Mr. Sturgeon was gone, and now Dave was tugging frantically to free his hands. The rope burned his wrist as he pulled, but he could feel them loosening, so he continued. The right wrist came out first. It surprised him so much that his right hand flew towards him with the strength he had been pulling it with. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes for a second. Then, he slowly loosened the rope around his left wrist.
Free at last, Dave sat up. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next, but he had to do something before Mr. Sturgeon showed up. Dave quietly hopped off the gurney and stood towards the right rail. He untied the rope that had been securing his right hand, then retied it looser. He repeated this with the other side, so if Mr. Sturgeon did return, he could hopefully slip back in and pretend he had never been free.
There was no window in this room, or the bathroom, but there was one in the kitchen. If he could get out there without Mr. Sturgeon seeing, then he could try to drop a message to the street below. The normal Dave, the Dave that wasn't be held hostage, would have laughed at himself. How could he expect anyone who found a message on the street to take it seriously? He had to do something more drastic, but what?
It was probably about noon, Dave figured from the light he had seen through the kitchen window. The safest idea would be to wait until Mr. Sturgeon was asleep. But what if Mr. Sturgeon wouldn't go to sleep, or what if he was dead before then?
Dave found that he was pacing the room, and wondered briefly if Mr. Sturgeon could hear him. He sat down on the gurney to think. He didn't have a lot of options, so he didn't know why this decision was so hard. If Mr. Sturgeon hadn't killed him so far, he had to believe that he would wait a little longer. He finally decided to wait until night, then to go out into the kitchen, and see if he could get out.
Full of despair, Dave laid back down on the gurney and resecured his wrists. He would have to do something that was totally out of his league: wait.
~~~
The hours ticked by and soon Dave had lost track of time. Mr. Sturgeon hadn't come in since his bathroom trip, and without a window, it was hard to tell what time it was. Dave knew he couldn't wait much longer, but what if Mr. Sturgeon came in to check up on him right before going to bed? He waited just a little bit longer.
Then he couldn't do it anymore. He slowly slid out his wrist
~~~
The hours ticked by and soon Dave had lost track of time. Mr. Sturgeon hadn't come in since his bathroom trip, and without a window, it was hard to tell what time it was. Dave knew he couldn't wait much longer, but what if Mr. Sturgeon came in to check up on him right before going to bed? He waited just a little bit longer.
Then he couldn't do it anymore. He slowly slid out his wrists and sat up. Creeping towards the door, Dave couldn't help but feel excited. Excitement, adrenalin, anxiousness, it was really all the same. He slid the door open as slowly as he could, a quickly noticed that it was very dark out. He took a moment to gather his senses. There was the bathroom door, and two other doors. One led to the outside, and the other led to the room where Mr. Sturgeon was probably sleeping. It was a fifty-fifty chance: not the odds that he would want.
He slid slowly towards the window, and looked down. The street was dark, and it was hard to see, but it looked like a fairly busy area. He tried to look at the sides of the building, to find it's front door, and therefore the discover which door would lead him out; but he had no luck. It was too dark to tell. He couldn't risk waking up Mr. Sturgeon. He looked around for something to throw down.
It wasn't much of a kitchen. There was a refrigerator, a counter, and cupboards. It was a kitchen for somebody who wasn't going to get much use out of it. For some reason, this flicker of a thought stuck in his brain. This was Mr. Sturgeon's son's apartment, and Dave had killed him, and for some reason Mike knew he wasn't going to live. Try as he may, Dave still couldn't remember killing anybody. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
There was no paper that he could see, and for that matter no pen. Dave stood there in a stupor. He couldn't work with material like this. Then he felt it. Something was pressing against him from his scrub pockets. He pulled it out and in the meager light he was just able to distinguish it. It was his ID badge. There was a post-it stuck to the back of it, and Dave struggled to read it.
We need you at work. Get better soon, Carter.
Dave almost smiled; Thank you, Carter. He almost hurried to the window, but somehow kept his calm. He was going to throw it out the window and hope somebody would pick it up and call the police. But who would do that? Dave reluctantly admitted that that alone would solve nothing. Who would call the police if they found an ID badge?
Dave tried think; what would cause somebody to call the police? When the answer finally came to him, he wished he didn't have to do was he was about. He moved slowly towards the drawers. He opened them up as carefully as he could. At the second drawer, he found the silverware. He found the sharpest knife in the drawer; he wasn't going to make this any worse by using a dull knife.
