The Silenced Drummer

Chapter 25: Escape

"So... I'll be gone for a short while."

George was happy at the meaning of those words, but the voice made his whole body shudder as he continued to stare at the wall.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

George was silent.

"Hello?"

George closed his eyes.

"J-just go..."

Harold smirked at his response.

"Alright then... Oh, and..."

George looked over at the jacket that laid on the couch, just barely out of his reach.

"You're not going to be able to reach it. I just placed it there so that i can see you trying to get it when I get back. It'll be fun to watch."

Harold chuckled and opened the front door.

"You are going to like what I bring back."

The door closed and George was all alone.

Slowly, he rolled around, looking at the blanket that lay on the other side of the room. The memory of what happened the night before once again appeared in his mind.

His mind was numb to both the physical and emotional pain it brought.

George's gaze fell on the jacket on the couch.

He reached out towards it, but just before he could touch the armrest, he was forced to stop.

The handcuff prevented him from moving any further, and he huffed.

It was so close.

His chance at escape was so close now, and yet he couldn't do anything to fulfill it. He knew that the key for the handcuff was in the jacket's pocket, but no matter how far he stretched, he couldn't reach it.

The tip of his finger barely touched the bottom of the jacket.

George grunted, bringing his arm back to his side as he got up on his knees.

He had another idea, but he knew that it was going to be hard.

His gaze fell on the wooden legs.

With enough force, he could move it towards him, but it was going to take a lot of effort.

His hand grabbed the nearest leg and he began to pull on it.

George grunted, and the couch moved about an inch towards him.

He stopped, breath rapid with disbelief as he reached towards the jacket, now being able to grab the bottom.

Quickly, he put it down on the floor and searched through it's pockets.

When he felt something cold and metallic against his palm, smiled as tears started to form in his eyes.

He pulled out the handcuff key and brought it over to his other hand, putting it in the keyhole.

His hand came free, and George let out a loud sigh of relief as he laid on his stomach, thankful for what he was able to do.

But...

George's eyes widened a little.

There was no way he could get Ringo out of the basement.

He had no idea where the key for the chains were, and for all he knew, Harold could have taken them with him.

Slowly, he stood up, looking at his discarded clothes on the couch.

He walked over to them and started to get dressed.

Once he had his pants on, he gazed at his shirt.

It had been cut open, and now it was next to useless, for Harold had also cut open its back. George didn't know why he did that, but he didn't wonder about it for too long.

Going over to the black blanket, George threw it over himself, trying to cover his chest and back as he slowly walked towards the front door.

Now, he could go get help.

He didn't even know where he was, but there had to be some other people in the area, right?

George pushed the door open, the hinges squeaking loudly as it allowed the sunlight from outside to fall on George.

The guitarist stepped out onto the porch, turning back to close the door.

"Oh, please let me be back before he gets here..." He whispered, trying to calm himself.

His stomach rumbled, but he didn't care as he started to walk down the steps, seeing that there was a forest surrounding the area.

"I'll get us help Ringo..."

George swallowed and took in a deep breath.

"H-hopefully..."