Grunting in tired frustration through the duct tape, Tom dropped his head to the floor of the rotting room. He could've taken them the moment that they forced their way into Trent's house. If he had, he wouldn't be bound and gagged on the floor of some condemned warehouse never to be seen again. So this is what it's like, he thought closing his eyes against the throbbing in his throat where Michael's skeletal fingers had kept him from speaking and breathing, giving up.
Giving up? he snorted the question at himself harshly. Is that what you really want? To give? To wait for a rescue that won't get here fast enough to save you? Really? You're tougher and smarter than that, he reprimanded himself at his self-pity. He didn't want to give up. All the fighting that he'd done earlier in the evening would be for not if he quit now.
Pulling in a deep breath, Tom began to slowly force his tired body to snake along the floor backwards, toward the pool glass from the window he'd smashed not two hours ago. Cursing and breathing heavier, Tom did his best to ignore the pain coming in waves from his badly bruised and swollen elbow.
Raw heat radiated from his injuries as he moved. Spreading his fingers wide, Tom began to search for a sharp piece of glass that he knew was there. Son of a …he thought sullenly, yanking his hands back away from the pool of glass. Damn it! he scolded himself, feeling the blood pulsing to his now freely bleeding finger tip. Gritting his teeth against the pain, and hoping that it wasn't too bad a wound Tom pushed himself closer to the puddle of glass. Once again he forced his restrained hands to reach out for a piece of the broken window.
Picking up the first piece, Tom was disappointed that it was both too small and not sharp enough for the task at hand; freeing himself from his bonds. Carefully his bloodied finger tips moved over the small pile of glass behind him. Forcing his aching body further into the glass shards, Tom found one that was the right size and jagged enough to cut through the tape binding his hands together. Cautiously Tom flipped the glass shard in his nimble fingers and began the arduous task of slicing his way through the tuff tape.
Five strenuous minutes and several nicks later, Tom felt the tape give. Stifling a cry of cheer, Tom slowly rolled to his back and sat himself up. Rubbing at the tape residue, he turned his attention to the window and the rising sun. Must be almost six. Doing his best to not make any noise, he climbed to his feet and made his way to the window.
Studying the surrounding landscape, Tom watched the sun rise. Below the outcropped room he'd been stuffed into were rotted, rusting metal grates and railing once belonging to fire escapes, and back doors. Leaning out further he could see the rotting support beams of the room he was in. I'm surprised that my weight alone didn't cause it to collapse! he mused.
Taking off his flannel outer shirt Tom ripped a sleeve from it. Wrapping the soft, thick fabric tightly around his hand, he brushed the remnants of glass from the window frame. Climbing onto the mostly sturdy windowpane, Tom tossed the scrap flannel sleeve aside and clamored slowly out.
Letting out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Tom set one foot than the other onto the nearly rusted out piece of metal below the window. Easing his weight onto the metal, he stood slowly. With a wicked smile, he crouched down and began the thorny task of climbing down to the safety of the concrete below.
Tom almost couldn't smother yet another cry of victory when his sneaker clad feet touched the concrete. Glad that he hadn't chanced a swan dive out the window the night before, he turned away from the building he'd just escaped from and headed for what he hoped were the safe shadows of the other buildings.
"Hey, kid," he heard someone above him say loudly, followed by the creaking of the door to the room he'd been in. Fearful that they'd see him if they were smart enough to look out the window, Tom made a break for the first shadowed doorway that he saw. "He's gone…again!" Tom heard the same voice shout. Sounded like Michael.
"What!" came Jon's shocked reply. "How?"
"The window," was Michael's wry answer.