He held his wrist above the sink and squeezed his fist as hard as he could. Clenching his teeth, he slowly lowered the knife. He made the smallest incision possible, and he still almost screamed out. The blood started dripping immediately. He set the knife down and picked up his badge. He held the badge under his dripping wrist for as long as he dared. He didn't want to make a mess, because he was afraid the sound of running water may awaken Mr. Sturgeon. Grabbing a paper towel, he applied pressure to his wrist. He pressed the wrist against his side under his scrub bottoms (fearing that Mr. Sturgeon would notice the blood on his bare stomach in the morning), picked up his badge with his free hand, and walked towards the window.
He struggled with the window, trying to open it without causing too much noise. Finally, it popped open, and the cool winter air stung his face. About to drop it, Dave stopped himself. What if Mr. Sturgeon left early, and found the badge himself? Dave could think of a backfire to any plan, so he decided he had to take the chance. He looked over and watched as his badge slowly hit the ground. He stared at it for a moment, have expecting somebody to walk by it just then and pick it up; but of course, nobody came.
He slowly closed the window and walked back towards the sink. He used another paper towel to clean the blood from the sink, and with just picking up the knife to clean it, when a sound came from Mr. Sturgeon's room. Dave stood still, totally gripped by terror. Then, as another sound came from the same door, Dave hurried towards his own door. Opening it as quickly as he could without risking a noise, Dave slipped in and closed it again behind him. He was still holding the knife, and he turned frantically looking for a place to stash it. He eventually hid it under the gurney mattress before jumping on the bed himself. He was about to secure his wrists, when he remembered that one still had a paper towel attached to it. He ripped it off and put that under the mattress as well. Then, he quickly popped that wrist under the rope and pressed it as hard as he could against the railing to prevent further bleeding. Now the noise was coming from the kitchen. Dave struggled his other wrist into its bondage, and laid down as if he was asleep.
Just then the door opened. Dave could hear Mr. Sturgeon breathing, but he didn't dare open his eyes. He feared that Mr. Sturgeon would turn on the lights and see his blood, or the loose ropes; but he didn't. After he was satisfied, that Dave was still his captive, Mr. Sturgeon left.
As Dave lie once more in seclusion, his only thoughts were 'now I know what door leads out' and 'I should have looked for a phone'.
A/N:
Wow, I wrote that in a frenzy! This one's a little longer than usual isn't it? Wow! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Please continue to read and review!
Free at last, Dave sat up. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next, but he had to do something before Mr. Sturgeon showed up. Dave quietly hopped off the gurney and stood towards the right rail. He untied the rope that had been securing his right hand, then retied it looser. He repeated this with the other side, so if Mr. Sturgeon did return, he could hopefully slip back in and pretend he had never been free.
There was no window in this room, or the bathroom, but there was one in the kitchen. If he could get out there without Mr. Sturgeon seeing, then he could try to drop a message to the street below. The normal Dave, the Dave that wasn't be held hostage, would have laughed at himself. How could he expect anyone who found a message on the street to take it seriously? He had to do something more drastic, but what?
It was probably about noon, Dave figured from the light he had seen through the kitchen window. The safest idea would be to wait until Mr. Sturgeon was asleep. But what if Mr. Sturgeon wouldn't go to sleep, or what if he was dead before then?
Dave found that he was pacing the room, and wondered briefly if Mr. Sturgeon could hear him. He sat down on the gurney to think. He didn't have a lot of options, so he didn't know why this decision was so hard. If Mr. Sturgeon hadn't killed him so far, he had to believe that he would wait a little longer. He finally decided to wait until night, then to go out into the kitchen, and see if he could get out.
Full of despair, Dave laid back down on the gurney and resecured his wrists. He would have to do something that was totally out of his league: wait.
~~~
The hours ticked by and soon Dave had lost track of time. Mr. Sturgeon hadn't come in since his bathroom trip, and without a window, it was hard to tell what time it was. Dave knew he couldn't wait much longer, but what if Mr. Sturgeon came in to check up on him right before going to bed? He waited just a little bit longer.
Then he couldn't do it anymore. He slowly slid out his wrist
~~~
The hours ticked by and soon Dave had lost track of time. Mr. Sturgeon hadn't come in since his bathroom trip, and without a window, it was hard to tell what time it was. Dave knew he couldn't wait much longer, but what if Mr. Sturgeon came in to check up on him right before going to bed? He waited just a little bit longer.
