Absolutely nothing but four walls made of reinforced steel. They know I've been through training my whole life, it seems. But, the great big and bad gang of Bloods has finally made a mistake. The guards are outside of my guest room, instead of watching my every move. I'll escape when I get the chance when a murderer isn't staring at me in the darkness. "You have a bad habit of hiding in the shadows, Black." He grins, stepping into the light of the lightbulb, which hardly illuminates much. "You're finally catching on, princess." My head hangs with the weight of a million problems, and escaping a terrorist group seems to be on the list. I repeat my to-do list over and over in my head. Get away from these people without getting shot, hop on a transport, get to a watercraft, and get home. "Listen I'll be perfectly honest with you. We don't like each other. At all." I throw him a false smile. "Beautiful observation, rat. I'm proud of you, that must have been exerting." He smirks, running a hand through his hair. "You're very annoying. Did anyone ever tell you that?" I shrug, sitting up straight until my back hits the chair. "Once or twice." He approaches, leaning down to see me, face to face. He's so close his breath fans a strand of my hair over and over. "What is making you so stubborn? You've seen the Hideaway, what could be. Given your reaction, you don't exactly hate the idea. Why won't you just help us?" I purse my lips, and he crosses his arms together. "If this is your way of begging, you're doing a horrible job at it," I state. He's looking at my eyes, back and forth, and I fear he can see my doubts, my struggle to hold on to the pillars of my morals. "You know I'm right, Ilvera." I flinch at the use of my first name, and the soft way he says it. "What I do know is that you tried to kill my sister." He draws back to his full height, narrowing his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?" My lips curl in anger. He's lying. He's trying to cover up the fact that he's a murderer. "The coronation. The shooting. It was the Bloods." He shakes his head. "Are you saying I'm lying?" He shows no trace of being guilty, but the opposite. He stares at me with wide, shocked eyes. "I can promise you that never happened, at least not from us." I grind my teeth together, bone on bone. "You're promises mean nothing to me." Doubt crosses my mind, and he sighs, leaving me alone in peace.

The weeks pass, and I listen to the rotations of the guards. The footsteps between the guards tell me which one is which. Rumplestiltskin is heavier, and more resonating against the stone floor. Treetrunk's is firm, not as loud as Rumple's. Jaxon visits me every day, keeping me busy. He reads the latest on my siblings, what they're up to, and how their investigation is going in trying to find me. We've bonded little by little and laughed, and nothing scares me more than him. The fact that a spot of warmth has grown for the people here in my heart, is terrifying. He's already visited today, so today is my chance, for freedom. He visited me earlier in the day and guessing by the slight puffiness in his eyes, either he spent the night crying, which I highly doubt, or he woke up a few minutes before. I figure it's the latter. I fidget with my fingers, fumbling with my thumb. The lump of bone goes slack with a small crack and I clench my teeth to keep from making noise. I do the same with the others and slip them past the chains. They fall with a clink, and I glance at the door to see if I've roused suspicion. You're good, Ilvera. Now hurry.

The plan is fairly simple. Fake being in pain puts Rumple and Treetrunk to sleep, and escape out the door they're going to leave open. Grab their rifles, of course, then run. I crack my thumbs back in place with a whimper, fighting the tears that come with it. My performance is up next. I trigger my gag reflex the way I've learned and return to my previous position in the chair, throwing up all over the stone floor. "Rumplestiltskin! Treetrunk, I don't feel good!" I call out through tears. They won't budge. I hunch over, groaning in pain. They peer through the window, watching as my nose bleeds. I ignore the pop in my eardrums. All with pressure and dedication, I think. I go limp in my chair, my body hanging over as if I were dead. "Call it in. Call it in!" Treetrunk booms. I wait patiently, trying to hide my smile. I'm getting out of here.