2.3
This time she woke up mad. There was no way she was going to
be a victim in this concrete jail. In her mind, she decided it was time to
start formulating a plan. Unsure of how many children there actually were, she
thought there were perhaps three. She reached down to see what condition her
legs were in and discovered there were two primitive splints taped around her
broken limbs. Knowing they would eventually heal, she hoped they had at least
been set properly. The candle was burning across the room and she examined her
surroundings. A simple concrete room, probably at least partially underground.
A wooden door, probably locked from the outside. The table under the candle,
old and barely standing. No windows at all. She strained to lean over the side
of the bed and found a small plastic bottle of water. She grabbed it and drank
it down, feeling much better afterwards. She struggled to sit up and still
couldn’t. She wondered when she might see someone again. The room smelled
musty, confirming she was likely underground, maybe in a cellar. If she was
going to get out of here, she might be able to manipulate the children. That
man was obviously controlling and abusive. She hoped he wouldn’t return any
time soon. Yes, her only hope was the children.
Miss the beginning of my novel? Start HERE!