Then he couldn't do it anymore. He slowly slid out his wrists and sat up. Creeping towards the door, Dave couldn't help but feel excited. Excitement, adrenalin, anxiousness, it was really all the same. He slid the door open as slowly as he could, a quickly noticed that it was very dark out. He took a moment to gather his senses. There was the bathroom door, and two other doors. One led to the outside, and the other led to the room where Mr. Sturgeon was probably sleeping. It was a fifty-fifty chance: not the odds that he would want.
He slid slowly towards the window, and looked down. The street was dark, and it was hard to see, but it looked like a fairly busy area. He tried to look at the sides of the building, to find it's front door, and therefore the discover which door would lead him out; but he had no luck. It was too dark to tell. He couldn't risk waking up Mr. Sturgeon. He looked around for something to throw down.
It wasn't much of a kitchen. There was a refrigerator, a counter, and cupboards. It was a kitchen for somebody who wasn't going to get much use out of it. For some reason, this flicker of a thought stuck in his brain. This was Mr. Sturgeon's son's apartment, and Dave had killed him, and for some reason Mike knew he wasn't going to live. Try as he may, Dave still couldn't remember killing anybody. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
There was no paper that he could see, and for that matter no pen. Dave stood there in a stupor. He couldn't work with material like this. Then he felt it. Something was pressing against him from his scrub pockets. He pulled it out and in the meager light he was just able to distinguish it. It was his ID badge. There was a post-it stuck to the back of it, and Dave struggled to read it.
We need you at work. Get better soon, Carter.
Dave almost smiled; Thank you, Carter. He almost hurried to the window, but somehow kept his calm. He was going to throw it out the window and hope somebody would pick it up and call the police. But who would do that? Dave reluctantly admitted that that alone would solve nothing. Who would call the police if they found an ID badge?
Dave tried think; what would cause somebody to call the police? When the answer finally came to him, he wished he didn't have to do was he was about. He moved slowly towards the drawers. He opened them up as carefully as he could. At the second drawer, he found the silverware. He found the sharpest knife in the drawer; he wasn't going to make this any worse by using a dull knife.
He held his wrist above the sink and squeezed his fist as hard as he could. Clenching his teeth, he slowly lowered the knife. He made the smallest incision possible, and he still almost screamed out. The blood started dripping immediately. He set the knife down and picked up his badge. He held the badge under his dripping wrist for as long as he dared. He didn't want to make a mess, because he was afraid the sound of running water may awaken Mr. Sturgeon. Grabbing a paper towel, he applied pressure to his wrist. He pressed the wrist against his side under his scrub bottoms (fearing that Mr. Sturgeon would notice the blood on his bare stomach in the morning), picked up his badge with his free hand, and walked towards the window.
He struggled with the window, trying to open it without causing too much noise. Finally, it popped open, and the cool winter air stung his face. About to drop it, Dave stopped himself. What if Mr. Sturgeon left early, and found the badge himself? Dave could think of a backfire to any plan, so he decided he had to take the chance. He looked over and watched as his badge slowly hit the ground. He stared at it for a moment, have expecting somebody to walk by it just then and pick it up; but of course, nobody came.
He slowly closed the window and walked back towards the sink. He used another paper towel to clean the blood from the sink, and with just picking up the knife to clean it, when a sound came from Mr. Sturgeon's room. Dave stood still, totally gripped by terror. Then, as another sound came from the same door, Dave hurried towards his own door. Opening it as quickly as he could without risking a noise, Dave slipped in and closed it again behind him. He was still holding the knife, and he turned frantically looking for a place to stash it. He eventually hid it under the gurney mattress before jumping on the bed himself. He was about to secure his wrists, when he remembered that one still had a paper towel attached to it. He ripped it off and put that under the mattress as well. Then, he quickly popped that wrist under the rope and pressed it as hard as he could against the railing to prevent further bleeding. Now the noise was coming from the kitchen. Dave struggled his other wrist into its bondage, and laid down as if he was asleep.
Just then the door opened. Dave could hear Mr. Sturgeon breathing, but he didn't dare open his eyes. He feared that Mr. Sturgeon would turn on the lights and see his blood, or the loose ropes; but he didn't. After he was satisfied, that Dave was still his captive, Mr. Sturgeon left.
As Dave lie once more in seclusion, his only thoughts were 'now I know what door leads out' and 'I should have looked for a phone'.
A/N:
Wow, I wrote that in a frenzy! This one's a little longer than usual isn't it? Wow! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Please continue to read and review!