Pattern

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty Six

// Prudence //

It was dark, but I didn't mind, because he was gone.

My leg wasn't bleeding anymore, but my jeans were ripped, and newly coloured a dark red. I knew I had to take the scissors out, but I couldn't. I just couldn't, not now.

Never mind guns, I'd probably have a fear of knives for the rest of my life now, however short that time may be. There were slashes all down my thigh, which may have looked quite rock-chick if it wasn't for the fact that the skin you could see was fresh cuts, eventual scars.

I'd started crying at some point, and I only realised now I was wearing mascara. It was probably streaking my face.

Great, I'd be ugly in death.

I don't know how long I'd been lying here, it could have been hours, days, but I couldn't fall asleep, as much as I wanted to. I'd stopped worrying about the bleeding, because it really didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. I could just hope someone eventually caught the guy, whoever he was. The pain had numbed now, my legs weren't burning like before, they had become a dull ache. I didn't know how many slashes there were, but they were all long - he'd used one of those knives I used to cut bread. 

And, as much as I was trying not to think about it, they'd hurt far more than I thought I'd be able to cope. 

I closed my eyes, inviting sleep again, wishing it would envelope me, so I wouldn't have to think or feel anymore. 

But it didn't happen. Things never seemed to work in my favour. All I had keeping me alive was my sarcasm, and the hope that someone would find me. I didn't care who - Gareth Owens could appear and I'd probably embrace him, though my dad would be the person most likely to solve it, if he and Avery worked together. Realistically, it was kind of hopeless when Ms. Lawless was keeping her mouth shut. It annoyed me, though - if it wasn't her, then what was she hiding? And why?

I looked around for the billionth time, and wondered if I'd find anything useful in the schoolbags. Mine was there too, I could study while I was waiting to be brutally murdered.

I smirked. Like that'd happen. Even here, alone, I somewhat amused myself. 

I was hungry, though, and I had a roll in the front pocket.

My hands had been re-tied with duct tape. I hadn't fought back or anything - torture tends to discourage a person, I've discovered - but I could possible crawl over to the light switch and feel my way around the wall to find it. I reached down, placing my palms on the floor, and gingerly kneeled, hissing in pain. My legs weren't broken or anything, but they were so messed up that it was increasingly difficult to move them.

Come on, I told myself desperately. I crawled, slowly but surely to the other side of the room, stopping as I hid the small staircase. Now, here was the real challenge. Standing. Using my hands, I pushed myself up, my legs shaking, unable to hold the rest of my body upright.

I couldn't stand without support, so I used the wall to lean against, then felt around for the light switch. After a minute, I found it and clicked it.

The room was suddenly filled with light, and I had to close my eyes a few times to get used to it.

I noticed the scissors again, still jammed in my leg. I ignored it. No way I was pulling it out. I had to get down on my knees again, because I couldn't walk, and crawl back over to where I was sitting, next to the bags. I went to open mine, but I couldn't, not with my hands tied together. I could open it about halfway, and rummage around, but I could barely pick anything up. I swore, and tried biting through the tape. 

It didn't work. What I needed was .. a scissors. "Oh, hell no." My stare moved to my leg, and I nearly started crying again. I couldn't get anything from my bag, but I could pull one of the scissor blades from my leg? I swear, he'd planned this from the start. 

Slowly, I moved my hands down and took the handle of the scissors. They were shaking. I think my whole body was shaking. "Oh god, please help," I whispered - and then yanked it out of my thigh.

I let out a little scream, and tears came to my eyes. The pain was back, and it had begun bleeding again. I couldn't focus on the sharp agony that was beginning to blur my vision - I needed to get my hands free. Using my mouth to pick up the scissors - now bloody - I placed it in the gap between my hands. Then, with my fingers, I clasped the handle and brought it down, cutting the duct tape in half. Then I could get my hands free, just pulling it off my skin, which was like pulling off a plaster, but not the pain I was currently worried about.

In my bag, there was a plastic bag with my lunch. I took it out and covered my scissor wound with it, trying to stop the bleeding. It wouldn't be great if I died now, because of my own stupidity. 

Then I took the bread roll and devoured it in less than a minute. I was pretty desperate - it fewlt like I hadn't eaten in at least a day. It probably was that, by now. I had planned to buy water, and there was change in the pocket of my jeans, but that wasn't going to help me now. I wondered if begging for water would get me any. I threw out all my school books, searching for anything at all that might help, and only found a possible weapon - compass from my maths set. Combining that with the scissors, I had two potiental advantages against my kidnapper. I cut the duct tape around my ankles - I doubted I'd be able to walk even then, but it was better than having them stuck together.

I carefully, not wanting to injure myself more, put the compass down my bra. When you were female, everything small that you didn't want anyone else to go near went down your bra. Or, maybe, that was just me, though I'd read it in a magazine when I was thirteen, so it was sort of professional advice.

I decided to root through the next bag, though I wasn't sure whose it was. It had a book in it - one of The Mortal Instruments books. On the first page, a name was scribbled. 

Lucy Edmonds.

I smiled sadly, feeling like she'd left me a present. I hadn't read them in a while, so I'd enjoy going through it. It was better than staring into space and contemplating how I'd die.

After making sure there was nothing else in her bag, I moved on to the third one. That too had a few schoolbooks, a pencil case, and a journal labelled  'Hanna Arkins ; Senior Year.' 

I felt pretty intrusive opening it, but it only contained doodles, some revision and notes passed in class. After all, she'd only been in school for two days.

The whole bag had been cleared, and I wasn't sure if I was bothered to check the pockets. But, I decided I had a lot of time to waste, and did.

It paid off, because in the last little pocket, I found a small item, and I nearly burst into tears (again). I held it up - it was now perhaps the only thing that could save me.

A mobile phone.