Escape from Bondage

Escape from
Bondage

Dusty Miller

This Smashwords edition copyright 2014
Dusty Miller and Long Cool One Books

Design: J. Thornton

ISBN 978-0-9918999-7-5

The following is a work of fiction. Any
resemblance to any person living or deceased, or to any places or
events, is purely coincidental. Names, places, settings, characters
and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. The
author’s moral right has been asserted.

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Table of Contents

Scene One

Scene Two

Scene Three

About the Author

Escape from
Bondage

Dusty Miller

Scene One

The night was restless and warm for
early December. Huddled under the blankets, she thought she heard a
faint rumble. A winter thunderstorm was not unheard of, but hardly
welcome right now. She’d only been at St. Marie for a week, but
finally her spiritual and physical exhaustion had worn off. All of
a sudden she was up again, almost manic in her mood. Today, all
day, her nerves were completely jangled. It wasn’t just the move
and the transfer, or the thoughts of seeing Braden from time to
time. Not after the terrible last three months, where they didn’t
see each other at all, ultimately leading up to her transfer. The
reality of what she had done was catching up, and she had to start
teaching a new class Monday morning at eight-forty-five
sharp.

Now she couldn’t sleep. The room was
too hot. The blankets were too thick, but to take them off meant a
draft and a chill. Air whistled around the window and much of it
came in. She was on one side, and then the other, with her upper
knee drawn up and supported by the balled-up blankets. Her brain
just wouldn’t switch off.

Rain lashed the rooftop, less than ten
feet away in her third-floor bedroom, way up under the eaves, a bit
bigger than her room for all those years back home. That was one
way of describing it. It wasn’t home. She wondered if it ever would
be.

She was in a semi-aware state, not
unpleasant in itself. If only she could drop off into real slumber.
Heather would be ever so grateful. Sleep was the last refuge. She’d
read that somewhere.

The place had its own atmosphere, and
in the long hours of the night when quiet reigned, the big old
house had a set of obscure noises all of its own. Most of them were
unidentifiable, but the pish-pish-pish of the heating pipes and the
sound of someone in another room flushing a toilet or getting a
drink of water were familiar enough. The occasional loud crack or
pop could be put down to the age of the building, or the settling
of the ground it was built on. It was the expansion and contraction
of the maple hardwood floors, when the sun crossed it during
daylight hours. The house had a life of its own by now, being over
a hundred years old.

The distant crawling whine of
transport trucks on the highway, or cars in the street out front
weren’t threatening. Voices of people going by were clearly outside
and down there, respectively. Branches scraping at the weathered
brick wall outside made her hair stand on end, at least until she
figured out what it was.

Her eyes opened and she looked at the
clock. It was only a little after one a.m. She still had time to
get a good night’s sleep. God, please.

She had just closed her eyes and
rolled over when a solid clunk came against the wall under her
window. Upon first looking out, she thought how pleasant it would
be to look out into the treetops in summer…

“
Ah.” She turned her head
and neck against the resistance of the pillow, which was a lot
softer than she was used to. “Um.”

It felt good, but it wasn’t
sleep.

There were more small sounds, little
bumps and a rasping sound. She thought it was the tree branches
again, the wind must be really picking up out there. Her eyes
flickered. It wasn’t working…it was like she just couldn’t drop
off. Every so often she had a night like that, of course. It was
never welcome.

A strong thud came right at the
window, looming a couple of metres away from the foot of her bed.
Panes rattled and the curtains trembled.

“
Argh.” She thought for a
moment and whispered a single expletive. “Shit.”

There was quiet now except for the
sound of light rain on the glass. She was just turning from her
right side to the left yet again. The sound of tapping on the
window made her growl in frustration. She snapped on the light and
sat up, strongly tempted to go over and reassure herself it was
just branches in the wind. She glared in the general direction of
the offending window.

“
Eek!”

There was a dim red shape in the
glass, visible through a narrow gap in the dark patterned curtains,
down low just over the sash. It took recognizable form in her
consciousness.

Her jaw dropped.

Braden! What instinct for
self-preservation stopped her from shouting his name, or anything
at all for that matter, was a blessing of the first
magnitude.

Oh, my God.

His hand beckoned, and he mouthed
words silently. His face was wet from the downpour as she swung her
legs out of bed. She went to the window, putting her toes down
first and making a minimum of sound. She pulled the curtains away
and tried to lift the window.

