Page 80 of I Will Break You
Trying not to freak out, I run downstairs to the front door, finding it locked. My hands curl into fists and I swallow back a scream.
It’s a double cylinder deadbolt, which requires a key to open it on both sides. That way, if an intruder snuck in through the window, he couldn't easily unlock the door with the usual knob.
I thought it was a great security measure until now. That black-hearted bastard just locked me in my own home. Doesn’t he realize I can climb out of the window? I walk to the living room and yank open the heavy curtains.
The road is still busier than usual, with marked and unmarked police cars occupying empty parking spots. My fingers close around the window handle, but it’s jammed.
When one of the police detectives from the other day exits Relaney’s house, I duck away and hide behind the curtain.
The doorbell rings, and I freeze. He probably has follow-up questions about Chappy’s murder. If I tell him I can’t open the door because I’m locked in, that will only arouse his suspicions.
As if I need the extra attention.
A thud sounds from the back of my house, turning my attention toward the kitchen. I remain frozen, not daring to creak the floorboards. The detective will return to number 11 once he realizes I’m not home.
Ten minutes pass until I decide to investigate the sound. After snatching the half empty bottle of Armagnac to wield as a club, I creep out of the living room and down the hallway.
When I reach the kitchen, each wooden cabinet has been flung open, their contents strewn across the counter. Most of them were out of date, but did he really have to scatter my food? Even the refrigerator door hangs open with my last remaining bottle of holy water gone.
Shit.
How am I going to protect myself from Xero’s wrath?
This is a distraction. He wants me too busy cleaning up his mess to focus on escape. After closing the refrigerator, I turn my attention away from the cluttered counters and try the back door.
I’m not even shocked when it’s jammed.
Did he do something to me in my sleep? I turn to the sex contract on the kitchen table to find a new note in that infernal handwriting:
If you want your freedom, you must earn it tonight.
The last three words are underlined twice in what looks to be blood. I put the note aside and check the sex contract to find what else he’s underlined.
Collaring
Facials
Fear play
Humiliation
Raising a shoulder, I mutter, “You forget that I’m a hermit. Keeping me locked up is more frustrating than frightening.”
I set down the contract and make my way up the stairs with the Armagnac. Xero might have taken my phone, but I can always email Myra or Mom. They both have keys to my house. If Mom can’t stand the sight of me, she can push the key through the letterbox so I can let myself out.
As I reach the top of the stairs, a memory slides into place. The hangman went with us to the casino and had a face that looked like he’d been dropped from a great height.
Shaking off that thought, I continue toward my study, where I left my laptop to charge. What happened next, and how the hell did I get home?
I sit at my desk, fire up my computer, and open the email client. After typing out a quick message to Myra, I click send. An error message pops up that says:
OFFLINE MODE ACTIVATED.
“What?”
I check the outbox, finding my email unsent. The footer saysNETWORK OFFLINE. My jaw tightens. Maybe he’s just disconnected me from the internet. I glance at the menu bar at the top right of the screen and click the Wi-Fi icon, finding a bunch of secure networks that aren’t mine.
He’s turned off my internet, so I can’t communicate with the outside world.