My whole body trembled. What would he do when he realized I tried to break free?
I looked around the dim room for the largest piece of glass I could find. There was a curved piece about two inches wide lying close to the door.
I scooted my butt across the floor. I reached for the glass, but my hands were shaking so badly, I dropped it twice. On the third time, I held it tightly in my right hand. It felt awkward, thin and fragile, and I was so afraid I was going to drop it again. Then I heard the floorboard above me creak.
Holding the glass as tightly as my bloodless fingers would allow, I quickly scooted next to the door, positioning myself behind it, and slid up the wall. I clung to the piece of glass, knowing it could be the only thing between me and death. And seeing Steve Gunderson’s stupid face was not going to be the last thing I saw before I died.
I heard the lock slide, and I prepared myself. I’d only get one shot. The door opened and he walked into the room. “Rose?”
I shoved the door with my forearms as hard as I could, knocking him off balance. He stumbled forward and before he could straighten, I hurled myself at him, my weight pushing him to the floor. I landed on his back, slashed it with the shard.
Steve screamed and tried to buck me off of him.
I dropped the glass.
But I was in a frenzy of anger and fear. I bit the side of the neck. Hard. I tasted blood.
He reached back and pulled my hair. I retaliated by grabbing his hair, as much as I could anyway, in my numb, bound hands.
When he tried to stand up, I pulled a Mike Tyson and bit his ear as hard as I could. A chunk of cartilage came off in my mouth. I gagged and spit it on the floor.
He flailed and screeched. I didn’t let go of his hair, but he let go of mine as he covered his bloody, severed ear with one hand.
Using his hair as leverage, I pounded his forehead into the cement. Over and over and over until he stopped moving.
I stretched out on top of him, panting and wheezing. I rolled off of him and sat up. I kicked at him with my feet to make sure he wasn’t going to hop up like Michael Myers in the Halloween movies.
Steve was unconscious. And bleeding. Blood pooled around his head.
I scooted toward the door, which was still half way open. Using the doorjamb, I managed to stand. I grabbed the knob with my hands and hopped backward. I fell on my butt twice, my eyes never leaving Steve’s prone, bleeding body. I shut the door and slid the lock in place.
I leaned against the cement wall of the stairwell. My chest heaving, I gagged, and threw up what little I had in me.
I lifted my arms and twisted my head, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, before I turned around and sat my butt on the first stair. Leaning my head against the wall, I just sat there, every muscle in my body aching. I knew I was going to have to get up those steps, but it looked like Mount Everest to me.
I’m not sure how long it took, but I finally I gathered my strength to move and slowly climbed the stairs, using my legs to push my ass to the next step. Just make it up the stairs, I told myself over and over.
I took a few minutes to catch my breath when I finally reached the top. Then, as best I could, I clung to the wrought iron railing, and hopped up the last stair. The door to the family room was open.
I rolled over on my side and tried to catch my breath. Steve’s house was small. It looked like it had been built in the seventies. Or at least that was the last time it had been updated. Brown shag carpeting and ugly flocked wallpaper. The family room held a flat screen TV and one recliner.
Gathering my strength, I crawled like an inchworm across the floor to the kitchen, but the carpet burned my belly and arms, even through my sweatshirt. I flipped over, sat up, and went back to the old butt scoot.
I made it to the kitchen and stood up using the refrigerator as leverage. I glanced at the harvest gold stove and the wallpaper covered in red and green mushrooms. On the gold laminate counter next to the phone, I spied my purse.
Hopping a couple of times, I unzipped the bag with my teeth, and upended it on the countertop. My wallet, keys, lip gloss, tampons, and various receipts went flying. I leaned down and managed to grab a pen with my tongue and work it into my mouth, then reached for the phone. It skidded out of my hands, landed next to the garbage can. Sinking to the floor, I snagged for it and struggled to sit back up. It was difficult trying to flip open the phone with my hands still tied, but I managed. With the pen clenched between my teeth, I dialed and hit send. I spit the pen out on the floor.
“Help me.”
Within fifteen minutes Sullivan kicked in Steve’s front door. “Rose?”
