Cold Blood

❥Chapter Forty-seven❥

Written by ChemicalWonderland

Everett POV

A few hours have passed since my attempt to end myself, and each minute drags by painfully slow. My father was enraged with me, his face blood red and spittle spewing from his mouth. He tried to regain his composure however, probably trying to remind himself that I was the key to getting rid of Ash, and therefore, the root of all his problems. He then retied my ropes, bringing my hands behind my back on both sides of my already bound chest. He eventually resorted to letting me continue to mull over why I was still alive, why I deserved to be saved from death time and time again, when all I wanted was to run into its welcome arms.

And now I'm stuck here to carry out a task I know that I can't. I have no way of knowing the time, but I believe my father was asleep and awoken by my restlessness hours before, meaning by now, it's most likely morning. The day in which I must make my decision. I'm already decided though, regardless of my father's manipulative ways. But if I don't kill Ash, surely he will. So that means I must formulate a plan. And the first step to that is breaking free.

I spend a good twenty minutes knowing that I have to break out, but not seeing anything, not even a speck of dust lying carelessly about that could help me. My father made sure of that after my last attempt. I groan loudly in frustration, my hand fiddling mindlessly with the sharp end of a thick nail that pokes through the metal chair. It pricks my finger painfully, the spark of hurt seeming to awaken something within me, like a lightbulb has suddenly appeared out of thin air hovering above my head.

I continue to play with the nail, this time with the intention of getting the screw to drop into my other hand which dangles below it, ready to catch the small rusted instrument like a safety net. The flesh of my fingers digs into the rusted metal, pulling roughly against the steady frame of the chair. I work silently and meticulously, unable to see my progress so far but knowing I must be close.

"C'mon c'mon," I whisper urgently under my breath, growing impatient and wishing the nail could hear me.

And as if by magic, the nail loosens considerably, my fingers now working quicker to get it out the chair it's still lodged in. With one last pull of effort, the nail drops right into my palm. Taking a breath of relief, I realize that the hardest part has yet to come.

Turning the nail so it's serrated point faces the rope at an angle, I start sawing away at the thin, loose ropes that bind me. The work is slow and drags out for an eternity, testing my patience.

After what feels like a half-hour of vigorous sawing, my hand aching and miniscule beads of sweat travelling down my face, I manage to pull the thin remaining strings apart, prying at them with fingers now imprinted with the memory of the nail.

I throw the ropes to the ground in anger, glad to be free of my restricting restraints. As soon as I stand up, blood rushes to my head and I feel faintly dizzy, the dark room spinning before me. Once the ground looks level again, and I've realized the gravity of what I've just acconplished, a burst of joy shoots through my veins. I feel as though I'm walking on air, my limbs free to move as they wish. I could almost dance. But I have a mission.

Searching through the darkness with a mixed feeling in my gut, I walk with my hands held out in front of me so I don't knock into stuff. I regret having to leave the dim lightbulb that had hovered above the metal chair, it was better than the pitch dark I'm now encapsulated by. I eventually find what feels like a smooth even wall, the smoothness soon obstructed by a door frame. I grope for the handle, seeing the slightest bit of light underneath the door.

Yanking it open, my feels like it's drops fifty feet into a dark abysmal tomb at the sight of what's beyond the door. My father, with Ash held at gunpoint and in an headlock. I feel a mixture of emotions at the sight of him: happiness, relief, dread, apprehension, sadness. I'm joyed to see him and to know that he's alive, but I fear that won't be true for long, and I can't stand to see him die at the hands of my monstrous father.