Falling Through Glass by Barbara Sheridan

acting of a devious girl playing tricks with his mind.
    But if that’s true, then why didn’t they poison me outright?

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    Emmi woke a bit before dawn and sat up to see Yamanami had fallen asleep sitting against the side of the cell. Emmi took one of her blankets and gently draped it over him.
    He was such a nice man that she found it hard to believe he was actually one of the leaders of this fierce group of samurai. She’d detected sadness in him when he spoke of their recent run-ins with the Choshu samurai who were seeking to overthrow the shogun. It was clear that he fought when he had to, but each time he raised his sword against another man, he did so at a great personal sacrifice.
    Emmi wished now that her father hadn’t read her those history books as bedtime stories when she was younger. It broke her heart to know what Yamanami Keisuke couldn’t. His conscience would not allow him to violate the Shinsengumi’s cardinal rule—once you joined, you could never leave. Yamanami would die because of it.
    Her mouth was bone dry. Emmi reached through the open cell door and poured herself a bit of the now cold tea that was left in the pot from the night before. It wasn’t her usual morning latte, but it wasn’t so bad. Unfortunately, it was just enough to fill her bladder to the overflowing point. She stifled a groan as she thought of the chamber pot waiting behind the screen in the corner.
    She tried thinking of something, anything, to take her mind off her need, but all her imagination would conjure was a remembrance of sitting on the beach near Jake’s condo. The beach. The ocean. All that water, pounding against the rocks. Wave after wave…
    Emmi nearly dove toward the screen to use the dreaded ceramic pot. She struggled to get situated, but once she did, she shut her eyes and hoped that Yamanami would sleep through the sound, which seemed as loud as the gushing of Niagara Falls. Though her bladder felt so much better once the deluge ran its course, there was still one small problem.
    Or not.
    Finally, Emmi appreciated Grandma Maeda’s weird fixation that a lady should always carry a tissue or two tucked in the center of her bra. It wasn’t quite the abundant quilted softness she was used to, but it was close enough.
    Carefully, Emmi finished up and stood, making certain not to tip over the pot or let the hem of the kimono fall in it. She peeked around the screen then stepped out. Luckily, Yamanami was still sleeping, and if he wasn’t, at least he had the decency to pretend to be.
    Emmi lay down on the futon again but knew she’d never fall back to sleep. Her brain buzzed with a million and three questions, the first being—how was she ever going to get back home when she wasn’t even quite sure how she’d gotten here?
    She sat up and crinkled her nose. A breeze blew through the tiny window set high in the wall outside the cell, and the smell it carried reminded her of the chamber pot’s existence. Bad enough that the place stank from the male prisoners’ waste, but she really didn’t want anything of the sort to be closer to her than necessary.
    Yamanami had gone out last night to relieve his own bladder. Emmi didn’t recall him unlocking the outer door before exiting, so it might remain unlocked now. She could go out, leave the pot, then come back and wait to be formally sprung. After all, it wasn’t as if she was a criminal prisoner or anything.
    Emmi retrieved the chamber pot carefully, moving slowly so as not to spill it. She tiptoed between the futon and the sleeping samurai leader, hoping he didn’t decide to stretch out his legs. She stepped over him without any disaster and breathed a quick sigh of relief. Emmi inched to the door, not wanting to draw the attention of those criminals down the way.
    Almost home free ! Emmi thought, testing the door by nudging it with her foot. It gave way a bit, and she shifted sideways to push it open with her shoulder.
    The door flew