Dear readers: you already know about my laptop and the story – this is how I've decided to handle the situation. I'm writing the story at home in a notebook. I'm taking the notebook to the public library and transcribing what I've written to doc manager on FF. No, it's not going to be all of it at once because I enjoy my wrist and fingers. I also refuse to sit in a wood chair with no back rest for hours writing the story at the public library. I also enjoy my back and ass. I downloaded the FF app thinking I could write the story on it. I found that I'm too stupid to do so. I'm also not sure I want to stare at my phone's screen for that long. We're limping our way to the story's end I promise.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Thirty

~Anastasia~

I pick at the slice of pizza on the now soggy paper plate in my lap. I don't know if my long show of pretending to having arms too achy and weak to eat has worked. Jack is shoveling pizza into his mouth and is watching The Fast and The Furious on his Mac. He's paid me no mind. I slowly drink my bottled water and my eyes sweep the room. The walls are painted an off white and black framed photographs of various sizes hang on the walls. Slade is in many of them. Again, my still fuzzy mind questions the thinking of my two captors. Why would they allow my eyes to see so much identifying shit? Maybe they don't care because they do plan on killing me.

My fear has increased the longer I plan getting a cell phone. Now I'm searching for something I can use to defend myself with if I get caught in the act of grabbing one- or if I'm found out afterward. I know that there will consequences if I'm caught and I'm sure they won't be pleasant.

So far, Jack has treated me well. Too well. I've been told what kind of man he was while I worked with him. I've been told what he did to me in the break room of SIP. I recall terrifying bits of his assault. The temperament of this man doesn't match the temperament of that man. I don't care to know why he's playing nice. I do know that I need to be able to defend myself. He's a dangerous psychopath and I have reasons to fight.

I'm a mother. An infant is waiting for his mommy to come home. I have to fight for Teddy. If I'm going to become an episode of Dateline, I want him to be able to watch it as an adult and know his mother did everything she could to survive for him.

I have to fight for Christian. He would break if something happened to me. My husband would go on because of Teddy, but I know his heart and biggest fear- my death. He still has nightmares of me taking the place of his biological mother on that filthy carpet when he was a small boy. He has nightmares of when I did nearly die. Christian would have Teddy. I would be dust. Christian's life would be one foot in the light and the other in darkness. He would be incomplete. I will do whatever it takes to protect that man and his heart. So I'm not going to go down quietly. If these two assholes do hurt me – I'll be found with their blood underneath my broken fingernails.

I wish I could see a gun. I don't know if my two sloppy kidnappers used a firearm to abduct me with since I have no memory of what happened. If there is a loaded gun within my reach, it would definitely be me checkmating their king. I don't want to shoot anyone; I just want out of here. Finding one out in the open in this room is nil. I can clearly see every surface in here and the only object I could use to injure Jack Hyde with is the bedside lamp. Getting the utility knife would be hitting pay dirt. It's driving me crazy that I don't know where it is. The fact that my mind isn't clear is also driving me crazy. I can't shake the fog away.

I wish that I had some clothes on. This worn-out t-shirt barely reaches mid-thigh and I don't have anything on underneath it. It makes me sick that these two freaks saw me without any clothes on. Christian will break the Space Needle in half when he finds that out.

If he finds out. Four words that now have fear running through my veins and leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I honestly don't know what these two men have planned for me. Jack has only said they've contacted Christian and told him they want ten million dollars. He told me Christian was given a deadline. However, Jack wouldn't tell me what time that deadline was.

For some reason, the asshole won't tell me what time it is – if it's night or day. I don't know if I've been here for hours or days, and honestly, I don't understand what's with the secrecy. What the hell do they think I'm going to do with that information?

I dread finding out what their scheme to get this ransom money is. Does it involve swapping me for the money or kill me and get the money? Take me with them? No, that would be too much trouble. I'd be a major liability. I'm either traded for the cash or chopped into a million pieces. Though, if the plan is to filet me, wouldn't they have already hurt me? Raped me? I know that I've been roughed up, but I'm not seriously injured. Jack said they didn't rape me. I'm not dumb enough to one hundred percent believe him, but wouldn't my body be able to tell me if I'd been raped? Hell, if I know. God, this unknowing is torture.

Outside, the wind is howling and it's begun to rain – hard. I can almost feel the wind as it wraps itself around the house. Damn, this is becoming way too Edgar Allan Poe – I definitely feel a sense of heavy sadness.

I finish the water, place the empty bottle on the paper plate and slide both on the bed beside me. Jack's paper plate is wadded up with a napkin and is on the bedside table with two empty bottles of beer. I imagine breaking a bottle and shoving it into his throat and twisting. That seems only fair considering what he did to my brain.

I listen to the voices of Paul Walker and Michelle Rodriguez coming through the Mac. Jack has the volume of the movie turned up. I suppose because the storm is getting louder. I feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. My nerves are on red alert and I feel like crawling under this bed and crying. I'm scared and can't think straight. Looking down at my bruised wrists pisses me off. My hands don't look as bad as they did earlier and I'm carefully flicking the dried blood off of my right wrist when a loud noise makes me jump.

It sounded like something banging open or shut – I'm not sure. I am sure that it came from above us.

My heart begins to race.

Please be the police.

Please be Jason and the guys.

Please be help.

Please, please, please.

Jack immediately stands. He tosses the Mac on the foot of the bed and walks to the room's doorway.

"Slade!" he yells, hands on his hips and head bent.

He's listening.

So am I. I scowl at his back.

"On it," Slade says, not quite as loudly as Jack. "Don't start getting jumpy, man." He strolls in with a blunt hanging out of the side of his lips.

"You're getting stoned? Mother fucker, we've got shit to take care of and you're getting high? What did I tell you?" Jack snaps.

"Calm down, sugar tits. I've only smoked half." Slade shows the joint to his now red-faced friend. I enjoy the smirk he's aiming at Jack.

I think a red-faced Jack is a tell that the man is angry. Prick.

"I said don't smoke." Jack pulls his shirt sleeve up and looks at his watch. He checks the time, shakes his head and swears. "God damn. Go see what the fuck that noise was."

Jack is obviously the alpha in this shit show. That, or Slade's a laid-back guy and doesn't care.

Slade flips him off. I guess he doesn't care.

"Sounded like the wind blew open a window upstairs. Can you not hear what's going on outside?" he asks over his shoulder.

I watch him walk away, blunt back between his lips. He goes to the right. It's the first time that I've seen him walk in that direction.

There's an upstairs. Slade took a right. That must be the way to the stairs. Note to self. Ana, if you get out of this room, don't go to the right. When the asshole went to pick up the pizzas, he walked left. A door to the outside has to be to the left. Stairs are to the right.

Please be help. Please be help.

I watch Jack's head raise. He's looking up at the ceiling as if he's hoping to see what's happening. My eyes dart to the area that this lunatic has been occupying. They drop to the recliner and freeze.

Jack's personal cell phone is face up on the middle of the recliner and the screen is lit up. It's flashing. He's receiving a call.

I slowly raise my head up further to get a better view. I think the first number is a two. I squint and slightly lean in the phone's direction. Is the second number a zero? I raise up on my arm and stretch my neck. The screen goes dark before I can see anything else.

Fuck.

A two and a zero. If so, it's no doubt, Seattle's area code. Looking at Jack, I find him in the same position – standing in the doorway and looking up at the ceiling. I fall back into the pillows. I close my eyes tightly.

Please let help be up there.

Please.

I strain to hear what may be going on upstairs. I hold my breath and concentrate as if that will help me hear better.

I hear loud footsteps and Slade's voice growing closer.

"Shit," I mutter to myself. No help.

"Fucking broken window. I guess the wind is blowing harder than I thought." He's standing in the doorway. "Son of a bitch was wide open."

The blunt is gone. And he came from the right. From the right, Ana. From the right.

I guess I'd best remember that since help didn't jump through the window.

"Which room?" Jack asks. His hands are on his hips and he sounds irritated.

"I don't see why that matters, but it was in Candace's old room." Slade runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs.

"Have you got anything that will fix the window?" Jack continues.

"Yeah, but I'm not fucking with it right now. I shut it and I don't care if the room gets a little wet. I'm tired and going to try to get a little shut eye on the couch before…" He stops, his brown eyes meet mine. A smirk that makes me want to take a shower lifts his lips and I watch those brown eyes roam up and down my body.

