Legacy

Chapter 7: Looking For An Escape

Even after Michael leaves I'm afraid that he is watching me from behind a corner, ready to pounce. Even after I take my bath, I still feel so dirty from what Michael made me do. Even after I slide my own clothes on, I still feel the hard chill of his touch.

His lips pressing hard against mine. His tongue taking over my mouth. His hands pulling at my hair and gripping me like I'm his possession. His eyes. His cold blue eyes that always fix on me with hunger.

Every part of him scares the living shit out of me, and I'm afraid to see any more of him.

I have to find a way out of here. For my dad. Who I've seen get tortured to death. For Michael's other victims, whom I don't know, and will never know. For me. Because I can't think of anyone who deserves this hell.

I comb through the kitchen for something, anything, to use as a weapon. I hope to find a steak knife or corkscrew, but I have no such luck. Michael obviously thought of everything. The best I can find is a butter knife, but what good will that do me in a struggle for my life?

I slide the knife back in the drawer and heave a sigh.

Testing the door is the next logical step. The knob turns without a fuss and the door opens. I guess Michael just has the door here for privacy purposes.

After testing the basement door, and finding it locked tight, I take a seat at the bottom of the stairs. I burry my face between my knees and scream at the top of my lungs. My fingers claw through my damp hair as my screaming dies down a little.

My mental breakdown is cut short when I get the idea of trying the lock.

I make my way over to the locked cellar doors and pull hard on the chains. The cold metal barely budges from the doors.

The only way to get out is to pick the lock... which I don't know how to do...

I rub my neck in frustration and feel a tiny sting.

Of course! A needle could work! I guess a used needle would be in the trash...

I go back to the kitchen and pull the bin from under the sink. I dump its contents onto the floor and spread everything out. There's the hamburger helper box from earlier... A couple of bloody paper towels... Used tissues... Gross...

I heave a sigh and begin shoveling everything back into the trash bin one by one. Tissues, box and finally the bloody- ouch!

I stick my finger on something wrapped in the paper towel. Whatever it is, it just might work on the lock.

I toss the bin back under the sink and shoot back to the locked doors. My fingers rip the towel open like a Christmas present and remove a used needle.

Gross, but I hope that it'll work on the lock.

I stick the end of the needle into the lock and wiggle it around. Nothing.

The wiggling grows more frantic as I panic. My tool slips right out of the hole and rips into my thumb, deep and hard enough to draw blood, and causing a jagged line going down, starting right on the edge of my thumbnail.

After a tiny shriek and sucking on my stinging wound, I return to my work.

After what feels like hundreds of carful twists and jabs in the hole, the lock at last clicks open. My breaths are shaky as I remove the lock and slide the heavy chains off the doors. I bite my lip in anticipation for what waits outside.

As I push the doors open, the bright light of the sun nearly blinds me. How long have I been locked down in this basement?

It occurs to me that I don't care. I lift myself out of my prison and feel the soft dirt beneath my feet.