Playing A Losing Game

by MF Bishop

  Chapter Eighty

  Trying to move helped. It hurt incredibly, but the pain cleared her head. Light coming under the door showed Alexa the outlines of the furniture. Wanting to get closer to the door, she rolled across the floor. There were a lot of splinters, so every other laborious roll she stopped to cry.

  The third time she rested and cried, she discovered her mouth was open. The piece of tape on her face was actually against her teeth. Damn, she thought, I've got to pay more attention. Pulling her lips back as far as she could, she nibbled on the tape. In a few minutes she had a small hole. This was more fun than rolling across the splintery floor. She worked on the hole with her tongue and her teeth, slowly enlarging it. She felt guilty about not working toward the door, so she began to roll twice, then nibble on the tape for awhile, then roll again. Chewing on the tape was a nice break, and more useful than crying. After several roll-chew sequences, the hole in the tape was pretty big. She yelled experimentally, and got a croak. She tried again and again and finally produced a fairly loud noise.

  "Well," she mumbled, "I'm not much on pronunciation, but the volume's still there."

  Two more rolls brought her to the door. Pressing her head against it, she tried to remember why she wanted to be over here instead of over there. What, she wondered, was on the other side of the door? Peering through the two-inch crack at the bottom, all she could see was dirty floor. As she lifted her head, something scratched her ear. The door had a metal kick plate about eight inches high fastened by screws. Several of the screws stuck out of the plate, and one of them had scratched her.

  "Jackpot," she mumbled. Hooking the tape covering her mouth on the screw, she pulled gently. It hurt like hell, but the tape slowly tore completely in half. "Now," she said, "I can say a few last words."

  Without hope, she had also been without fear. Now she had hope and with it, fear. How long would Mel be gone? The emergency room could take hours...she smiled at the thought. Sure, Mel would hang around and keep his buddy company. Lonnie would be lucky if Mel came to a complete stop before he pushed him out of the car.

  "What the hell. It ain't over 'till it's over." Alexa hitched her legs against the door and caught the tape on the screw. It was slow work, but very rewarding. She felt a great sense of accomplishment when the first strand broke. In a few minutes she was on her feet.

  She crouched with her back to the door and put her wrists against the screw. She had the hang of it now, and the tape gave way in seconds.

  Never thought being 'cuffed would feel so good, she thought. But her hands were still behind her, and no amount of straining could get them in front. She tried to slide her bottom through her arms, but she couldn't do it; she was just too damned big. She cried again, frustrated tears rolling down her face.

  "Ok," she said, "we've had our cry, now we feel better, now we can get the hell on with it. Let's see."

  She threw herself against the door. It gave a little, then stopped, with the clink of chain links. She investigated the table, leaning close to see in the dim light, but the briefcase and bottles were gone. The lamp was there, but probably better to leave it off. She found a heavy nail sticking out of one wall and started working on the handcuffs. The plastic was tough, but if she had enough time, she could wear it away.

  She didn't get the time. Heavy steps sounded in the hall. Alexa hurried softly to the side of the door away from the table. The door opened out, but Mel would reach for the light. She braced herself.

  The chain rattled as Mel unlocked the door. He came through, turning toward the table and the light. She kicked him hard in the small of the back. He howled in pain and surprise and fell against the table. It collapsed under his weight. Mel, the lamp and the table all crashed to the floor.

  Alexa charged through the door and down the hall. She was disappointed to find that she couldn't run very well. I've got to start working out again, she thought.

  Stumbling down the stairs, she made it past the Lincoln, but the garage doors were closed and bolted. Mel caught her as she kicked at the lock. He hit her on the nose, then in the stomach. She collapsed to the floor, blood pouring down her face.

  "You're a tough one, bitch," Mel said calmly, "now we'll finish this. But first, I'm going to break both your arms."