bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-two. ?

"Think," he told himself. "Think, think, think . . ."

His escape options had always been limited:

Two locked doors, both with codes only Sir knew. A ventilation shaft and a dumbwaiter, both too narrow for him to climb. He could Shawshank Redemption his way out through the plumbing somehow? No, that was dumb movie logic, not real-world logic.

The idealist in him came up with new ideas:

He could use a toothbrush to pry open the split in the ceiling, create a hole, a portal into the real world. No, that wouldn't work if he couldn't reach.

He could drag the bed over, turn it on its head to create a ladder . . . no, the bed was bolted to the floor and impossible to move.

He could Tarzan himself from the stairs and let his fingers somehow grab onto the opening—now he was being foolish.

And Case knew all hope was fool's hope.

*

"I got a surprise for you."

Case heard the rustle of plastic packaging before Sir revealed a black-and-green packet of . . .

He saw red, and gasped.

KitKats!

Case reached to take the bag, but Sir pulled it away from his grasp at the last moment.

"Now, remember: this is a privilege. Ya hear me? You can't get greedy and stuff your face in one go. I don't want you sitting around, getting fat and covered in acne. Understand?"

"I—" Even without a mirror, Case knew his ribs and collarbones were protruding though his skin. But he'd also learned when to bite his tongue. "Yes, Sir."

Sir sucked in his breath, his lips suctioning to his teeth for a moment like a vacuum sealed bag. He paused a moment longer, seeming to rethink his decision. Then, reluctantly, he handed over the chocolates.

Case near snatched the bag from Sir, grinning. It was an assorted bag of mini Hershey's. Ninety—90, literally almost 100—pieces of milk chocolate, KitKats and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. The familiar red KitKat and orange Reese's logos were on the front of the bag, but inside the miniature wrappers were all black-and-green designed to glow-in-the-dark. He stared at the packet, excited and awestruck, feeling like Charlie Bucket when he found the Golden Ticket. But the feeling soon disappeared when the graphic design of the packaging became clearer. What at first glance seemed like a beam of neon yellow-green light, something to illustrate the glow-in-the-dark gimmick, was actually the glow of a witch's cauldron.

It's Halloween candy.

Case blinked, his smile and his heart dropping with realization. If it was Halloween, then that meant Case's birthday had been over a week ago.

"Do I get a thank you?"

"Thank you," Case muttered. He swallowed, his vision prickling with the threat of tears. Case was officially 18-years-old. Not that he could pinpoint when exactly he'd crossed the invisible threshold from child to adult. He hadn't woken up one day and felt considerably maturer, wiser. Not like someone who could suddenly come home with a tattoo, or buy cigarettes and guns. Or someone who could drive alone at night, donate his blood and organs. Get married . . . consent to sex with other adults. Case didn't feel like an adult. But he didn't feel like a kid anymore, either.

"Show me how you're grateful."

Case sucked on the hard square of chocolate. Out of all his siblings, Case was the master at making candy last longer. Months after Halloween and Easter, he'd still have a small stash of chocolate all his own, which drove his sisters mad with envy. His favorite had always been KitKat bars—plain, dark, mint, mocha, any flavor—so those were the ones he'd save to the very end.