Page 14 of Ace of Shadows
Sitting up, I turn to the best of my ability and examine the metal circling my wrist. It’s cold and narrow. No matter how hard I tug, there’s no way for me to slip my hand through. A small chain links to the other cuff wrapped around the wooden slat, and when I pull hard on that, the wood bends ever so slightly.
It’s my only chance.
After ripping the I.V. from my arm, I twist my hand around until I’m able to grasp the chain with one hand, then I enclose my fist over my knuckles and pull as hard as I can.
It’s not very hard at all.
My bones are like jelly, my muscles aching and tired. Each tug sends the metal cutting into the bone of my thumb, and that pain only seems to amplify the pain I feel everywhere else.
But once I start, I can’t stop.
I become possessed with the desire to escape and start throwing my whole weight behind each pull. The pillows shift and the blanket slips from the bed while it rocks back and forth with my movements. I pull and pull, straining with all my might until blood trickles down my wrist from where the cuffs slice into the thin skin of my wrist.
It doesn’t stop me.
Back and forth I rock my body, jerking and twisting and pulling with strength that rises up from the hollow pain in my chest.
Then, finally, wood splinters. It cracks under one pull, snaps under another, and then suddenly, the wooden slat breaks free of the headboard as I throw every last ounce of strength behind the pull.
Unfortunately, I’m overzealous and as the wooden slat finally snaps, freeing me from captivity, the momentum of my pulling sends me tumbling back over myself and out of the bed. I hit the floor with a thump, broken ankle first, and the lash of white-hot pain through my foot and calf draws a pained scream from my throat.
I slam both hands over my mouth to drown out the scream while tears of pain spring into my ears and leak down my cheeks.
Oh, God, it hurts.
It hurts so bad I might throw up.
Fire rages through my broken ankle and crawls up my leg as I lie there, crumpled and panting. The cold floor seeps through the thin fabric of the hospital gown, numbing my thighs as I sit there. It’s almost comforting, and I yearn for the numbness to spread to my ankle and soothe it, or up to my pounding head.
It does neither.
They’re both fires of their own, ravaging my body with pain. Through it all, oddly, the sharp ache in my elbow where I ripped out the I.V screams the loudest in my mind.
“Up,” I croak, as if hearing myself speak will encourage me to move. “Get up, Ivy.”
It works. After removing the broken wood from the end of the handcuffs, I use the bed to haul myself up onto my feet with a muted whimper of pain.
I got out of bed. Now I need to get out of this hospital.
Being as mindful of my broken ankle as I can be, I hobble to the door and rip it open. Instead of being faced with a long, bright hospital corridor filled with medical staff and patients, sickening white light, and a colorful line on the floor to guide me to safety, I’m greeted with something else entirely.
A carpeted hallway stretches in two directions, with warm red walls and rather expensive-looking ceiling lights twinkling with warm orange bulbs. There are a couple of doors the same shade of brown as my own, and a sweetness clings to their air as I hobble out. Plush carpet fibers hug my bare toes as I take one limping step, then another. Bracing on the wall for support, I drag myself down the corridor toward the brightest light at the end.
What kind of hospital is this?
What did that man do to me?
Tears continue to leak down my cheeks and I sniffle, trying to keep my eyes clear, but it’s not until a dark shadow falls across the mouth of the hallway that I realize the pain in my head is making it hard to see. The glare from the lights increases so I close my eyes, shake my head, and open them again.
Details in the distance fade in and out as the shadow starts to grow bigger and bigger. My heart pounds and my hand slipsagainst the wall, sending my weight painfully onto my broken ankle.
Pain squeals out of me and I gasp as my leg gives way, but before I hit the floor, strong arms sweep around my waist and lift me clean off my feet.
I look up and it’s him.
The man from my room.
The man who held me down and shoved a needle in my arm.
