Chapter 164
“You’re not thinking this through,” Bianca hisses, her frustration evident.
I slide off the table, my bare feet touching the cold concrete floor. The chill shoots up my legs, grounding me, a sharp reminder that I need to stay alert, stay quiet. Crouching low, I scan the dimly lit room, taking in every shadow, every possible escape route. Shadows dance across the walls, cast by the single swinging bulb overhead, throwing distorted shapes around the space like ghostly figures ready to leap at me. My eyes dart frantically, searching for an exit, for any way out of this nightmare.
Slowly, I inch toward the door, my breath coming in shallow bursts. I can feel my pulse in my throat, each beat reminding me how little time I have. Outside, Bianca’s voice rises sharply, her words slicing through the silence.
“Damn it, Rhett, you’re going to ruin everything!”
I freeze, my hand hovering inches from the doorknob. Did they hear me? Have I been discovered? Seconds stretch out painfully, ticking by like hours as I wait, poised to bolt, every muscle tense. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, so loud I worry it’ll betray me.
“Shh shh, shut up for a second,” Rhett snaps, his voice laced with irritation.
I don’t wait to hear more. With my heart hammering, I reach for the doorknob, forcing my hand to move slowly, carefully,
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to avoid any sound. The cool metal trembles beneath my palm, mirroring the tremors running through my body. I twist it with agonizing slowness, willing it not to squeak.
The door gives way, and I slip into the corridor, my body pressed low to the ground. I peer around, taking in the narrow hallway lined with doors on both sides. Each door looms like a silent sentinel, dark and foreboding. The air is stale, tinged with the metallic bite of rust and something else–something faintly sweet, but rotten, like flowers decaying in the damp. I stifle a shiver and inch forward, hoping to find a way out before anyone notices I’m gone.
The door next to the one I was held in stands slightly ajar, and I glance inside, seeing only shadows and the dim outline of shelves stacked with supplies. The corridor stretches on, empty for now, and I take a few cautious steps forward, each one measured and light as I hold my breath.
Then, the silence breaks–a soft shuffling of feet, the faint rustle of fabric. The noise stops me in my tracks, my heart leaping into my throat. Have they heard me? Are they coming?
I whip around, adrenaline surging, ready to bolt back into the room if I have to. But no–the sound isn’t coming from beyond the corridor. It’s coming from behind me, inside the room next door.
I whirl around, pressing myself against the wall, and peer cautiously into the slightly open doorway. Bianca steps out, her eyes focused downward as she rummages through an oversized handbag. She doesn’t notice me; her attention is completely absorbed in whatever she’s looking for. My breath catches as she pulls out a small compact mirror and a metal
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petri dish, and I freeze, every muscle tensing.
What on earth…? I stare, rooted in place, my mind racing.
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Bianca’s perfectly manicured nails click against the mirror as she flips it open. She turns slightly, angling herself toward the dim light, and begins applying a deep red lipstick with practiced precision. The sight is so surreal, so out of place, that I almost forget where I am, almost forget the danger. She‘ s standing there, just a few feet away, touching up her makeup in this grim, filthy hallway as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My mind reels, trying to make sense of it. Is she really touching up her makeup at a time like this?
I take in her appearance, noting the almost absurd contrast between her carefully groomed face and the dank, decaying surroundings. Her hair is perfectly styled, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, and her movements are delicate, elegant, as she applies the lipstick with a steady hand. The deep crimson shade is striking, almost garish against the gray concrete walls, as if she’s painting herself in blood.
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