The Red Room

26

There are few advantages to being small. Grace has rarely had the opportunity to celebrate her feet, breasts or hands. If she so much as looks at food, she gains weight. In the department stores, they point her toward the children’s floor — there’s no fashion for the diminutive. One of the few advantages is expectation: size is mistakenly equated with strength. Her two captors each have six inches and fifty pounds on her. What they don’t know is: it’s not enough.

As if to illustrate the point, as the three approach the steel door on the second-floor landing, Grace drives her right elbow into the groin of one man, then uses her bound hands as a ramrod, a piston propelled into the unsuspecting chin of her second captor. She chops the glass on the fire alarm, cutting herself. Hooks her fingers around the lever and pulls so hard she loses her balance and falls flat onto her back as the alarm sounds.

To her surprise, her second captor is already on the floor. A glass jaw. Her single blow rendered him unconscious.

She rolls hard into the shins of the first man, who won’t urinate without pain for a week. He falls forward onto his knees like he’s in the midst of afternoon prayers. She attempts a last-minute penalty kick — just her and the keeper — splitting his thighs from behind and striking him so hard he vomits before falling fully forward.

Her phone is all that can save her. Her laptop would be nice, but it’s too much to carry. Hands bound in front of her, she awkwardly searches the downed man, recovering her iPhone from his jacket pocket. No chip, rendering the phone useless.

She wants so much more: personal ID from both men; weapons; a look at any tattoos; clothing tags; currency. The fire alarm is a sharp peal of possibility; she has bought herself precious seconds.

Her wrists are bound, her hands bleeding. It’s not as if she can blend in. Temptation points her down — toward the street. Fresh air. Freedom. It’s what any hostage would do.

Instead, she climbs. One floor. Two.

A voice from below: one of the captors calling it in.

Damn wrists.

She tops out on the fifth floor. Nowhere to go.

What now?