Ev
I heard something fall above me. I knew someone besides my captor was here. I was hopeful, but that hope completely faded when I saw my tormentor coming my way. He had blood on him and his eyes were glassy. He was furious. He walked up to me and slapped me hard.
“Your little fucker of a son got a cop to believe his story,” he stammered, spit spraying from his mouth. “One cop believed him and knocked on my door. MY DOOR! Well, the stupid ass didn’t bring back up and is now bleeding to death on my bleached floor!” He brushed his hand through his hair frantically. “Ev. Ev. Ev. This is bad for you; worse for your son and his retarded friend.”
I stared at him coldly. “Why?”
“I’m going to have to kill them. I have to go do that. They have interfered too much. When I’m done with them, I am going to fuck you in every orifice and then I am going to fuck you in every orifice with anything I can find around my house. You will bleed to death but hey, what does it matter? You won’t have anyone to live for anymore.” He walked over to me and grabbed my breast roughly. "Is that son of yours why you have such a strong will? Is he your reason for living your shitty life?" He was screaming. "I’ll go see if I can get a wild dog to fuck you. Would you enjoy that?”
I didn’t answer him. I just stared.
“Should I fuck your son first before I kill him?”
I looked him straight in the eye. “I’m going to kill you.”
He laughed. “You? Kill Me? Hardly. You have one hand, what can you do?” He got right up in my face. “What can you do?” He licked my cheek. “Nothing. You cannot do anything to anyone or me. You are a useless piece of shit that is rotting from the inside out and when I am done with you, you won’t even have any insides left to rot.” He stopped talking and paced the floor.
“Ev, I’m going on a drive." He said calmly. "I’m going to stop by and see some people who have been spending to much time in my business.” He sauntered off up the stairs. When I heard the door close, I screamed in anger. I wasn’t going to let him do this. I wasn’t. I looked at my one remaining hand. I pulled as hard as I could to try to get it through the handcuff. It just hurt my hand. I started spitting on my hand to try and make it slippery so it would come out of the cuff, nothing. I was scared. I was sick and frustrated, but most of all: I was angry. This man was going to kill my child. He was going to do horrible, unspeakable things to him if I didn’t get out of here and stop him. I pulled again and yelped in horrific pain when my thumb popped out of socket, but still my hand would not come through the cuff.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was hazy. I lowered my mouth to my thumb joint where it met the hand and bit down. I began to thrash like a wild animal on my thumb. I tasted copper, it didn’t bother me. I was making progress.
The cops weren’t going to save me. There was no prince riding in on a white horse to kiss me and save the day. I was going to have to save myself. Fuck everyone! Fuck them all! I will save myself and then my son!
It was slow going but eventually the skin began to break, then I kept biting and thrashing until I met bone and finally there was a pop. Blood began to spurt into my face. I was howling like a mad ra bid dog. I pulled my hand out of the cuff and pressed it hard on the bed to stop the bleeding. I looked at my thumb lying there. A raw chicken leg is what I thought of. The thought made me laugh even harder. I tried to use my right hand, forgetting it was gone. I moaned in frustration . I was not a complete person. What was I going to do when I got to Ness’s? I couldn’t think of that now. I had to get out of here. I used the four fingers on my hand to lift the sheet to my teeth and tear off a strip. I wrapped my hand the best I could and then wrapped myself in the sheet and headed up the stairs. My heart was beating frantically; the adrenaline in my veins was keeping me on my feet. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. When I reached the top of the stairs, I slid the door open and was in a closet. I opened the closet door and walked into the kitchen. The detective was lying on the floor barely conscious. I squatted beside him. My heart was hammering. My head was spinning.
“Are others coming?” I asked him. He looked at me in shock. He was pale and losing blood.
He reached up and touched my arm. He was pale and breathing heavily. “No. “
I stood up, got a towel, and held it on his wounds to slow the bleeding. “I have to get to my kid. He is going to kill him and Dug. “
“You can’t,” he murmured. I looked around for the phone and picked it up, dialed 911 and handed the phone to him.
“Tell them,” I said to him. “I have to go. Thank you for coming. Thank you for believing them."
He was still calling for me to wait as I walked off leaving a trail of blood in my wake.
I went out the back door and into the street. I began to run. I was a wraith of woman; wrapped in a sheet with blood on it. Drops of blood hit the pavement. I could hear my heartbeat in my skull. It was pounding in rhythm with my feet. I could feel the blood leaving my body a drop at a time, but I refused to stop. Cars honked, a few ran off the road, one stopped and offered help; but I kept on running. The night air was cool against my skin. The air smelled clean and fresh. I could smell the honeysuckle in the air.
I kept repeating to myself a poem stanza by Robert Frost:
The night runner was reborn.