If Only She'd Loved Him

Saturday 4:00 pm

Megan stared and stared at her free wrist. It looked so beautiful to her. She laughed. She was free! Actually free! After all this time, she was going to get away. But how long did she have before Erik got back? She knew before she even glanced around the room that if she heard him returning, she'd re-snap the cuff. She didn't think she'd have any chance if he thought she tried to escape again. She shook her head. Enough of those thoughts, they weren't helping. Raising up her hand, she formed a victory fist. I did it! she cried out to the empty room. Me, I'm free!

She slid off the bed, determined to get the door open and get out of there, but her bare feet recoiled from the wood floor. If they were cold in a heated house, no way did she want to think about how they'd feel in the forest. She ran to the wardrobe, yanking out sweater after sweater and skirt after skirt. Weren't there any pants in here, anywhere? Socks, at least socks? But after yesterday's run through the woods, he'd even taken her socks away. All she found were monstrous high heels and stockings. She slipped on the lowest pair of heels she could find. But as she tottered across the room, she kicked them off. Bare feet were better than those. Erik was right. She couldn't walk across a room without twisting her ankle, much less run in the woods in the shoes he'd chosen for her. Shoes were shoes though, right? Picking up a pair of black satin pumps, she slammed its heel against the bedpost, snapping it off. One look told her her plan wasn't going to work. The shoe lay on the floor at an angle, its toes pointing towards the sky. She'd just made it worse for herself.

Giving up on shoes, Megan ran to the door and twisted the knob. It barely moved. She was locked in. No! Picking up the broken pump, she flung it across the room. No! She pounded on the door. She was so close, so close! She yanked hard on the doorknob. Nothing. Putting one foot up against the door, she braced herself and pulled with all her might. Thud. She hit the ground as the knob slipped from her sweaty hands. No, not now, not when she was almost free! Brushing herself off, she crawled back to the door, studying it. She'd made a key before. She could make one again. She ran back to the bed, searching through the covers for the broken metal tabs. She found the one that had opened the handcuffs. Grabbing it in her hand, she flew back to the door and shoved it around inside the hole. It slipped down and fell through. It was gone. Megan leaned against the door and started to cry. Please, I want to go home. I just want to go home!

Hands clutched on the knob, she fell against the door, twisting and shaking it with every sob. It didn't budge. Wasted minutes later, she wiped her face clear. Hysterics weren't going to help her. So what was? The door was too solid to get through without tools. But, she looked around anxiously, there was still a window. Maybe the shutters were looser than she thought, or the bars wider apart? She had to at least try. Megan ran straight to the window. Slipping her hand between the bars, she tried to test the shutter, but it held firm. Even if she broke the glass behind it, she'd still be trapped. That left the door. she squared her shoulders. She still needed some way to get that lock open. She scoured the room, searching for something small and metal, sharp and pointy. She dived under the bed, peered at every corner of the room and came up with nothing. All she had were shoes, clothes, and still attached to the bedpost, handcuffs.

The handcuffs mocked her. Shiny, cold, they were a constant reminder of being Erik's prisoner. She hated them. She wanted them out of sight. If she couldn't get free, at least she could get rid of those things. Sitting down on the bed, she started to cover them up with a pillow then with a sheet. Still, she knew they were there. Slam! She sent the metal jangling with her hand, clattering like wind chimes against the bedpost. Megan hated their sound. She hated this place. Slap! Her hand hit the bed. Her puzzle magazines went flying. Suddenly, she hated them too. He'd bought them for her after all. Giving in to the feelings storming through her body, she went on a destructive crusade. She ripped page after page of the magazines, then she ripped those pages into tiny little bits. They fluttered to the floor, leaving her with nothing more than shreds and staples.

Small and metal, sharp and pointy.

In a flash of inspiration, Megan tore the staples out of the paper they were embedded in. Then she bent them back with her fingers till she had a nice straight pin. Clutching the pin, she ran back to the door and put it inside the key hole, twisting. But the wire was too weak; it bent in her hands. She cursed. The staples were too small to be made strong. She needed a fatter piece of wire to get the door open... the chain on the handcuffs! She flew back to the bed and inserted the staple wire into the handcuffs, twisting, pulling. She had some experience with handcuffs now, unwanted though it may have been, and she knew where to slide the wire. The handcuffs clattered off the bed, falling to the floor. This time they made music.

At first, she tried to pull the links apart with her hands, but they wouldn't budge. Leverage, she needed leverage. She eyed up the bars on the windows—maybe she could use them. Sliding the cuffs between the iron, she pulled and twisted at the same time, forcing a link apart, space by space. When the distance was great enough, she slid the handcuffs out and separated them into two pieces. Then she took the twisted link and slid it free from the others. She was left with a piece of metal in the shape of an oval with a large chunk torn out of it. A little more pressure from the bars of the window, and she had a curved piece of wire to work with. Smiling, she went back to the bedroom door and inserted her makeshift key. It didn't take long. She heard the click, turned the door knob and entered the living room.

Empty eyed, the deer head watched her as she slipped into the room. Her feet shook on the tile floor. If she just had her shoes! Megan didn't want to waste time, but she also wanted a chance at getting through the woods. The forest at night scared her enough without stepping on something slimy and hissing. And she wanted to be able to run if she saw Erik, not limp. Making up her mind, she decided to take one fast look upstairs for her shoes and maybe her jeans. Just one minute, and then she'd be out the door. She headed for the stairs, her footsteps sounding too loud as she climbed the wooden steps. When she reached the top, she hesitated. Wet with sweat, her fingers slipped off the rail. She took a deep breath and moved forwards.

There were three doors on the second floor. The first she knew was the bathroom. She remembered clinging to the roof outside of it. Wrist aching from the memory, Megan left that door shut and went to the second. It turned out to be a closet, empty except for a pair of green rubber waders and some fishing rods. She must be near a lake or stream. That was good. All she had to do was find the water and follow it downstream. She smiled to herself: coming upstairs had just been made worthwhile.

The hallway light was dim, but she was afraid to turn on the light in any other room. She didn't want Erik to see a light he hadn't left on as he returned to the cabin; that would give her away immediately. She pushed open the third door. A pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt lay on the bed. Megan forgot to be scared and just got angry as she stared at his clothes. Jeans, he got to wear jeans. He wasn't sneaking around trying to get his own clothes back! Sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, she thought as she pulled on his clothes. See how he likes having his stuff stolen! The fit wasn't as bad as she'd expected. A belt would have been nice, but his jeans weren't going to slide off her hips. Now, if she just had her sneakers! She always left her shoes under her bed, so that was the first place she looked. She sneezed. The dust under there even made her sloppy soul cringe. Quickly, she pulled her head up. On a bedside table lay a gold-toned watch. Finally, she'd know what time it was. She studied its luminescent dial: 4:45 pm. Oh No, Erik could be back at any minute! Closet, closet, she needed her shoes! With a quick yank, she flung open the door. There, towards the right side were her blue sneakers. Yes! In flash, she kneeled over. Fingers fumbling at the laces, she fought to get her shoes on her feet. She started to run from the room, but she still had questions. Questions, she had to have answers to. There was only one place left to look. She opened up his dresser. Just one drawer, she promised herself, just one, and then I'm history. Squinting in the dim light, she opened the top drawer, only to step instantly back. Dozens and dozens of images of herself stared back in silence. Pictures, snapshots, her fingers scooped them up, let them fall back down into the open drawer. Why? Megan asked, as she backed away from herself. Why me?