Kyla’s Secret

Kyla awoke the next morning to the sound of footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt like a wad of sandpaper. Corrine appeared in the sunlight streaming through the casement windows. She was dressed in her work uniform, gun holstered at her side. She pulled a wooden stool from the opposite wall and dragged it over to where Kyla lay shivering on the bare vinyl mattress. “Guten Morgen,” said Corrine. “How are we feeling this morning?” “I’m thirsty, and I have to pee.” “Oh, you do, do you?” “Please, Corrine. We can work this out. There’s no need for any violence or restraints of any kind.” “You’re the one who threw the first punch, kiddo. Now let’s go,” she said, unlocking Kyla from the chain. “Get upstairs, use the bathroom, brush your teeth, and get something to eat and drink. And make it fast. I only have about fifteen minutes before I have to leave.” Kyla rose as fast as her stiff joints would allow. “Corrine, the only way you’re going to know you can trust me is if you let me prove myself to you.” “Mm-hm,” the officer answered in a way that let her know she wasn’t buying it. “Come on, Kyla, I haven’t got all day.” “I’m sore as hell. I’m moving as fast as I can.” Corrine waited just outside the bathroom door as Kyla peed and brushed her teeth. As much as Kyla wanted to, she fought the urge to try to escape because she knew she had to be smart about it. Any foolish, half-assed attempts not thought through and planned out ahead of time would only make things worse and jeopardize her chances of a successful escape. When she was done, Kyla opened the door. “Into the kitchen,” Corrine ordered. Down the hall they went. Once in the kitchen, Kyla had to resist the urge to grab a knife from the block of knives that sat on the counter. “Have a seat.” Kyla sat. She glanced out the slider at the vast expanse of grass, trees, and mountains. Freedom loomed so close, yet so far. She longed to run out of the house but knew she’d be caught before she even stepped off the patio. Her heart jumped in hopeful anticipation as movement suddenly caught her eye—then dropped like a balloon popped by a dart. It was only the damn dog. Corrine threw a couple of buttered pieces of toast and a large glass of water on the table for her. Not the usual lavish breakfast the two of them often shared—bacon and eggs, grits and sausages, oatmeal and homemade muffins, or any number of things. Kyla was too hungry and thirsty to care about the cuisine. She knew she needed to eat to keep her strength up or else she’d have no chance of ever making a run for it. The thought of having to starve herself to death as the only means of escaping this so-called mature and intelligent woman—who she now knew was a true loon at heart—made her sick to her stomach. The thought of never seeing her friends and family again made her want to cry. Everything seemed so unreal. This couldn’t be happening to her. It just couldn’t. No one accidentally killed someone they had to hide, then got robbed and kidnapped, and finally held hostage by someone whose beauty was definitely only skin-deep. No, this only happened to other people. Right? “Okay, let’s go,” Corrine said, rising from her chair after sitting across from her and watching her savor every bite. “I’m still hungry. You can just go to work anytime, Corrine. I have to clean the house.” “Let’s go!” Corrine screamed so loud that the windowpanes rattled and Kyla jumped from her seat. “Okay! Calm down. There’s no need to scream.” “Don’t you dare tell me what to do in my home!” “I thought this was supposed to be our home. Remember? You and me in this together.” Corrine grabbed a large jug of water off the counter with one hand and Kyla with the other. “Downstairs, Miss Know-It-All.” Kyla hurried down the stairs as fast as she could without tripping—though maybe falling and hitting her head so hard she either died or became completely comatose would’ve been a blessing. Corrine set the jug down by the mattress and then refastened the handcuffs around her wrist. The cold steel felt heavy. “What if I need to pee?” Kyla asked, her voice cracking desperately. The older woman dragged over a large bucket. “There’s your toilet for now.” Kyla’s fear quickly turned to anger. “You fucking bitch!” she screamed, lunging for the older woman. But Corrine was just beyond the length of the chain, and the force of Kyla’s abrupt movement yanked her off her feet, causing her to hit the cement face-first. Corrine climbed the basement stairs and shut the door at the top. As Kyla lay chained to the basement wall, she wished to hell someone would come to the house—though she didn’t know if they’d hear her from down there even if she screamed her head off. As much as she wished death upon Corrine, she also dreaded the thought of her dying in a car accident or something, knowing she’d probably die of thirst before being discovered. However pointless, Kyla mentally beat herself up for not seeing this coming. How had Corrine managed to deceive her and appear so damn normal? To think she had watched her kill Meagan and her most personal moments without her knowledge or consent made Kyla shudder with horror. She realized she was thirsty and opened the jug of water, determined to drink just enough to quench her thirst but not enough to make her have to pee. She refused to be humiliated by having to use a bucket. The next thing she did was spill a few drops of water on her handcuffed wrist to make the skin slippery. She tugged and pulled at the cuffs but couldn’t get them past the area where the thumb connected to the hand. She heard movement outside the window above her and raised her throbbing head. Shadows flickered just beyond the glass. A moment later, a large gray squirrel popped its head up—and then it was gone as fast as it had appeared. Kyla tried a little longer to free herself, but the handcuffs held fast, determined to keep her prisoner. Exhausted, she flopped back onto the hard, cold mattress in frustration. She was starting to fear her only hope of getting out would be to pretend to be a willing guest in this madwoman’s home. She hated to think how much time it might take to earn enough of Corrine’s trust to attempt an escape, but she didn’t see any other option. Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to give in. Even though Corrine couldn’t see her at the moment, she still felt like crying would be letting the lunatic get the better of her. The day was spent flitting in and out of sleep as each attempt to pull free of the cuffs drained her energy. She considered giving up and just rolling with whatever punches fate threw her way. But then she felt one last surge of determination. She dabbled a few more drops of water onto her wrist and began tugging relentlessly, trying to shut out the pain in her bruised skin and muscles. “Come on,” she encouraged herself aloud. “It’s just a wrist. If breaking your wrist means you get out of here alive, take the broken wrist!” She folded her thumb into the palm of her hand as tightly as she could, and then, all of a sudden, she stared down at herself in amazement. True, honest-to-God amazement. She was free. Kyla wasted no time, knowing Corrine would probably be getting close to coming home, judging by the deepening shadows outside the window. She pulled herself to her feet. It took a moment to steady herself. Fear, stress, and the lack of food, water, and sleep had left her weak. She’d been wearing the same clothes since yesterday, but her hygiene was the least of her concerns. The only thing she needed was to find her shoes. Depending on what time it was once she got upstairs and could see a clock, she would give herself just a few minutes to gather them. If not, she’d have to make the run barefoot. Kyla climbed the stairs to the door at the top, dismayed by how out of breath it left her. She burst through the door and into the living room—it was just after three-thirty. Oh no. She ran down the hallway and into the bedroom in search of her new running sneakers. She was just lacing up the second one when she heard gravel spitting out from the tires of Corrine’s pickup. She mentally cursed God above—assuming one even existed—and made a beeline for the dresser drawer.