Lost Highway(8)

“Don’t touch me.”

“Why?”

“Do you want strangers touching you?”

“You touch me.”

Quill blinks a few times as if he hadn’t considered the idea he needed to follow the same rules. I doubt he mulls over many things. He seems more reactionary than analytical.

“If you grab me, and I feel under threat, my instincts dictate I kill you.”

“That would be a real shame,” I mutter, yanking my hand free. “Imagine all of the beautiful experiences I’d miss of staring at the same walls.”

Quill doesn’t smile. I don’t know if he’s capable of such a gesture. My mind can imagine him spending a lifetime with only frowns and blank stares.

After he leaves me alone again, I think about his wounds. My leg still throbs, but he’s completely healed. Somehow, this revelation inspires me to escape.

At some point over the last few days, weeks, eons, in my cell, I noticed the cameras. Two of them face the mattress while a third is pointed at the bathroom. Though Quill can see me, he makes noise before opening the door. His movements are typically silent, but the tray and cup clink when he reaches for the lock. If I can time his arrival and my move to behind the door perfectly, I might get the drop on him.

I sit on the mattress and stare at the door for hours. Calming my breathing, I wait for the right moment. If it doesn’t come the first time he enters, I’ll wait until the next. Or the time after that. In my current situation, time and patience are luxuries I have in spades.

During his next visit, Quill manages to open the door without making a single noise. I wonder if he’s figured out my plan. He shows no sign of knowing I want to lock him in my room and make a run for freedom. Of course, Quill’s face remains a puzzle. Even if he were preparing to kill me, I doubt I’d know it.

The next time Quill arrives, I’m in the bathroom. Now I’m convinced he knows my plan and is timing his visits accordingly.

I don’t give up. What else do I have to do than plan an escape?

All day and night, I wait for him to open the door. My plan repeats in my head. Sooner or later, I’ll make my move. What happens afterward is best left unplanned. I don’t know what is outside the cabin or how to return to the highway. The first step to answering those questions is escaping this room.

I lose track of how many visits Quill makes before he creates enough noise to alert me in time. The moment I hear him at the door, I bolt from my spot and nearly lose my footing from sitting for so long. I’m ready, though, and I reach the door as it opens and blocks me from his view.

Only a second passes before I slam the door into him and knock him away from the entrance. I rush around the door and yank it shut. I’ve gotten it nearly closed when his hand grips the inside handle.

A shot of panic passes over me, and I nearly let go. My instincts take over. When I release my side of the knob, and the door flies toward Quill, he loses his balance. Though he stumbles for only a heartbeat before reaching again for the door, it’s all the time I need. His face is the last thing I see before the door shuts, and I slide the lock into place.

Quill’s final expression is one of intense rage.

Staring at the lock, I can’t believe my plan actually worked. I outwitted the enigma.

Quill doesn’t struggle against the lock or turn the knob once he realizes he’s trapped inside. Instead, he’s silent, which scares me more than any rage I could imagine.

I hurry down a hallway toward the front door. My feet are bare because he’d have noticed if I wore shoes. Before walking outside, I stop in the kitchen and search for a weapon. Long shiny knives sit in a cutlery block on the counter. Grabbing the longest, I head for the porch.

If I believed Quill couldn’t free himself, I might take my time searching the house for a phone or supplies. Even without knowing how he’ll break out, I sense he’s already working on his escape.

Standing outside the front door, I scan the woods for movement. The porch feels grainy under my feet, but I don’t look down. I keep my gaze focused ahead.

I take one step down from the porch and then a second. My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I steady my shaking hands. The feel of the dirt under my feet erases my fear. The wind warms my skin, and I shudder at the sensation of being outside. Locked up for too long, I look upward to allow the sun to warm my face. This simple gesture changes everything.

Rather than an open sky above, I discover a mirror image of my world. I crouch instinctively, feeling as if the other cabin will tumble down on me. The trees around my cabin nearly touch the ones on the other side.

I sit on the steps and stare upward, unable to look away. Did I lose my mind waiting so long to escape? Had Quill drugged the food? Was I still hallucinating in the closet?

After some time, I realize the world above isn’t a mirror image at all. I spot a Winnebago and cars parked near the other world’s cabin. A large family carries bags inside. Kids play ball. None of them see me except a dog who stares upward and barks.

I finally glance around to see how far the worlds connect, but the trees block my view outside of the small clearing around the cabin.

Standing up, I walk inside and sit on the couch. Escaping feels like a dream from long ago. I imagined returning to the highway and hitching a ride to safety. Even if I spent my life in prison for killing John, I’d be away from here.