him. It took a moment to realize why my mattress was so lumpy and narrow and why, at my waist, it divided in two.
EIGHTY-TWO
MY HEAD THROBBED. I MANAGED TO ROLL OFF VICTOR AND,
leaning against him, survey the room. Green garbage bags coated the floor. The kind they’d found the nannies in. And the door was screwed back in place.
The gag made it hard to draw in enough air, and what I did get reeked. Breathe slowly, I told myself. Find a way to get rid of the damned gag. But how?
I twisted my arms, trying to get free. Exertion made breathing more difficult. Breathe, I told myself. Keep breathing. I worked my head against Victor’s shoulder, inching the blindfold up over my eyes until they were both free.
Under the dim lightbulb, I wondered about the artwork on the wall, why Jake would hang it in a room only to wall it off, sealed up and tomblike. Oh my God. Was that Jake’s plan? To wall us up until we died here? The walls edged in closer. I panted, pulled, pressed, and stretched, but got nowhere.
I thought of Molly and realized I had no sense of time. How long had I been gone? Had I left her minutes ago? Hours? Days? Oh God. Molly I’d left her alone, not told her where I was going. Was she all right? Did she think I’d gone off to work without saying good-bye? Oh God. My mind raced, ricocheting from thought to thought. I pictured Molly alone, waiting with her dolls for Angela, for me, for somebody. Would she wait alone all day until Nick arrived for dinner? Make a plan, I begged myself. But nothing, no plan came to mind.
Again I turned my hands and—twisting, rotating—pulled my wrists apart as far as I could. Which wasn’t far, but there was some slack. I kept the pattern up, determined to get back to my daughter, tugging and rolling, twisting and pressing, trying to slide one hand down and away from the other. My wrists burned, scraped raw, and sweat or blood—something wet— made my skin slippery, until finally one thumb moved down through the plastic rope that tied me and got jammed. I couldn’t move it up or down, and when I tried, pain shot up my hand and through my arm. But it didn’t matter if I tore my damned hand off; I wasn’t going to stop pulling until the rope was off. I turned, scraped, stretched, and ripped my skin. I told myself, you’re made of water, ninety-some percent water. Just pour through the rope. Think slimy. Think thin. Think about Molly and getting home. And finally, miraculously, my jammed hand slid a bit over the knuckle of my thumb. I twisted and pulled and it moved a bit more. And then my whole hand came out. One, then both. My hands were free.
I pulled off the blindfold and undid the rag that was stuffed into and around my mouth. Plastic yellow rope still tied my elbows to my body and held my legs to the mattress. My vision was blurred and the light was dim, but I could see. My wrists were raw and oozing blood. Angela and Victor hadn’t moved.
Victor didn’t respond when I nudged him.
“Angela,” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”
She didn’t move. I noticed she’d done her nails again. Each was two-toned, a combination of light and dark shades. I wished my nails were that long, able to dig in, separate fibers and untie. But mine were short stubs, and I had to work the rope with blood-and-sweat-slippery hands, slowly, bending elbows and stretching fingers to reach knots that clung tight. Each knot took eons. But methodically, breathing evenly, I loosened the rope around my arms enough to reach the one around my legs. When that was loosened, I reached down under the rope and untied my ankles.
When I tried to stand, the walls tilted and spun. I sat and leaned back against the wall, not focusing, waiting for the room to hold still, the nausea to pass. Gradually, the whirling slowed. The room settled into a hover, ready to take off again if I jarred my head. Slowly, carefully, I raised myself in increments until I was standing. When I had my balance, I stepped over to Angela, untied her hands, touched her forehead, her throat, felt a weak pulse. Thank God.
“Angela?” I whispered. “Can you hear me? Angela—”
She quivered, stirring. I waited, held her hand, repeated