I woke to the sounds of Skeeter and Rhona getting themselves up and ready in the morning for what they believed would be their big day. I heard Rhona come back into to the room to check on Echo first,
"See? You're fine: she told her. "Just rest. Drink this water," she said.
I didn't know whether Echo did or not, but a few moments later. Rhona opened the closet door and looked down at me with the jug of water in her hand.
"If all goes as I expect it will. I'll be back to cut you loose," she said. "Don't make any more trouble, not that you could. Just don't try and you'll be out of here and on your way, wherever that is."
I said nothing and then, probably more because she didn't want anything to happen to spoil things for herself than because she felt compassion. she knelt down and poured me a glass of water. too. I took it greedily and she was a bit more patient about it.
"Actually," she said as I drank. "I expected things would have gone better than this from the very beginning of my arrival here. I was being Pollyanna like you and deluded myself enough to believe my mother would be generous and forgiving and happily give me what was mine, especially after she willingly helped me when I was in trouble in Mexico. Of course. I didn't know you were here and that she had formed this surrogate daughter relationship, leaving me out in the cold."
I stopped drinking and she took the glass away,
"That's not true," I said. "I never replaced you as her daughter,"
"Don't tell me how my mother thinks. I don't think she liked me from the day I was born. She always used to tell me I cried too much. I whined too much. I demanded too much. Half the time she pushed me off on my father and made him take care of me, comfort me, entertain me. Who knows? Maybe I wasn't really her child, although I'll have to admit she was very pretty when she was my age and looked like I do now.
"She got pregnant again, hoping for something better than me. I'm sure. For the longest time, she kept it a secret that she had given birth to a boy after me. I bet she didn't even tell you that. huh? Well?'
"No." I said. "'Trevor told me. The memory is too painful for her."
"Ha! Too painful? After all these years?"
"Unlike you, most women would find losing a child too traumatic to ever forget or forgive," I said, dipping into some well of wisdom I didn't know I had. She raised her eyebrows.
"Nice try, butI'll tell you what I think. I think she believed I had taken all the health possible out of her body and left the next baby deformed and inadequate. She blamed my existence for his death."
"That's so stupid." I said, and she flushed with anger, her cheeks flaming red.
"How dare you tell me I'm stupid! You didn't live here all those years and listen to her and the way she spoke to me. I could hear it in the tone of her voice. What do you think Echo's being deaf meant to her, huh? The same thing. It was somehow my fault. That's why I had to get out of here. I couldn't stand it," she said. "I couldn't stand being blamed for every disaster in the world."
"I'm sure that was something you yourself imagined," I said. though I couldn't be sure there wasn't a grain of truth in what she said. Even so, it didn't come close to justifying all the terrible things she had do
ne and would do.
"Are we going or what?" Skeeter called from the doorway. "I'm growing old waiting."
She glared at me. "It's a waste of time to talk to you anyway," she said. "Just keep quiet."
She stood up and closed the closet door. I heard them leave the room and even descend the stairway. Then I took a deep breath. Somehow. I thought. Somehow, I've got to find a way to stop all this.
But what could I do, tied and shut away in a closet? What would Brenda do? I wondered, not that I could ever imagine her permitting herself to be in such a predicament.
"She wouldn't lie here like a dead one," I heard. Did I say that, throw my voice again?
No, she wouldn't. I thought. She wouldn't be feeling sorry for herself, moaning and groaning about how this is her own fault and how terrible the world and some people are. She wouldn't flee to the escape of constant sleep either.
I looked up at the closet doorknob. To me, with my wrists bound behind my back and my ankles bound together, it was as far a reach as the moon itself. Struggling, turning and twisting, I managed to get to my knees.
Now what? I wondered. I couldn't bring my leg forward to get on my feet. but I could move inches at a time to get myself down to the part of the closet that had some shelving for shoes in it. Then I leaned over until I was on my left side and I extended my legs. Using my hands. I pushed myself around until my feet were at the bottom shelf. Once there. I pushed hard against the shelving. My back was against the opposite wall. As I pushed, my lower back rose and I pressed my hands to the wall. It took so much effort to do that much. I had to stop to catch my breath. If I didn't have enough reason to lose weight. I had it now, I thought.
After I caught my breath. I manipulated my feet until I was finally flat-footed on the closet floor, Then I straightened and pushed along the wall behind me until I actually reached a standing position. Never did I imagine that such a simple move would seem like such a monumental accomplishment. I had a rush of excitement and renewed hope.
I slid along the wall until I was at the door and my hands were just below the door handle. I leaned over and then got to my toes and again pushed my lower back up until my fingers found the handle. For a few moments, I couldn't figure out how to manipulate it, which way to turn it, down or up. I pushed up when down didn't do anything, but I wasn't getting it up high enough apparently. My hands were down too low and I couldn't raise my arms higher. It was too awkward.
I had also not anticipated how being without any nourishment for so long would effect me when I made all this physical effort, I felt my head spin and my legs wobble. I closed my eyes and once again waited for my heart to stop pounding and my breathing to get better. Then I stood there thinking. I needed an inch or so more height. Another idea occurred to me. Sliding back along the wall. I turned and squatted enough to reach into the shelves so I could grasp a pair of high boots. I pulled them out and dropped them to the floor. What I wanted to do was stand on them.
The next part seemed to take me hours. but I slid along the wall again, shoving the boots along until I was sure I was close enough to the closet door and the handle. Because my ankles were bound. I couldn't raise my foot and step on the boots. I held my breath and leaped, turning myself slightly so that I would come down on them. It was awkward and uneven, causing me to fall hard onto my shoulder, this time even rapping my head against the closet floor.