“In here,” I said. My voice sounded scratchy and faint.
Seconds later, he was in the kitchen. Shock marred his handsome face as his gaze swept over me. He bent down next to me on the floor, his hands probing my head and torso. “Where’s the bleeding coming from?” His elegant fingers glided over my jaw. I winced.
“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s. He’s in the basement.”
“Henry,” he said. His attention to me never wavered.
“I’m on it.”
I heard Henry stomp through the family room.
“Untie me,” I said.
He looked strange, swallowed a few times, and seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. He went to work on the cords. Once I was free, he rubbed my wrists and hands. Tingling was too mild a word for what I felt when the blood started flowing back into my fingers and toes.
“Did you kill him?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Henry walked into the kitchen. Eyes on Sullivan, he shook his head.
“I bit him. I bit off his ear,” I whispered.
Sullivan smoothed a hand over my hair.
He stayed with me, crouching in front of me, petting me. Then he sat down next to me, pulling me onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, while he murmured into my hair and continued to stroke my head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said after a while.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” I snapped.
“Okay. I’ll wait right here for you.”
He helped me up. My muscles were stiff and achy, and I shuffled like a little old woman down the hall.
I turned on the overhead light in the bathroom, realizing for the first time it was fully dark outside. I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped. I looked like Ma’s video game zombie who’d gone on a feeding frenzy. Steve’s dried blood smeared my pale face, and there was a dark bruise covering my jaw.
I bent over the sink and scrubbed at my face with hot water. It floated through my mind that I would need an AIDS test. Probably other STD tests as well. It’s not every day you take a bite out of someone. The thought made me giggle, hysteria started to creep up, but I quickly shook it off. I wiped my hands and face on a blue towel hanging next to the sink, used the toilet, and washed up again.
As I walked out of the bathroom and down the hall, I heard Sullivan and Henry whispering. They stopped talking when I walked into the room. Henry turned and went toward the family room again and Sullivan took both of my hands in his.
“Tell me what you want to do, Rose.”
“I want to go home.”
“About Gunderson.”
“I just want to go home.”
He let go of my hands and rubbed up and down my arms. “I know, sweetheart. But what do you want me to do with Steve?”
I shook my head. I still didn’t understand the question. All I wanted to do was fall onto my futon and pull the covers over my head.
“I can make his body disappear. Is that what you want, Rose?”
“What? What are you talking about?” I understood the words but I didn’t comprehend their meaning.
“Steve’s dead.”
Wordlessly, I shook my head.
He pulled me close, wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “You did the right thing. You were protecting yourself.”
I’d killed a man. I’d pounded his head into the concrete and killed him. I should have felt guilty, horrified. But I felt numb. I survived. I was still standing and Steve was dead.
Sullivan drew back. “I’ll call someone I know on the police force. But listen,” he gave my arms a little squeeze, “you got away from Gunderson, you made it to the kitchen, and you passed out. Do you hear me? You passed out before you called me.”
It finally dawned on me what he was saying. “How long has it been since you got here?”
“Four and a half hours. Now, repeat what I said Rose.”
Had Steve died because of the delay? If I’d called the police instead of Sullivan, would he still be alive?
Sullivan shook me. “Repeat.”
“I passed out in the kitchen before I called you.”
“I told you not to do anything until I got here. Say it, Rose.”
I repeated everything he told me, like a robot.
He led me to a kitchen chair, knelt down, and hugged me while we waited for the police to show up.
Yesterday I felt nothing but anger for this man who used the police and political figures for his own purposes. Now I was relieved he had so many connections.
Grateful he was here.
Two detectives, uniformed officers, and four EMTs arrived.
The paramedics checked my vitals and pronounced that I was in shock. The detectives questioned me briefly as the paramedics bundled me onto a gurney. Sullivan climbed into the back of the ambulance and held my hand the entire way to the hospital.
“Do you want me to call your parents?”
I swallowed and shook my head.
“What about Axton or your friend Roxy?”
“No.” I didn’t want them to see me like this.
“What can I do for you, Rose?”
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered.