At some point on our journey, we got out past the storm. He seemed more relaxed by then. I figured he hated driving in the snow. I couldn’t particularly blame him. Driving in the snow could be dangerous, and I hadn’t had the chance to put snow tires on my car yet. When the narrow road widened, he turned the radio on low. I settled in, eating another donut. After the third, I wiped the residue on my jeans, put my glove back on.

I leaned my head against the window. It was freezing. But it felt nice against my skin. I was suffocating under the heat coming out of the vents, from the coat, the hat. Either it was way too hot in the car, or I was still running a slight fever. I closed my eyes, hoping it was the first option. I didn’t want to be sick. Not if I couldn’t lie on my bed half dead, with Jaime lying on the floor by me. Not if Mathias was the one who’d have to take care of me.

He left me in the car at our destination. He put his black mask on, a hat he pulled from his pocket over his hair. He seemed determined to keep anyone from seeing anything more than his blue eyes. He locked me in the car again, and I waited for him to show himself in the dingy parking lot of a motel on the outskirts of the city. I crossed my arms and dipped my chin into my jacket to keep in as much heat as possible.

He walked out of the motel’s office after the sun had fully set. He unlocked the car, grabbed a few things from the backseat before opening the passenger side door. He extended a single crutch out to me. I grabbed hold of it and used it to take the pressure off my broken ankle. He stood on the opposite side of the crutch, ready to catch me if the pain from the bullet was too much.

There was only one bed in the room, but that didn’t surprise me as much as it should’ve. I’d already spent a night and a half sharing a bed with him, if I had to do so one more night, that wouldn’t be the worst of my problems. Other than the bed, it was sparsely furnished, the only other major piece being a dresser. A closet and bathroom made the motel room feel more livable.

I sat on the edge of the bed. My head tilted down. I waited for him to tell me what to do. To do whatever he wanted with me. The bed made a horrible squeaking sound as I felt his weight dip the bed. “C’mere,” he said. I let go of the crutch, crawled over to where he laid on the bed. I laid on my back next to him. My heart thundered as I waited for his next words, his next commands. “Why’ve you been so docile? Not even seen you hesitate.”

You broke my ankle, I wanted to say, and I’m scared of what else you’ll do to me if I do something you don’t like. The words stuck in my throat when I opened my mouth. “Fine,” he said after a considerable amount of time. “You’re more tolerable like this.” He rolled onto his side, his back facing me. “We’re leaving early to go into the city. Get some sleep.”

I had to call for help before we saw Margot. I had to get away from him, away from Luis. Go as far as I was able. I stared at the door from my spot on the bed. If only my legs worked properly, I would steal my keys back from him and drive. Even if I was able to get to my keys and to my car on the single crutch, would I even be able to push down on the accelerator? I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why did I ever have to offer myself to him at the bank? I should’ve stayed where he put me, let him figure out his plan from there. If he wanted to use me as leverage to get away then, then so be it.

My mind went through different possibilities on how I could escape him. He was asleep, or looked it, I could always try to suffocate him with one of the pillows. Take my keys back, call for help then. Would it still count as self-defense if I killed my captor? I spotted a landline phone on the nightstand opposite him. If he stepped out for whatever reason, I’d be able to call for help on that. The idea of the police talking to me, taking my statement, made my stomach churn, but it was better than staying with Mathias.

I sat up, wondering how much force, for how long I’d have to hold the pillow over his face, for him to suffocate. How much would he struggle? If he put up too much of a fight, my plans would be toppled, and it was certain that he would hurt me again. He’d have to be on his back for it to work anyway. There was no way I could roll him on his back without him waking up. I squeezed my hands into fists in my lap. If he would just roll…I would put all of my weight into holding a pillow over his face. No matter how hard he struggled, how much he fought me, I would hold it there.

I’d never taken a life before, but if it was his…I thought I could do it. That made me worry for my sanity. I’d done a number of things I wasn’t proud of, but killing a person…even if it was someone who hurt others with no signs of remorse…could I really do it? Could I really take a life? If it meant my sisters would be safe, that I could go back to my life, I sickeningly felt like I could.

I stared at the side of his neck. I could wrap my hands around his neck. Choke him until I felt him stop breathing, then squeeze some more until I felt the life leave him. I remembered something Anne told me while I let my mind spiral. She held up two fingers, said she learned something interesting about choking. There’re two kinds. One meant to keep the blood from the brain, the other to keep the air from the lungs. I asked her what the difference was while I counted our money. Both were meant to kill, weren’t they? She put her fingers on the sides of her neck, then in the middle as she explained. The sides restrict blood flow, but don’t necessarily kill. The middle breaks the windpipe, that’s what kills.

