Shadows Unbound
The warehouse was silent except for the steady drip of water leaking from an unseen pipe. I sat huddled in the corner of the small room they’d thrown me back into, the pink dress now torn and stained with grime. The words of the man—the prototype, the experiment, their property—echoed in my mind like a mantra of despair. But beneath the fear, something else began to stir: anger.
I wasn’t just their experiment. I was still me, wasn’t I? Whatever they’d done, they hadn’t erased who I was. Not yet.
The red light on the camera in the corner blinked steadily, a silent observer to my turmoil. I forced myself to breathe, to think. You need a plan, Jamie. You can’t stay here. You can’t let them win.
I started to study the room, my eyes searching for anything—anything—that could help. The walls were metal, the door reinforced steel. The vent, small and high up, was the only thing not locked down. It was too small for me to crawl through, but perhaps...
I crept toward the vent, my bare feet silent against the floor. The faint draft that whispered through the slats carried the smell of mildew and faintly, tantalizingly, fresh air. I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear something, anything, from the other side.
Nothing but silence.
I bit my lip, frustration and helplessness threatening to overwhelm me. Focus, I thought, clenching my fists. My hand brushed against something sharp on the floor. A fragment of metal, no larger than my palm, likely chipped from the vent’s grate. My heart quickened. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I slipped the fragment into the waistband of the dress and moved back to the corner, feigning defeat. Let them think I was broken.
Meanwhile, back at the Jacobs’ Home, chaos reigned.
Jessica paced the living room, her bare feet padding on the worn carpet. The two officers had moved to another room, speaking in hushed tones into their radios. Her mother sat by the window, staring blankly into the rain-soaked night.
“Mom,” Jessica whispered, kneeling beside her. “We have to do something. We can’t just wait for them to call again.”
Her mother didn’t respond, her hands trembling as they clutched a photograph of Jamie.
Jessica swallowed her frustration. “Mom, listen to me. Jamie wouldn’t just give up. She’s strong. And if she’s strong, we have to be, too.”
Mrs. Jacobs turned to her daughter, her tear-streaked face etched with grief. “What can we do, Jessica?” she whispered. “They’re asking for money we don’t have. They’ve taken my baby, and I... I don’t know how to save her.”
Jessica’s jaw tightened. “We’ll find a way. If the police can’t do it fast enough, then we will.”
Her mind raced, pulling together fragments of every story she’d ever read, every movie she’d ever watched about people in situations like this. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Back in the Warehouse, I stayed perfectly still as the hours dragged on. My captors didn’t bother to check on me. Perhaps they assumed I was too frightened to act.
Their mistake.
When the faint sound of footsteps echoed outside my door, I slipped the metal fragment from the waistband of the dress and tucked it into my palm. The heavy clunk of a lock disengaging sent my pulse racing. I forced myself to breathe evenly, feigning the defeated posture I’d practiced earlier.
The door creaked open, and a guard stepped inside, his massive frame blocking most of the doorway. “Food,” he grunted, holding out a tray.
I didn’t move at first, letting the silence stretch. When he growled impatiently and stepped closer, I acted.
In one swift motion, I jabbed the sharp edge of the metal shard into his thigh. He roared in pain, his grip on the tray faltering as he stumbled backward. I darted forward, grabbing the edge of the door before it could slam shut.
“Get back here!” he bellowed, lunging toward me. But he was slow, and his injury slowed him further. I slipped through the narrow opening, my bare feet pounding against the cold floor as I ran.
The hallway stretched endlessly, doors lining both sides. My pulse thundered in my ears, but I forced myself to focus. The vent, I thought. Follow the draft.
The faint smell of fresh air grew stronger as I ran. Behind me, the sound of shouts and pounding boots closed in. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I pushed forward. One more turn. Another. And then—
A metal staircase. At the top, a door with a flickering exit sign.
Freedom.
I scrambled up the stairs, my hands slipping on the cold, rusted railing. The pounding footsteps were close now, the guards shouting commands I couldn’t make out. I reached the door and threw my weight against it. It didn’t budge.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, panic clawing at my throat. My fingers fumbled for a lock, a handle, anything.
A low growl behind me sent ice through my veins. I turned to see the shadow of a man climbing the stairs, his massive frame blocking any chance of retreat. His face was twisted with fury, a gun glinting in his hand.
This was it. I was cornered.