He didn't have to stop what he was saying. I know what he's referring to. It sounds like there isn't much time for him to take a nap. That must mean the deadline is nearing. The deadline could be burying my body in the woods. Who knows? I'm clueless, even though if they were going to kill me, I'm beginning to believe they'd have already done it.

No…I see it now. They need me alive in order to get Christian's money. Shit, they need me alive to get Christian's time. These two will hurt me if it will benefit them in the long run. I have no doubts.

Jack Hyde nearly bit one of my nipples off. He punched me in the face while two of our co-workers were still in the office. He was unhinged. He will hurt me. I'm also sensing that I can classify Slade as a predator. I felt that look and I know what it meant. That sicko would hurt me, too. I'm sure in more ways than one.

I think about Jack's earlier running monologue; the rambling he was doing when he thought I was still unconscious. Jack is pissed off in a major way because Christian has effectively ruined his life.

He knows that payback is a bitch. He's tasting it. It's living inside his throat and he's blood thirsty. Jack has a blind spot, though. He's in the middle of paying Christian back, while fucking around and finding out – again- how bad payback is. I only hope that I'm still around when he does find out- again. Watching Jack flail helplessly on a fishhook will be too sweet.

These two men will meet Christian's wrath. Slade Robbins doesn't understand what Jack has drug him into. Christian Grey won't give up. He won't give in. He won't be told what to do. Above all else, Christian Grey won't allow anyone else to win.

They will suffer ten-fold now that they've hurt Kate. I can't contemplate what they've done to her and the aftermath. I just can't. My chest hurts when I picture Kate's face. It's supposed to be lit up from laughter. Determined. Stubborn. Protective. Loving.

Fucking alive.

I bite my tongue and look away. I can't cry. I can't break down. Stop. It.

Slade better get as high as he can while he can. Right now, feet away from me, he thinks all is fine. He's stoned. He thinks he's going to become several million dollars richer. What I see is a man with the tip of a spear touching the skin over his heart. I don't know if law enforcement or Taylor's army shove's it through, but that spear will rupture his heart.

Jack scratches his bleached beard and throws his hands up. "Fine, go sleep your buzz off."

Looking amused, Slade shakes his head. "I was going to." He leaves the room.

Jack grabs his cell up from the recliner. The call must not be important because he slides his phone in a pocket of his jeans. He doesn't pick up the Mac to continue watching the movie. He doesn't address me. He drops into the chair. Laying his head back, he closes his eyes. Soon, I hear him snore. He's fallen asleep.

I rub my face. I guess it's time to try and get a phone. I probably won't get another opportunity like this one. I've got to wait, though. I'm not doing shit unless he's fully asleep.

Picking at the bedding, I close my heavy eyelids as an all too familiar feeling takes hold. I begin to tremble. Sweat's running down my back and I think I'm going to hyperventilate. My pulse has increased and I try to breathe slower to calm myself. Shit. I'm having a panic attack. I haven't had one of these in a while, and now, when I have the chance to get up and maybe save my life, a burst of cortisol decides to make an appearance.

Great.

Calm down, Ana. Close your eyes. Try to calm down. My heart is racing.

Breathe.

Breathe.

The house is silent.

Inhale.

All I hear is rain battering the windows and the whipping wind.

It's rhythmic.

Exhale.

I rub one hand and then the other.

Inhale.

I bend a wrist.

Breathe.

I raise an arm.

Exhale.

Okay. You're good.

Open your eyes.

Breathe.

Jack's asleep. I watch his chest rise and fall.

I count while I watch.

He snores. His mouth has dropped open.

I look around the room one more time. The cell phones remain on top of the dresser. I stare at the hardwood floor and gauge the distance between the bed and the dresser; I gauge the distance between myself and Jack. I think that they're equal. That's not a good thing.

It's also not a good thing that I have to be stealth enough to grab a phone and make it to the bathroom to call 911. I'm weak and not sure how steady I'll be. I have to make it there and shut the door. It's the only way. Being in the bathroom with a closed door is the only safe place. It's my excuse if Jack wakes up. I'll say that I had to use the bathroom and I shut the door. I've just got to get in there with a cell in my hand. I don't have any pockets to hide it in. Hell, I don't have any clothes on to hide it in.

Wait.

