The Killing Hour

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Not only is Jo surprised that Charlie has fallen asleep, she’s surprised it’s happened so quickly. He never used to be like that. Whenever they went to bed he’d often lie awake for an hour or more after she’d fallen asleep, he’d read or he’d stare at the ceiling, and then he’d complain about it the following morning. To fall asleep as easily as he has shows how exhausted he is. Back then there was always something comforting about falling asleep next to him, about falling asleep first-he made her feel safe. Protected. Funny how the world can turn on a dime. The man that made her feel safe is now the man she’s about to hit in the head with a wooden mallet.

She spends the next two minutes watching Charlie. She’s seen it before, the way one hand rests on the pillow over his head, his shoulder looking like it’s going to be disconnected. There is the rare occasion where he will go to bed first, or she’ll come into the lounge to find him asleep in front of the TV. His face is tight, there’s a dream going on inside that head of his. He flinches a little, but there’s nothing to indicate he’s going to wake.

Breaking the hacksaw blade earlier was no accident. She stretches out her fingers, then starts maneuvering her hand closer to her body, looking for the piece of blade she hid in the folds of the bedspread while Charlie was cleaning up the stakes and tools. Ideally she’d have kept it in her hand, but that was impossible. When she lay down, she aimed to sit on it to hide it, getting her hand as close to it as she could before Charlie tied her up. Now she’s starting to wonder if it was close enough. She pushes at the bedspread, stroking her fingers back and forth. The blade must be made from the same stuff as her car keys are-the kind of stuff that gets lost no matter where you put it.

Charlie grunts. His body tightens. His lips part slightly and move. She’s never known him to talk in his sleep, and she pauses, waiting for it to happen now, but words don’t follow the gesture. She thinks he must just be on the border of cramping up when his body relaxes, he exhales loudly, and his mouth closes back up.

Maybe this is a mistake, she thinks, still unable to find the blade. This could be fate intervening, the universe telling her to hold off from doing anything stupid. Of course if the universe worked that way, then it didn’t work too well for Kathy and Luciana, and it sure as hell didn’t work well for her last night. Still, she is starting to get some control back. If she manages to cut through her bindings and then Charlie catches her, she’s going to undo all those baby steps. It’s a gamble. This could be her only chance to escape.

Of course no matter how she looks at it, she still doesn’t think he’s capable of murder.

Yesterday she wouldn’t have thought he was capable of kidnapping.

She gets her hand closer to her body. Her wrist hurts as she flexes her hand back toward her arm, but she gets her fingers beneath her body and is able to roll a few inches upward. After a few moments of despair she feels the edge of the blade prick against the pad of her finger. She grits her teeth and holds back the urge to swear. She slips the blade into her fingers and moves it to her fingertips. She twists her hand and touches the blade against the towel. She has to make the decision. Getting to this point has taken longer than she wanted. If she starts cutting, and doesn’t get all the way through, he’s going to know she tried to escape and he will lose all trust in her.

But what if this is her only chance?

She looks over at him. He’s not breathing heavily. The dream he is in isn’t a deep one.

She thinks about the traffic outside and is aware that any altercation out there, a car horn or the shrieking of tires, could be enough to wake him. Or the alarm Charlie set could be about to go off. She can’t see it because it’s angled away from her. It feels like she’s been tied up for ten minutes, but it could have been twenty. Or thirty.

Her indecision suggests she’s already made up her mind. That she’ll hide the blade in her pocket and use it later. Only then she drags the blade across the towel. Once. Twice. Cut or not to cut? That’s the question. And she needs to hurry up and make up her mind.