and she couldn’t reach the windows to pound on them to attract the attention of a passerby. No telephone. No housekeeper. No father, no mom, no hope of getting out of here on her own …
Tears of self-pity and fear stung Tanner’s eyelids.
No, dammit! If her crazy captor ever did come back, he wasn’t going to find her with tear-swollen eyes. No way.
She curled up into an armadillo-like ball on the narrow couch, and forced her eyelids shut.
Fear and emotional exhaustion finally took their toll and by thinking about Charlie, which comforted her, Tanner managed to doze fitfully.
The cuckoo had just struck the hour of six, semi-waking her, when the sound of the music room door being unlocked brought her fully back to consciousness. The skylight overhead revealed a dove-gray dawn. The room was as cold as a tomb. Shivering, hugging her arms around her chest for warmth, Tanner sat upright, her fear-widened eyes on the door.
The ugly gray mask peered inside. “Rise and shine!” he said. “Sleep well?”
“I slept fine,” she said defiantly. But she couldn’t stop shivering with cold. And fear, she had to admit. Her spine crawled at the sight of the repulsive rubber mask peering in at her.
“What’s the matter,” he said as he entered the room, “you didn’t find all the comforts of home in here? Such a nice room. I guess it is a little chilly, though. Too bad.” He walked over to her and bent down, the grotesque rubber mask only inches from her face. “You’re not going to catch a cold, are you? That’s not part of my plan. Maybe I can dig up a blanket for you tonight. Can’t have you getting sick on me.”
I’m not going to be here tonight, Tanner thought vehemently. I’m not spending another horrible night in this room.
He had left the door ajar. But when her eyes swung over to it, so did his. He laughed. “Go ahead, give it a shot,” he challenged her. He straightened up to stand over her ominously. “Two bits I get there before you do. And then I’ll have to punish you for trying to get away.”
Giving up, Tanner sank back into the couch.
He laughed again. Then casually, like someone out taking a leisurely stroll, he sauntered over to the door and reached out into the hall, retrieving with one hand a long, narrow board and pulling it into the room. Dropping it on the floor at Tanner’s feet, he moved back to the door to haul in a second board. Then moving quickly back and forth from the doorway to the hall, he brought more boards into the room and piled them atop the others, until several stacks of boards crisscrossed the turquoise carpet.
The last load of boards he brought into the room was made up of shorter pieces of wood. These he piled on the leather chair.
The last thing he lifted into the room and deposited on the floor was a red metal tool kit. Then he closed and locked the music room door again.
Tanner watched the door swing shut with a sickening sense of hopelessness.
Bending to open the lid of the tool kit, he took from it a large claw hammer and a plastic box. “Nails,” he said, waving the box at Tanner, who hadn’t moved from the couch. “Can’t put wood together without nails, right?”
“What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her eyes on him. There hadn’t been one single moment when she could have made it through that doorway. He’d been right there the whole time, gathering in his pile of boards. “What is all that lumber for?” When she first saw what he was hauling inside, she’d thought he might be planning to build a fire in the fireplace to warm the room. But the boards were too big. Much too long. Taller than he was.
“None of your business,” he said harshly, lifting one board and dragging it over into the middle of the room. Then he went back and got a second one.
She watched as he nailed the two boards together, and then nailed a third and fourth to the first two. He was fast and efficient, wielding the claw hammer as if it weighed no more
Tears of self-pity and fear stung Tanner’s eyelids.
No, dammit! If her crazy captor ever did come back, he wasn’t going to find her with tear-swollen eyes. No way.
She curled up into an armadillo-like ball on the narrow couch, and forced her eyelids shut.
Fear and emotional exhaustion finally took their toll and by thinking about Charlie, which comforted her, Tanner managed to doze fitfully.
The cuckoo had just struck the hour of six, semi-waking her, when the sound of the music room door being unlocked brought her fully back to consciousness. The skylight overhead revealed a dove-gray dawn. The room was as cold as a tomb. Shivering, hugging her arms around her chest for warmth, Tanner sat upright, her fear-widened eyes on the door.
The ugly gray mask peered inside. “Rise and shine!” he said. “Sleep well?”
“I slept fine,” she said defiantly. But she couldn’t stop shivering with cold. And fear, she had to admit. Her spine crawled at the sight of the repulsive rubber mask peering in at her.
“What’s the matter,” he said as he entered the room, “you didn’t find all the comforts of home in here? Such a nice room. I guess it is a little chilly, though. Too bad.” He walked over to her and bent down, the grotesque rubber mask only inches from her face. “You’re not going to catch a cold, are you? That’s not part of my plan. Maybe I can dig up a blanket for you tonight. Can’t have you getting sick on me.”
I’m not going to be here tonight, Tanner thought vehemently. I’m not spending another horrible night in this room.
He had left the door ajar. But when her eyes swung over to it, so did his. He laughed. “Go ahead, give it a shot,” he challenged her. He straightened up to stand over her ominously. “Two bits I get there before you do. And then I’ll have to punish you for trying to get away.”
Giving up, Tanner sank back into the couch.
He laughed again. Then casually, like someone out taking a leisurely stroll, he sauntered over to the door and reached out into the hall, retrieving with one hand a long, narrow board and pulling it into the room. Dropping it on the floor at Tanner’s feet, he moved back to the door to haul in a second board. Then moving quickly back and forth from the doorway to the hall, he brought more boards into the room and piled them atop the others, until several stacks of boards crisscrossed the turquoise carpet.
The last load of boards he brought into the room was made up of shorter pieces of wood. These he piled on the leather chair.
The last thing he lifted into the room and deposited on the floor was a red metal tool kit. Then he closed and locked the music room door again.
Tanner watched the door swing shut with a sickening sense of hopelessness.
Bending to open the lid of the tool kit, he took from it a large claw hammer and a plastic box. “Nails,” he said, waving the box at Tanner, who hadn’t moved from the couch. “Can’t put wood together without nails, right?”
“What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her eyes on him. There hadn’t been one single moment when she could have made it through that doorway. He’d been right there the whole time, gathering in his pile of boards. “What is all that lumber for?” When she first saw what he was hauling inside, she’d thought he might be planning to build a fire in the fireplace to warm the room. But the boards were too big. Much too long. Taller than he was.
“None of your business,” he said harshly, lifting one board and dragging it over into the middle of the room. Then he went back and got a second one.
She watched as he nailed the two boards together, and then nailed a third and fourth to the first two. He was fast and efficient, wielding the claw hammer as if it weighed no more
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