She moved her arms backward and the door opened behind her and she advanced into the room behind her. The feeling of the wires moving in her wrist enduced vomit. With no where else to aim she spewed onto her arms. Halfway through the doorframe the upward moving glass released her arms. There has to be another way out of this. She moved back forward and the glass moved back down, recaptivating her hands.
"Shit!" she screamed at her foiled plan. If she moved back forward she would only be blocked by the thick glass. She moved backwards once again and tried to put her arms down but a thought occured. If I don't folow the instructions I could be trapped. She moved completely backward into the room which she discovered to be a hallway with dirt floors. She reached a point in the hallway when the wires went tight and she had to work her way backward to the door that offered escape. Almost there, she told herself, just keep going.
The Next Morning...
The next morning Mark returned to the apartment in the Meat Packing District to find that his wife was gone. While searching he found signs of struggle in the bedroom, a tooth in the hallway, the phone hanging off the reciever by the cord. The thing that disturbed him the most was the missing violin. He had no clue, call it lovers-intuition, but he had a strong feeling that something sick had gone down in the few hours it took him to go to his brother's home on the edge of the city, tell him what happened, and thank him for agreeing to dedicate his Saturday to watching his nieces.
Mark hung up the phone and reclaimed it from the reciever and dialed 911.