I’m throwing the chain against the metal beam and growing light-headed from the blood-curdling screams, for what felt like several minutes, when I finally hear footsteps upstairs. Their echoes grow closer and at a quick pace.
With the very last bit of energy that I have left, I let out one final cry.
“Down here! Help!”
The footsteps quicken to a rapid pace and soon the stairs are shaking from the weight of a man in a neon orange shirt descending them.
“Holy shit,” he yells.
I collapse to the floor, breathless and grasping at my throat with one hand and clutching my stomach with the other.
My vision is blurry, but I see the man turning and running back up the stairs. I considered for a second that this might be the end and that he’s left me, just like the old version would have expected him to.
The new version of me pops into my line of sight. A hallucination that slaps me on the cheek and begs me to keep my eyes open and wait patiently. I’m worth saving. I’m worth sticking around for. And I won’t be surrounding myself with anyone who doesn’t believe that ever again. Not if I can help it.
36
SAVANNAH
To my relief, the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs fill the basement once again a short time later. The man returns to my side in a rush with a bottle of water and what I think is a bolt cutter. He sinks to his knees next to me and I part my lips as he opens the drink and brings it to my mouth. I wince when he snaps the metal binding my wrists, immediately pulling them to my chest and rubbing the red marks that they’d left.
“I’m going to carry you,” he says. His voice is kind, but I can’t help but react with a tear streaming down my face. “I’ll get you upstairs, okay? We’ve already called the police.”
He waits for my consent, and my nod is weak.
It’s uncomfortable as he carries me through the house and he crosses the front yard toward his vehicle that’s parked down the street. I’m relieved and lean my head forward in my lap when he finally sets me down in the front seat. The engine is running and my hands find their way to the vents in front of me, relishing the cold air.
“What’s your name?” he asks from where he’s standing on the curb, peering in through the open passenger door.
When I don’t answer right away, he reaches into the bed of his truck and brings me another bottle of water. I nearly chug the entire thing, but he gently pulls it away from my lips.
“If you drink too much too fast, you’ll be sick,” he explains.
I hold my hand over my mouth, catching the stray drops of water dripping down the edges. He’s right about the water because it hits my empty stomach and instantly begins to rumble and ache.
Sirens sound in the distance, and I turn my face to look at the man.
“Savannah Chase.”
He smiles with a reassuring warmth. “You’re going to be okay, Savannah.”
In the next thirty minutes, several officers walked in and out of the house that I was trapped in with cameras and caution tape. A few of them took a statement from me, but I struggled to come up with a coherent description of the events. The nice man who found me offered a granola bar. I took a few small bites. Despite my hunger, it tasted dry and my appetite wasn’t cooperating.
“We’ve contacted the law enforcement of Westridge, Miss Chase,” a female officer says. “Emma Brooks was arrested last night on gun and drug charges.”
My eyes widen and I listen intently.
“They’ll add the charges of the events that took place here as well, don’t worry. With the nature of the crime, she’ll likely be denied bail. You’re safe. You may need to provide more on your statement in the next few days if you don’t mind. It’ll help with the conviction and eventual sentencing. But you can go home after medical clears you. I’d be more than happy to take you. Or, is there someone you’d like me to call?”
“Jones!” Another officer shouts as he approaches the vehicle that I’ve been sitting in. The woman who was speaking to meturns her head in acknowledgment. “Gotta call from Westridge PD. They say there’s a person on the line trying to get ahold of the victim.”
“Her name is Savannah,” the female officer corrects him. She takes the phone that was in his hand and passes it to me.
In a rush, I put the phone up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“She’s on,” a voice that sounds like Justin comes through the line. A smile breaks free on my face for the first time in too long. “Just a second, Savannah. It’s good to hear you’re okay.”