I look at the paper plate holding my uneaten pizza that's beside me on the bed. I could put the cell in it and fold the paper plate. I can say that I'm throwing it away if I get caught on my way to the bathroom.

Jesus. I don't know what to do and I'm sick of this inner monologue. I hate being alone in my head. It's a bad neighborhood to be in. I close my eyes. The sweat on my back has my t-shirt stuck to my back.

This reminds me of that split second decision that I had to make while fighting off Leila Williams. I just wish that I was making a go for my gun right now and not a fucking cell phone. Jack has a utility knife that he could use on me if this goes wrong.

Fuck.

I move in the bed to see if it squeaks. It doesn't. I'm already near the bed's edge so I don't have to scoot over. Shit. The Mac's at the end of the bed. I can't knock it off. My eyes are on Jack as I listen for any noise in the house – any noise that Slade could be making. The only noise that I hear is the rain and wind. It makes my precarious situation eerie. I'm terrified.

Jack snores and I inhale and push the bedding off of me.

He snores again and I exhale.

He snores again and I shoot to my feet ever so quietly.

My head swims; I shake my head and recover.

I'm still.

He snores and then I tip toe to the dresser. In a flash, I grab a phone and wrap it up in my t-shirt. I scurry around the bed as silently as I can until I've reached the bathroom. I look back. Jack's still asleep. He snores and I gently shut the bathroom door and lock it. I don't turn on the light.

I exhale and try to keep my legs from buckling.

I sit on the toilet and fumble with the phone, nearly dropping it twice. It's like the fucker is coated in grease.

"Shit," I whisper to myself. I'm breathing too fast and my head is dizzy.

The damn thing is off. I feel around and press buttons until the screen finally lights up. I turn around on the toilet seat so the light doesn't show under the door. My heart is hammering out of my mouth and I think I'm going to have a coronary. I'm also listening to what's happening outside of this room.

Thank God, it's silent.

It seems like it takes forever before the phone powers on. I watch the signal bars and fumble it again. This time it nearly falls into the toilet water. I hold it with both hands and use my thumbs to dial 911. I bend over at the waist and pray.

It doesn't ring. I hear nothing but a click.

Sweat is running down my back and I'm getting woozy. The room is hot and I'm about to cry. What's wrong with the fucking phone?

I stop and listen for Jack. All remains quiet on the other side of the door.

I dial 911 again, and again, it doesn't ring. Another click goes off in my ear, and tears spring to my eyes.

I look at the signal bars. What the fuck is wrong? The phone should be working. I dash the tears from my eyes. I have to clearly see this piece of garbage phone.

My fingers shake as I press the nine.

Before I can hit the number one, a large boom goes off, startling me so badly that I drop the phone. At the very same moment, Jack yells, "What the fuck?"

My chin quivers as I drop to my knees to retrieve the phone. It's lit up and I know I have to hide it so Jack doesn't find out what I've done. I crawl until I feel the phone and hit the off button. The screen darkens and I clumsily reach up for the light switch.

The light doesn't come on.

The power's gone out.

I inhale deeply and my arms shake. Still, I've got to hide the phone.

I feel my way around the cold, porcelain toilet bowl in search of a garbage can.

I don't find one.

"Ana!" Jack yells.

I put a shaking hand over my mouth. With the other, I blindly feel the cabinet under the sink. I open the doors and toss the phone in. If they find it, they find it. I just don't want Jack to find it now.

Sucking in another large gulp of air, I answer him. "I'm in the bathroom. I can't see to get out. What happened?" My voice is tremulous. I'll let him believe that I'm afraid of the dark.

"Fuck! Mother fucker. Where's a god damn flash light when you need one? Slade! Slade, wake the fuck up!" Jack is screaming and I'm quietly crying into my hands.

My chance is gone. What happened to the damn phone? Cheap piece of garbage.

"Jack, I can't see," I call out, trying to add to my fear of the dark story. "I'm afraid of the dark!" I hiccup between each word.

It is creepy that the lights have gone out while I'm trapped in a house that's apparently in the woods. Undoubtedly the power's out due to the storm and I'm sure that booming noise was the transformer blowing.

I don't get an answer after yelling to Jack. I open the door and reach out for a wall. I feel my way around until my shin hits the bed railing and I hiss from pain. Remaining quiet is a must. I've got to hear what those two assholes are doing.