I wanted to know how she learned all this, I remembered, but I felt asking would cross a line in our sibling relationship. I wouldn’t have thought the information would ever come in handy. But I knew how to kill him. Wrap my hands around his throat and press down as hard as I could on his Adam’s apple. I’d have to be quick about it. The less he struggled against me, the more chance I’d have of winning.

Yet the thought of what he’d do to me if he overpowered me gave me pause. He’d already shot me. Broke my ankle. Would he break something else? Shoot me again? Beat me to an inch of my life? Gut me like a fish? This wasn’t going to help me with my escape efforts if I kept spiraling down and down. I felt I couldn’t breathe thinking of everything he could do to me. I wanted to throw up again from the pain of it all. He would certainly know if I left the bed.

It creaked something awful when I slid off the top of it. I picked up the crutch, trying to keep the donuts down until I made it to the bathroom. I did everything as loudly as I could. It wasn’t that I wanted to wake Mathias and suffer his wrath from that, but if he knew I wasn’t focusing on being quiet, it might connect that I wasn’t escaping. I made it to the concerningly stained bathroom sink before I leaned over, dry heaving. I grabbed onto the porcelain sides to keep my knees from buckling under me. Stay up, keep the pain from elevating, let everything up that wants to come up. That was all I let in my mind, pushing away the thoughts of murdering him.

The bed creaked once more as I figured he got up to check on my whereabouts. I glanced at him standing in the doorway. I spat bile into the sink, feeling slightly better until it all came up. My knees wanted to give out. I gripped the sides of the sink even harder, holding myself fully up by the sink. It wasn’t the worst thing the sink had seen, I guessed, but that didn’t give me any comfort. Nor him standing there in the doorway, watching me as I expelled everything for the second time in his care. He helped me to the floor between the door frame where I sat, resting my back on the jamb with my legs out in a v.

“I’ll get you some water,” he said. I watched him walk across the carpet, silent, then heard the door open and close.

This was my chance. I didn’t waste any time crawling to the landline. I put the receiver to my ear, dialed for emergency services. I crawled under the bed, positioning myself so I could see the door. It wasn’t the best hiding spot, however, it was better than nothing. Anything that deterred Mathias even for half a second more was good to me.

I couldn’t get my voice out when the operator asked me what my emergency was. I didn’t want him to find out, there was still time I could hang up and he would never know. My anxiety started to rise when she said she was going to hang up on me.

I let out a breath, and finally got my words out, almost as quiet as Mathias was when he walked around on the hardwood. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

“Can I get your name?” She asked. “Do you know where you are?”

“Soren May,” I whispered. “I don’t…I don’t know. A motel near…near New York City.” I gripped the receiver tighter. “It’s been five days…he shot me…broke my ankle…”

“Calm down, Mr. May,” she said. “Where did he take you from?”

“A bank in Cranston…Rhode Island,” I added. “I don’t remember which one…I just needed to break a bill…and I went to the first one I found.”

“Okay. Do you know your kidnapper’s name?” She asked.

“Mathias. I don’t know his surname.” I then tacked on that he worked for a man named Luis. I wasn’t sure if that was helpful for the operator or not, but it seemed like a good thing to tell her.

“Stay on the line for me, Mr. May. We’ll try to find out where you are and send somebody to you.” There was a short silence. “Does anyone know you’re missing?”

“Maybe? I don’t…I don’t kn—” I fell silent when I thought I heard Mathias outside the room. The keys jangled in the lock, and I lowered my voice even further. “He’s come back,” I told the operator.

“Stay calm,” she said.

Her words never registered as I watched the door open from under the bed. His boots shuffling across the motel carpet. If I was lucky he wouldn’t notice the cord from the phone leading to under the bed for a few seconds more. I whispered, maybe mouthed the word help, squeezing my eyes shut as his boots went out of view. I let go of the phone when the dial tone sounded. I started to army crawl out from under the bed, towards the door. I dug my hands into the carpet, trying to find purchase as I felt his hands on my ankles, pulling me. I was only aware of the fact that I was yelling “no” at him with all my might, trying to get out of his grasp while tears stained my cheeks. He only tightened his grip, sending shocks of pain into my ankle and up into my knee.

Quick note: because of how I want to write this, the next chapter may be triggering to some readers for sexual abuse. Therefore, there will be two versions of Chapter Eleven. The one named "Chapter Eleven: Cut" will EXCLUDE the scene that may be triggering. The one named "Chapter Eleven: Full" will INCLUDE the scene. They are IDENTICAL otherwise in story contents, with the only difference being the inclusion/exclusion of the scene.