Luis laid back on the cot and screamed.
##
No one came about the screaming, or when he started throwing things. They either couldn’t hear him, or didn’t care. The stone walls of the room likely prevented most sound from transferring.
When the door unlocked hours later, it was Eric and another large, intimidating stranger. Eric had a plate of food in hand. He brought it over to where Luis was sitting. If either man noticed the papers and tipped boxes, they had nothing to say about it.
“Dinner,” Eric said with a bright white smile.
Luis smacked the paper plate away. The sandwich and apple slices went flying.
Eric didn’t even flinch. If anything, his smile only grew. “You can start the hunger strike now,” he said ominously, “but eventually you have to eat or drink something.”
Ice went down Luis’s spine.
“Fuck you,” Luis snarled. “And fuck your culty bullshit! What you’re doing is illegal, and if you don’t think I’m going to the police the second I’m out of here–”
The slap came hard and unexpected. It was a backhand, done as easy as if Eric did it all the time. Luis yelped, hand coming up to cover his cheek as tears sprang to his eyes.
“Better watch that mouth of yours,” Eric said, “the staff at All Pure aren’t as nice as I am about backtalk.”
Then he turned and left the room. The door locked behind him.
For the next hour, Luis’s cheek pulsed with the hot pain of the slap. He dashed the tears away, curling his hands into fists so hard his knuckles ached. He wasn’t going to cry; he wasn’t going to give Eric the satisfaction.
Luis took a breath to try and calm himself down. He needed to think, to figure a way out of this. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for tomorrow. He needed to do something.
But what?
Whatever it was, it needed to happen before the van arrived. He didn’t doubt they’d drug him for travel, and he’d be useless then. There’d be no escape.
So, his best opportunity was here and now.
Luis got up to walk the room and catalogue what he had to work with.
There were boxes of old pamphlets, bookcases crammed with musty books, plastic bins with holiday decorations, and extra cups and plates and tablecloths. Tucked among the boxes were also a set of moving dollies and a hoard of rusty metal chairs.
Nothing that he could use as a weapon, really. Not that he thought that would be his best course of action. There were at least four men on the premises, and they’d done well to subdue him the first time.
Besides the locked door, the only other break in the room was a small basement window high up on one wall.
Luis went to the window, dragging one of the chairs over to get up and reach it.
It was a ground level window for light and airflow, with a metal grate cemented on top. The grate was rusting, and when Luis pushed at it, there was a little give.
But the edges were cemented into the surrounding stone. If it could be leveraged out, he’d need a tool. Something strong that could chip stone or bend the metal without breaking.
Was that worth even trying?
Luis returned the chair back where it had been, and gave the window a good look. It was narrow, but Luis was narrow. It would be difficult, but he might fit with some tight squeezing.
Then what?
He didn’t have his phone or keys. His car was still in the lot though, and there was a hide-a-key underneath. Okay. So, he could run for his car. Leave.
Was that a plan? Luis went back to the cot to sit and think it through. By the light through the window, it was afternoon now. Any attempt should probably wait until it was dark. They’d likely bring him dinner, and Luis didn’t want to get caught mid escape attempt.
He’d wait, and in the meantime, work on finding something to pry the grate free.
