Page 193 - The Houseguest

DAY TWENTY
Rachel had apparently been assessing her situation while devising her own schematic. Her wrists were never bound to the headboard that evening. Raising her arms was just a ruse. After the door was closed, she immediately brought them down and began to use a sharp protruding piece of metal on the handcuff to cut her own wrist. She had heard Big Mo barking and knew this was her only chance for survival. But she also knew she needed “ink” to leave a message on the window. She didn’t seem to feel the pain as she cut into the upper part of her left wrist just deep enough to pool blood. She dipped her fingers in the red blood and reached for the window behind her. Her ankle shackles prevented her from being able to reach to write. She glanced around the room in a panic. What her captor returned? He would surely kill her this evening if he caught her like this. But she needed more blood. If she was unable to write, at least she could splatter. Certainly, dried dripped blood from a bedroom window would catch someone’s attention. She cut deeper into her wrist. More blood dripped down the sides of her forearm. She gathered it in her palm and splattered it on the window behind her bed, again and again. Her kidnapper had ensured the headboard was wider than the window, so she reached under it and cast her pitches upward. He may not be able to notice the blood on the window from standing at the front of the bed and she could blame the wrist wounds on the handcuffs themselves.
KJ was walking Big Mo across the street and rounded the corner of the cul-de-sac. The pit began acting strangely, pulling her towards the back of the Richards’ old house. KJ was instantly taken back to the day she
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life