"Now's the time you should be thanking me for smoking weed. If I didn't, we wouldn't have this lighter," I hear Slade say far too casually.

They're making their way into the bedroom.

Jack mumbles something to Slade about hurrying the fuck up. A few seconds tick until I see dim light approaching. I'm perched on the end of the bed looking as frightened as I can pretend as they walk into the room. I hope they can't tell that I've been hysterically crying.

"You afraid of the dark?" Slade asks. He's holding a large Maglite up to his face. Fucking idiot.

With a Maglite in each hand, Jack comes around him. To my surprise, he gives one to me.

"Thank you," I say gratefully, because I am grateful. It's not because I'm scared of the dark, it's because I want to see what these two psychos are doing.

I realize that the power could be off for a while and that will mean the heat will be as well. It's going to get cold and I'm basically undressed. The hell with that.

"I'm cold, and I'm going to freeze with the heat off. Do you have something warmer that I can wear?" I ask Slade, looking as earnest as I can.

He doesn't answer. Walking to a closet, he pulls out a Seahawks sweatshirt and tosses it to me. I pull it over my head, leaving the t-shirt on. He hands me a pair of gray sweat pants. I put them on and have to fold them over several times so they'll stay on.

"Thanks." I sit back on the bed and pull my knotted hair out of the sweatshirt. It's going to be hell to comb out. If I'm alive to comb it out. Shut up, Ana. Shut up.

Both men stand in the lowly lit room looking a bit uncertain. An uneasy feeling is enveloping me and I'm not sure where it's coming from. All of our flash lights are directed at the floor and I don't like the shapes they're making. It feels like foreshadowing.

"Do we have to stay in the bedroom?" I ask. Maybe it won't feel so fucking creepy if we leave this small room.

Slade shrugs his shoulders at the same time Jack shakes his head. What's his problem? Where the hell does he think I'm going to go?

"Where's she going to go, man?" Slade voices what I'm thinking.

"I don't like it," Jack replies, eyes on me.

At least I think they are. It's dark, and I'm not going to shine my flashlight in them to make sure.

"Why not? We'll all be in the living room, for fucks sake. The power's out. She doesn't have any shoes. It's practically coming a hurricane," Slade says. He looks at me. "You're not going anywhere, are ya?"

I shake my head. "No way. I'm afraid of storms," I lie.

Slade points his Maglite in Jack's face. "See."

Jack doesn't reply. He raises his flash light and makes a motion to leave the room with it. I follow Slade – listening behind me – I want to know if Jack picks up those cell phones. If he did, he's going to know that one is missing.

He'll know that I took it.

I get lucky. The only thing that Jack picks up is his Mac.

Slade heads to the left like I believed he would, and I move in the direction of his flash light. He ambles into a large living room and points at a couch for me to sit on. There's a couch, love seat, flat screen on the wall, a fire place, and an empty spot where I assume the recliner that's in the bedroom should be. Moving my flash light all around me, I can see that all of the windows have the same blackout curtains on them. I now think that they're meant to keep people from seeing inside. I was correct about the stairs being on the right side of the house. They're on the far end of the room.

Slade sprawls out in the floor and puts his bended arms under his head. Jack takes the love seat. Neither of them says anything and I find the silence uncomfortable. The storm is unrelenting. I'm exhausted and my head is beginning to ache. I have no sense of time. I don't know how long I was unconscious. I also can't go to sleep. I'll be vulnerable and these two circling vultures could land. I can sense that Jack's getting jumpy. Slade's got a relaxed air that screams he can do anything he wants.

I tuck my legs underneath me and sit at the end of the couch. My Maglite is pointed upward and I'm doing my best to look bored, when I'm actually scared out of my mind. I don't know how to get away from both of these men. I've looked at it from a million angles and they all crumble. I'm in an impossible situation. This feels worse than waking up in a hospital room confused and with no memory.

"I'm cold. Are you two cold?" Slade suddenly asks, breaking into my thoughts. He's still on the floor.

Jack's resumed watching his movie. "Eh, a little," he answers. He sounds distracted.

It is chilly in this big room and I don't have on any socks. "Yeah, it's getting cold," I reply. My voice is low. My throat hurts.

