Arlene Sachitano - Quilter's Knot

"I'm going to need your help for this next part,” she said to Lauren.

"What do I have to do?” Lauren gave a world-weary sigh.

"I'm getting a piece of glass, and then I'm coming down beside you. You need to sit up, and I'll cut the rope around your wrists and then you can cut mine."

"Oh, no, sister. I'll cut yours first. If anyone's going to slip while they're sawing with a piece of glass, it's going to be me. I'm not having my hand sliced off by your ineptitude."

"Fine, just sit up, turn your back to me and get ready to be handed the glass."

Harriet wiggled around until her bound hands were able to reach the broken window. She pulled out a chunk of glass that was about the size of her fist and dropped back down to the sofa seat beside Lauren. She handed the glass off and with only minor slicing of her wrist, Lauren cut her bonds. Harriet immediately turned around and cut the rope binding Lauren's wrists.

Both women rolled their shoulders and then rubbed their wrists before they reached to their ankles to untie their feet.

"My knot won't move,” Lauren whined. “It's hard as a rock."

"Someone was very clever. They saturated the knot with some kind of glue, probably the instant-drying kind.” Harriet picked up the piece of glass again and sawed through the ropes on first Lauren's and then her own ankles.

"Can you stand up?” she asked.

"I think so,” Lauren said. She rose and fell immediately back to the sofa.

"Take it slow,” Harriet advised. She knew from her own experience with head injuries that slow was the only way to take it. She put her arm around Lauren's shoulders and helped her to her feet. They stood still for a moment and let Lauren's head stop spinning.

The door was locked, but the knob assembly was old and loose. Harriet leaned Lauren against the wall then jerked, twisted and rattled the brass knob. When it didn't yield, she went back to the sofa, retrieved the glass shard, wrapped it in the hem of her sweatshirt and used it carefully to pry the knob plate from the wood. The metal pieces fell away, leaving only a hole in the door.

She pulled the door inward and cautiously looked out. There was a landing of some sort that led to a narrow flight of stairs. The air outside their prison was cool and smelled fresh.

The stairway was dark, but the light from the room they were leaving gave enough illumination for them to descend. She retrieved Lauren and, once again putting her arm around her shoulders, guided her to the first step.

"Here, hold the rail,” she whispered, and helped Lauren brace herself on the banister. “I'll stay ahead a few steps and make sure it's safe."

"I think I'm going to be sick,” Lauren whispered.

"No, you are not. Your stomach is empty. Just stay there while I look ahead.” She went down a few steps, crouching to see where they would come out. “Come on,” she said, and continued to the bottom.

The stairs ended in a dark hallway. Harriet could see the top of another, wider flight at the opposite end of the hall. The one she and Lauren were on continued down.

"These must be servant's stairs,” she whispered. “Tom and Aiden are searching the grounds looking for you, so hopefully we'll run into them once we get outside."

"What makes you think we're on school grounds?” Lauren whispered back. “This place doesn't smell like the forest, and it doesn't smell like dried flowers. Think about it-every room at the school had dried wildflowers in it. The place reeks of dried eucalyptus. And the Tree House smelled like the woods."

"You're right,” Harriet said. “It doesn't smell like the school. Maybe this building has been closed up for a long time or something."

She knew as she said it the air smelled too fresh for it to be true, but she didn't want to admit that to Lauren.

The second flight of stairs took them into a narrow, unlit room. Dark stone countertops with pale wood cabinets over them lined the walls. Rows of various styles of wine glasses were lined up on one counter. A flat wooden box with individually wrapped tea bags sat on the opposite side.

"This looks like a butler's pantry,” Harriet said. She smelled the faint scent of lemon oil wood cleaner mingled with lavender. This was clearly a place where someone lived, or which was at least cleaned on a regular basis.

She tiptoed to the door and found herself looking into a kitchen. Dim light spread out from the hood over the stove.

There was no evidence of life, so she helped Lauren over to a Formica-topped table in the middle of the room and pulled out a chair.

"I'm getting us some water before we go any farther,” she said in a slightly louder whisper. She located two glasses and filled them from the tap. “Here.” She pushed one into Lauren's shaking hand. “Don't drink it too fast."

"I'll just wait here,” Lauren said when she'd finished, and laid her head down on the table.

"Come on-whoever brought us here could come back at any moment.” She took the empty glass from Lauren's hand and pulled her to her feet. Lauren swayed and tried to slump back down to the chair.

"Okay, you can rest for a minute while I call Aiden.” Harriet dug in her jeans pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She flipped it open and walked around the kitchen watching the small screen for signs of reception. By the stove, one bar popped to life. She punched Aiden's number in. The call rang but went directly to his voice mail.

"Aiden,” she said. “Lauren and I were tied up in a house, but we got loose and are about to go outside, I don't know where we are yet, but-"

The signal went dead.

"Do you see a phone anywhere?” she asked Lauren, but Lauren's eyes were closed so clearly she wasn't seeing anything.

Harriet stepped carefully to a door that looked as if it might lead out of the room. She pushed it open a crack and could see a heavy wood mission-style dining room table surrounded by chairs. Beyond was a living space. Weak light from an outside light illuminated the far room. Night had fallen while they'd been in the attic.

She stepped through the door and quickly scanned the dining and living rooms for a phone. If there was one, it wasn't obvious.

"Come on,” she ordered Lauren when she returned. “Naptime's over."

"Huh?"

Harriet put her forearms under Lauren's armpits and hauled her upright. “I know your head hurts, but we have to get out of here."

Lauren tried to shake her off but didn't have the strength to mount much opposition.

"We're going through the dining room and the living room and then outside.” She looked at Lauren's pale, tear-streaked face. “Are you ready?"

"Of course I'm not ready,” Lauren mumbled but she shuffled forward.

It seemed like an eternity until they reached the door. Lauren had to rest every few steps while Harriet looked behind and ahead of them, listening carefully for any sign they had been discovered.

"When we get outside, we're going to move immediately to the nearest cover. We're not going to stop."

"Whatever you say, Rambo."

Lauren agreeing without a fight worried Harriet more than the bump on her friend's head. She looked at Lauren's face. Her eyes had a dull look she hadn't noticed before. She was no doctor, but anyone could see Lauren was not doing well. She needed medical attention, and she needed it now.

"Let's go."

A narrow porch ran the width of the house. Harriet half-carried Lauren outside and eased the door shut behind them. She took a deep breath and could smell the salty tang of sea air. They definitely weren't on school grounds.

She couldn't think about that right now. She had to focus on Lauren. The four porch steps were a challenge, but Lauren staggered down them and kept moving until they had crossed a small, neat yard and forced their way into a laurel hedge. Lauren collapsed to the ground.