Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I wince, gritting my teeth behind the tape, trying to ignore the searing pain radiating from my wrists. The rope bites into my skin so hard it feels like it’s cutting through, like I’ll start bleeding at any moment. How did this happen? How did I get here? The panic is overwhelming, but I try to focus—try to think of something, anything, that will help me get out of this.
I manage to get in a few desperate kicks, my legs flailing out in a last-ditch effort to break free. My feet connect with something solid—a body, maybe his legs—but it doesn’t slow him down. He grunts, and for a split second, I feel a surge of triumph, but it’s short-lived. His hands clamp down on my ankles with brutal force, pinning them to the floor long enough to secure them with more rope. I fight, I thrash, but it’s no use. My feet are tied to the legs of the chair so tightly that I can’t even wiggle my toes without feeling the strain.
Tears spill from my eyes, unbidden and uncontrollable. The more time that passes, the less control I have over my body and mind. My vision blurs as the tears mix with panic, making everything seem distorted, more chaotic.
This is real. This is actually happening.
There’s no way Saint would let this game go this far, I tell myself, trying to cling to some shred of hope. He wouldn’t let this happen. He wouldn’t let me be in this much pain.
For the first time since I woke up just minutes ago, the cold realization sinks in: I might not make it out of this. For the first time, I truly feel like my life is in danger.
My body goes still. The adrenaline that had me thrashing and fighting just moments ago begins to drain away, leaving me numb and paralyzed by fear. I try to stop the tears, knowing they won’t help me now.
I need to calm down. I have to think.
My breath comes in shaky bursts as I force myself to focus.
Think, Petra. Think.
I can’t move my hands, can’t even flex my fingers without the rope digging into my wrists. My legs are equally trapped, every slight movement sending sharp pain up my calves. I’m completely bound to the chair, every inch of me immobilized.
What do I do?
I hear noises behind me—things crashing to the floor. The sound is sudden, violent. I jump at each crash, my muscles tensing involuntarily. My ears strain to pick up every sound, trying to figure out what he’s doing. I can hear drawers being yanked open, slamming shut, one after another. Panic grips me again, but this time it’s icy cold, settling deep in my bones.
Is he looking for something? A knife?
The thought chills me to the core, my mind racing with horrible possibilities. I can barely breathe as the minutes stretch on, filled with the chaotic noises of his search.
What is he planning?
The longer the noise continues, the more my heart sinks. I’m stuck, powerless, with no way to defend myself or even see what’s happening behind me. Every crash feels like a countdown, like the seconds ticking away before he makes his next move. I pray he’s not finding whatever he’s looking for. I pray he’s not preparing for something far worse.
Just when I think I can’t bear the tension any longer, a new sound cuts through the air. The front door opens.
It doesn’t close.
I can hear footsteps fading away. The door is still open, though. I can feel the cold, the outside breeze creeping into the house. I don’t know if he’s coming back. I listen quietly. The cool air brushes against the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Each gust feels like an intrusion, a reminder that I’m still vulnerable, still at the mercy of whatever comes next.
The silence in the house is suffocating. I hear nothing but the faint whistle of wind filtering through the door and the quiet sound of my own ragged breaths, mixed with muffled sobs. My chest feels tight, and each breath is a struggle as I try to keep the hysteria from bubbling over. I sit there, tied to the chair, my heart pounding in my ears, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped completely.
I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can, trying to block out the world around me. Please let him be gone. The words are like a chant in my head, a desperate plea. I haven’t set foot inside a church in years, but in this moment, I pray harder than I ever have before. God, please. I’ll go back. I’ll make up for all the services I’ve missed. Just let him be gone. Please, don’t let him come back.
The prayers come in waves, fast and urgent, tumbling over each other in my mind. I pray that somehow, by some miracle, he’s already left. That he’s walked out that door and disappeared into the night, never to return. I pray that I’ll find a way to free myself, to wiggle out of these ropes and run. I need to survive this. I don’t know how long I’ve been praying. Minutes feel like hours, and the terror makes every second stretch into an eternity. My mind is racing, but my body is still frozen in fear.