Slade jumps up. "I'll go get some fire wood."

I look at him. "You're going to go outside in this storm?" I ask. Is he crazy?

"Nah. Don't you know you live in the Pacific Northwest? I cut it and keep it down in the basement," he answers like I'm the dumbest person in the world.

"She's rich. Rich people don't worry about cutting fire wood," Jack tells him. "Do they, Ana?"

I remain mute.

They both laugh as Slade strolls away. I track him through his Maglite, it's bouncing light in front of him. It looks like he walks through a kitchen and opens a door. He disappears behind it.

There's a door that leads to a basement. Through the kitchen. More information to file. Useless information, Ana. Why would you want to lock yourself in the basement?

Well, I'm going to try to lock myself in the basement if that damn movie Jack's watching doesn't end soon. I'm so sick of hearing it. I rub my sore neck and look at Jack. My stomach feels sick. Who is this man? What hole did he climb out of?

"Jack, where did you go to college?"

"Princeton," he murmurs absentmindedly.

"How long had you worked at SIP before, well, you know," I start, looking down at my fingers.

I hear him sigh. "Five years. You don't remember any of this?"

I almost laugh. "No, I don't. I don't remember anything before that night at SIP."

The chatter from the movie disappears. He must have paused it.

"You don't remember anything?" he asks. He sounds bored.

"Only bits and pieces. Slices of time."

I look at him. He's put his long hair in a pony tail. His full beard covers his scarred face. Half of that face is lost in the dark room.

Running an index finger along the laptop's screen, he turns his head. Jack looks me in the eye. His face is bland. I want to punch the look off.

"I'd taken an author out to an early dinner. I'd had too much to drink. I came back to SIP-"

The bile that's been wanting to spew the entire time I've been in this disgusting man's presence is rising. He's making an excuse for what he did and what he took from me. He's already got an excuse for abducting me. He's pathetic.

Bravery or stupidity jumps between my teeth.

I hold my hands up. "Don't. You can't justify what you did to me." Tears are about to break through. I fight them.

"You'll never understand what your actions caused me or how much I've suffered. Never. If you did," I motion around the room. "I don't think we'd be sitting here right now."

I can't believe that I'm saying this to a man I'm terrified of. These aren't just words, though. This is my pain, and the pain of everyone in my life. It's raw pain and I'm scraping it off of my soul and throwing it at Jack Hyde.

And he doesn't give a single flying fuck.

Jack rubs his lower lip with one of his thumbs and stares at me. His face is now expressionless in the dim light. His shoulders have stiffened and his profile looks ghoulish in the stark shadows.

He slightly nods his head in agreement. A lone tear that I can't stop escapes and runs down my cheek. I can't look away. This might be looking into the eyes of a person without a soul. No. I think he might really be a psychopath.

Jack looks down at his Mac and re starts his movie. The person without a soul seems to be engrossed with Vin Diesel. I close my eyes and lay my heavy head on my arm. My safety feels even more slippery now that Jack has shown me who he really is.

I think about Teddy and wonder what he's doing. Is it still night and he's asleep? I hope that Christian's with him. It makes me sad to think he's missing his mommy. He's so little and has already been through so much. Teddy always smiles, though. His sweet baby smell…

Something creaks and my body jerks. My eyes fly open. Jesus, I dozed off. Why did I let myself do that? I look around the room; everything looks the same. There's also nothing around me that would creak. I guess that was a dream or I'm now hearing shit.

Jack's still got his nose in his Mac watching that damn movie. That's probably what I heard. You'd think a man who had a career in publishing would read, not watch action movies. Not soulless psychopaths with careers in publishing, though. They get off on violence. That does make sense.

Sitting up, I stretch out my legs. It feels like I've been on them forever. It can't have been that long, though. It still sounds like the wind is taking down trees. It's so chilly in here. I rub my arms and pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands. My feet are freezing. I look at the fire place.

There's no fire.

Huh? I turn my head and squint into the darkened area around me. There should be a fire. Slade went to get fire wood. How long ago was that? I shine the Maglite around me.

There's no Slade.

There's no fire.

I don't know if Jack notices that I'm shining the light around the house or not; he doesn't raise his head. I put down the flash light and think. Where's Slade at? Then I hear something different coming out of the Mac. Jack's watching another movie. I listen carefully as I try to place it.

