I was still in my scrubs.
I only realized that much later, when I found myself in the bathroom looking out the window with rain droplets cascading down the glass, making my face appear pale and ghost-like by comparison. Hospital blue. Wrinkled. Torn at the knee. An oversized white coat slung over my shoulders like a reminder of the life I was pulled from, who I was before I became a girl waiting to die in some stranger's bedroom.
I cracked open the window to look down.
The ground was far below.
Too far.
The dizziness returned and my stomach dropped. A gust of wind blew up from the sea, the crisp, biting smell of rain and wet rock. For a blinding moment, a pale flash seared the dark courtyard below, obscenely black, eternally distant. Lightning flared in the sky.
No ladder.
No balcony.
Nothing.
My voice cracked, "Not another dead end." "Please… not another one."
Ach ache in my hands, still puffy and raw from the ropes. My feet hurt, my entire body vibrating from fatigue, horror, and adrenaline that would not go away. Burning tears stung my eyes and blurred my sight as despair scratched at my chest.
Think, Enora. Think.
I put my forehead on the glass and shut my eyes, willing my brain to take a fucking time out. Panic would get me killed. Panic was what they expected.
Then—
The bed.
My eyes snapped open.
Bedsheets.
Hope kindled so quickly it almost burned.
Taking in an unsteady breath, I righted myself and brushed my tears away with the back of my palm. I looked at him, my voice instinctively deepened a little more for effect. "Not like this. Not before I get answers."
I jumped out of the bathroom and traversed the large bedroom, the sound of each footfall reverberating too loudly in my ears. In the center of the room, like a specter, stood the bed; black carved frame exquisite and vicious in its beauty. I took hold of the silk duvet and rip.
Sheets came free in a rush.
One. Two. Three.
I shook like the proverbial leaf but my hands moved quickly: stripping the bed down to the bare mattress. My autopilot kicked in and I tied the knots the way I had seen as a child—tight, taut, begging the knots to hold my weight.
But then I froze.
What if someone came in?
My heart raced and disappeared to my throat.
I made myself take a step back, to think past get out of this place - to survival.
I reached for pillows off the couch, stuffed them under the duvet, molded them, painstakingly I glided the silk covers back over the mound, pulling a few in place to make it look like a resting corpse. It would pass at a distance, particularly in the dark.
I stepped back, chest heaving.
Good.
Not perfect.
But good enough.
I pulled the knotted sheets towards the window, but stopped before I reached the opening.
They weren't long enough.
Frustration roared back and I gasped for breath. "No—no, no—"
I scanned the room wildly.
Then I saw it.
The walk-in closet.
I hurried over and opened the door, relief washing over me. It had almost everything there, there were even rows of corrected clothes, shoes standing in military formation, but among the shelves they neatly put stacks of white laundries, folded and spotless.
"Yes," I breathed.
I took hold of them, but relief hit the wall within moments.
I needed to cut them.
Which was where my eyes roamed the cupboard.
Nothing sharp.
Nothing.
Again, time was closing in on me and my pulse was up. I inched out of the closet, scanning the bedroom—
Until I caught my reflection in a bathroom mirror.
The reflection in the glass was wild-eyed, with every ounce of desperation.
Without thinking, my hand reached for the heavy flower vase on the bedside table.
I hurled it.
The mirror exploded.
The sound of glass exploding went off like a sniper rifle and shards rained down upon the black and white marble, the shoes next to me jumping in surprise at the deafening crack of its shattering. I froze, breath held, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No voices.
The sound -- the storm devoured it whole.
I dropped to my knees, snatched a jagged shard of glass and pressed it to my own palm, ignoring the sharpness of the pain that followed. It caught instantly, warm and slick, blood welled, but I kept going. But I ran back into the closed and ripped the sheets up, feeling the sheets give way through crazy adrenaline strength.
Good.
Enough.
Lashing the new ones to the old, knot by knot, I tested them, tugged as hard as I could till my forearms shook. The lengths of fraying rope of cloth had multiplied and weighed heavier, they now soaked in blood from my hands.
I lugged it to the bathroom.
The window waited.
Open.
I cast out the makeshift rope.
It spiraled downwards, into obscurity.
I leaned out, heart pounding.
It reached the ground.
A nervous laugh fell from my mouth—half crazed, half grateful. I whispered to the air, "Thank you."
I threw a leg over the ledge.
I felt pain shooting through my body as I stepped onto the marble with my bare foot, the floor littered with shards of broken glass. Biting my lip hard, I ran the wrong end of a knife up my body urging blood to flow. Blood beneath my soles, bleeding white stone to red.
I couldn't stop.
I fisted the sheets, the coarse cloth rough and wet under my fingers, staining dark with blood. My fingers slipped a little and panic ignited in me. I had to make sure I tightened my grip.
I climbed out the window.
The rain came down on me immediately, chilling and unflinching. Thunder crashed above my head, wind swirling around me and I would say the storm was hell-bent on going after these people but the storm was actually doing what these people started.
I began my descent.
Every movement was agony.
My hands burned. My arms screamed. My blood dripped down onto the sheets under me, staining them even more, my feet burned. The rain turned the cloth slick and treacherous. I took an agonizing slow, cautious, step by step, terrified that a single misstep would see me tumbling down.
My muscles started trembling half way to the bottom.
With tears mingling with the rain, and anger and fear warring in my gut, I gritted my teeth. The sound of my heartbeat rang loudly in my ears — fast, frantic, alive.
I was going to make it.
I was—
Then a voice, like a knife slicing into the storm.
"Fuck—she's escaping!"
Kaida.
My head snapped up.
She appeared at the window, soaking-wet hair flattened against her face, wild-eyed rage as she craned out to see who it was, no doubt seeing me at once.
Panic surged like fire.
My grip faltered.
My heart pounded so loudly, it felt as if it might break right through my chest.
No. No. No.
I looked down.
Too far.
I looked up. She was already moving down too fast.
There was no time.
Fear took over.
My hands slipped.