The Box

The Box - Part 3

Eric screamed like a wounded cat as he fell backwards, clutching his knee. Olivia stared as he rolled around the floor, left to right. She hadn't thought past this point and tried to act quickly. The champagne had hit her hard after months of sobriety and her legs felt numb as she tried to stand up. She grabbed the glass bottle on her way to Eric, bubbles foamed from the opening as she swung it around. She stood by Eric's head, watching him writhe in agony as she towered over him. He was crying and moaning, sounds that did not sit well with Olivia. She gripped the neck of the bottle tightly and held it in the air, cool fizzy liquid running down her arm. She bent her legs and brought the bottle down. As it connected with Eric's skull, she heard a distinct crack. Then nothing. Eric fell limp, eyes gazing.

Olivia stumbled backwards until she hit the wall with a clang, dropping the bottle. Her first thought was to find a way out. She rushed over to the suitcase and pulled it open, tossing out packets of food, toiletries and clothes. She found a CB radio and held it in her hand for several seconds, unsure what to do. If she called for help, who would come? Men who worked for Eric? Men who were probably well paid and would think nothing of killing her and tossing her overboard? What if that's what they'd been instructed to do, should Eric be found dead?

She dropped the radio to search for an alternative. A flare gun was pushed into the corner of the bag. Now, what would he need that for? She looked up and tried to gauge if she could aim a flare through the bars of the only open part of the container. But then what? It would still alert Eric's men, she guessed. But she couldn't stay here, locked in this box for God knows how long with two dead bodies. And if she made it to Morocco? Would the police believe her story? If she could even get out and off the ship safely. Her heart began to pound with panic, succumbing to the impossible situation.

Her only hope was the radio, she concluded. As she picked it up once more, she heard movement behind her. She slowly turned to see Eric, still lying on the floor, but looking directly at her and pointing the barrel of his gun at her head.

Shit, the pistol.

In her haste to escape, Olivia had forgotten to take Eric's weapon when she knocked him out. I thought I'd killed him. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She dropped the radio and raised her hands as she stayed squatting over the suitcase. She was surprised and disappointed to see no physical reaction to the beating over his head.

"You'll have to try harder than that to kill me, darling," he hissed.

"Okay."

Eric smirked then winced in pain. Olivia was glad to see that he was suffering, after all. His arm wobbled as he tried to hold the gun steady, still pointing at her head. She held her breath, waiting for something to happen. Her heart hammered steadily in her chest and her legs began to ache, pins and needles dancing in her feet.

Eric finally lay his head to rest on the floor, his hand quickly following. He was injured and Olivia was relieved to feel happiness rather than pity. His hold over her had weakened along with his body. Olivia took the chance to slowly stand, noting Eric's eyes following her while he maintained a strong grasp on his weapon.

"Don't you go anywhere, darling."

"Where would I go?" She asked as she looked around the metal chamber.

Eric let out a laugh despite it clearly causing him pain. "Why couldn't you just have stayed all those years ago? Now look at what you've done to us."

"What I've done?" She asked incredulously. "Why couldn't you have left me alone? You say you love me yet you abuse me, kidnap me."