I took a look around again.
There was nothing to use to break it except, possibly, the blue orb on the desk. Or the chair... or the IV stand?
What kind of idiot serial killer leaves you with all that ammunition?
Didn’t matter. The knot in my stomach got tighter, and I started to panic again. I closed my eyes, calmed my breathing, and made a decision: I had to at leasttryto get out. Even if I was acting out the final scenes of a really B-grade thriller in which I was one of the first girls to die.
It all happened pretty fast: I tied the sheet around me and bunched up the nice, down-filled covers in one hand, thinking ahead to the broken glass and how I would cover it to get out of the window after I broke it. I’d learned that in elementary school from a firefighter. I lifted the IV stand: too light. I walked over to the desk and picked up the orb. Heavy. Heavy enough to break glass, but not too heavy to launch if I used two hands. Perfect.
I acted quickly from there, the plan slowly unfolding in my mind: throw the orb, line the window with the blanket, start climbing out.
What if it’s the third floor?
Whatever, have to try.
The orb was in my hands, over my head, already swinging, when I heard the door click. It gave off an eerie, futuristic computer sound and then unbolted.
It was too late to stop throwing; the orb was moving on its own momentum.
Shit.
Well, once you’re in that far, there’s nothing for it but to keep going. I put all my force behind the orb and chucked it at the window.
Something hooked me violently around the waist, and I was flying through the air, waiting for the crash of glass, expecting something terrible, thinking about how to scramble toward the window once I landed wherever I was headed...
I was hurled onto the bed, into its softness, and immediately covered by the weight of solid muscle. A dull, loud thump followed, and then I felt an impact—the pressure of it, and the body on top of me made an equally dull thumping sound, and hissed in my ear.
Another dull thump.
The weight rose off of me, but I lay there, feeling a little bit like what a captured rabbit must feel like. Maybe, I thought, if I just lie there, this would all go away.
“That glass is shatterproof.”
The voice licked at my insides and made a shiver run down my spine, and I’d be lying if I said it was not somewhat pleasurable.
It was him.
The memory of Mystery Man, and his ice-cold stare, his fluttering fingers, his hard cock, and his hands clamped powerfully around my wrist, flooded my body and brought my tender skin back into the forefront of my mind. It was at that moment, as my bottom flared up with the ghostlike imprint of his hand, that I realized I was lying with my whole backside completely exposed.
I scrambled to turn around and pull the sheet over me.
I was yelling before I had time to think about it. The way you yell at mice or spiders or muggers on the subway.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I screamed.
The guy didn’t smile, and I could tell he was not a smiley kind of guy, but his face registered some amusement. It was, after all, a ridiculous question.
At the same time, I sneaked a glance at the door. Locked again.
But... he would eventually have to go out the door. So there was a chance...
If he didn’t kill me first.
“Whatyou’redoing here,” he said calmly, answering the question I should have asked, “is recovering from a drug overdose.” He walked over to the IV stand and looked at my handiwork. Then he seemed to decide it was unimportant and started putting the IV away.
There was an uncomfortable silence as he did this, while I tried to figure out what tack to take.
“You a doctor or something?” I said, because the silence was freaking me out.