The Terminator.

The hairs on the back of my neck are beginning to stand to attention.

I wish that I knew if The Fast and The Furious was nearly over before I fell asleep – not that I care how long I was asleep. I want to know how long Slade's been gone.

Something's not right, and it's not the temperature in the house.

Could it be? My heart rate accelerates.

I sink back into the couch and let my hair fall around my face like a curtain. My thoughts tend to end up as expressions, and I don't want Jack to see one if it's hopeful. Hope is stirring in the tips of my cold toes.

I can hear blood rushing in my ears.

I gnaw at my bottom lip as Arnold Schwarzenegger fills my ears. I tuck my legs under me. Think it through, Ana. Lay it all out. Shake your foggy mind clear. Push through your headache. Get it straight and calm the hell down.

An upstairs window opened and broke. Not long after, the power went out. Slade went to the basement and hasn't come back.

I don't know how long he's been gone or how much time has gone by...

Is it possible? Of course it is.

Is it what I've been hoping for?

"Are you asleep?" Jack barks at me, causing me to jump.

I push my hair back. He's on his feet, Maglite in hand, and staring at me.

I nod. "Yes, I was asleep," I lie a bit louder than necessary, just in case…

Adrenaline has been dumped into my bloodstream.

"Slade hasn't come back and it's been a fucking hour." His eyes are narrowed for some reason.

Shit. An hour? How long has it been since the window broke?

"Is his car here?" I go for being dumb.

The asshole shines the Maglite directly in my face. I cover my face and turn my head away. I bite my tongue. I don't want to piss him off since I'm not sure about my theory.

"Get up," he orders me. He's agitated.

I stand without question. One of his hands grabs my right arm and jerks me forward. His hold tightens and it's painful. He's pissed off about something and it appears he's going to take it out on me.

Please…

"What the hell, Jack?" I blurt. I try to yank away from him but he tightens his grip on me.

"We're going to find this dumb ass."

I decide to quit resisting in the hopes he let's me go. The flash lights are dim and make the walls look orange. I don't like it.

"Why don't you just call him?"

He's still pulling me along by my arm and I'm still talking loudly. He hasn't asked why.

"Because he left his phone on the coffee table," he says through gritted teeth.

"I can walk without you holding onto me, Jack. I'm not a kid." I want to twist away from him so badly. It wouldn't be a smart move, though. This asshole is known for punching women in the face.

Could anyone in this house have a gun aimed at this fucker's forehead…

"Yep, I know you're not, Ana. I also know I'm not giving you the chance to run."

"Where am I going to go? I have no shoes, I don't know where I am, it's coming a storm from hell, and-"

Jack interrupts me. "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up."

We move through the kitchen and I hit my hip on the counter. My mind immediately goes to the counter in the breakroom at SIP. The contact hurts and I bite my lower lip.

Parson…

Jack stops in front of the door that leads to the basement and throws it open. It's pitch black and I suddenly feel like I'm in the middle of a horror movie.

Genuine terror grabs me and spit floods my mouth. Grabbing the door jamb, I twist my upper body away and dig my heels in the floor.

"No way! I'm not going down there!" I shriek loudly. I no longer care if I'm being loud enough for anyone to hear me. I'm not going down there.

Jack roughly pulls me back. "Didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?" he snaps at me and shines his Maglite down into the basement.

You can only see steep, concrete stairs. All around them is darkness. Half way down the stairs, a lone light bulb is screwed into the ceiling and attached underneath it is a long chain – a long chain that's used to pull the light on.

It's creepy as hell.

"Slade!" Jack screams in my ear. "Slade! What the hell are you doing?"

I wince and turn my head away. I refuse to let this dick head blow my ear drum out.

"Slade! God damn you, fucking answer me!" he screams louder.

Terrified, I slowly raise my head and peek downstairs. I immediately relax.

"Mother fucker! Slade!"

I wince and close my eyes. I wait for it.

"Slade! Damn you!" His voice is getting hoarse.

I wait.

Jack takes a step into the doorway and I pull back.

"What the fuck are you doing? Slade!"

I'm still waiting.

"Slade! Answer me!"

Is he blind?

"Slade!" his voice cracks.

The chain to the light bulb is swinging.