The thing was sticky in the guides.
She bent low, put her back into it and got a good grip.

She bit her lip. It made a groaning
sound. She shoved the thing up as high as she could get and then
stood back, keeping the window up with her left hand as Braden
clambered up and over, dripping a trail of water and grinning like
a drunken idiot who has just won the lottery after a lifetime of
total mediocrity.

Her eyes slid to the window. Braden
nodded, and took over. He eased it down until it was up just enough
to get his fingers out from under it. She looked around, and
settled on a rolled-up magazine to keep the window from dropping
the last bit. He stuck it under and gave a small push on the top of
the frame. He pulled the curtains tightly closed. They billowed
slightly in place from the remaining air flow.

Putting a finger to his lips for
silence, he pointed at the bed and so Heather gratefully retreated
someplace warm.

Sitting with knees up and a blanket
over her legs, she watched as Braden took off his ball cap and
opened his jacket. The silence of the room was all too loud now.
What in the hell was he thinking?

Yet the thoughts of having
sex silently, which
perhaps
might not be truly impossible, stirred her and
she wondered if Braden was some kind of a genius. The last three
months had been sheer hell. Her groin throbbed at the thought of
sex. The first week here, had brought on a kind of desolation of
the spirit. She had been struggling with it. He stood at the end of
her bed, looking down in total seriousness. His initial smile had
vanished.

She licked her lips and watched his
eyes, breathing deeply in anticipation.

He came over and sat down on a small
chair she used for dressing. He reached into his side jacket pocket
and pulled out what looked like a sandwich bag. She wondered if he
had condoms in there. The notion of a snack or something seemed out
of odds with what was happening…

He opened the top and proffered a note
in her direction.

“
Read it.” The words were
barely perceptible, but she flinched from the unthinkable
possibility that one of the other sisters might wake up in the next
room or across the hall.

His eyes traveled the walls and the
layout. He held a small flashlight, with his elbow propped up by
the night table, as she opened it up and began to read.

#

Heather folded the note as Braden
unscrewed the cap from a silver flask. Their eyes met and they
smiled. His light lay on the table, pointed at the interior wall,
throwing rings of light and shadow from its lens. He raised the
flask and had a quick nip, and saluted her with a gesture. She put
the note down and took the brandy. Tipping it back, she sucked back
an ounce or two, trying not to cough and gag. It was strong stuff.
The fumes burnt in her nostrils. She blinked, waving them away. She
would need a little courage for this.

Braden leaned in close.

“
Heather. My darling
Heather. I love you so very much. Please trust me, and try not to
make any noise.”

The same as in the note more or less,
but the shock of his words shot through her. Her eyes darted left
and right, listening intently. The big place was as quiet as it was
before…the rain, of course, and the wind. The odds were that no one
could have heard, as low and quiet as his tone was. The thumping in
her chest was the worst noise in the room.

“
It’s okay.” She bit her
lip and offered the flask, but he waved it away, indicating that
she should take another drink.

Repressing a giggle, she complied,
this time downing a half a mouthful and then firmly screwing the
top back on. She set it aside on the small night table between
beside the note and baggie.

Braden rose. He took out the small
remainder of a roll of grey duct tape from a side pocket. Her eyes
followed him as he pulled the blanket away and then bending over,
pulled her pajamas and her legs out straight. He smoothed the
fabric and wrapped it around her legs. He gave an inquiring look,
and she nodded happily. She licked her lips and watched him,
totally calm and prepared for whatever came next.

She put a hand over her mouth to
stifle her snicker.

This was so exciting…how daring of
Braden to come here in the night…he must have used the fire escape.
God, the guts it must have taken. What nerve the man had. Delicious
warmth spread out from her stomach, and all through her middle.
Something mysterious smoldered, bursting forth into flames deep
inside of her. He gave a jerk of the head. With her elbows, she
worked her way down and out flat. He gave another tug on her long
cotton pajama top. Curiosity built inside her. He wasn’t stripping
her off. She’d just caught on.

He took her wrists in his big left
hand and thoughtfully pulled a bandanna from his pocket. Putting it
around her wrists, he taped them firmly together and now she was
well and truly in for it. Her heart pounded in anticipation as
Braden came in for a long and sweltering kiss, their breath the
only sound. His aftershave was tangy and sharp in her
nostrils.

Tearing off one final short piece of
tape, Braden rubbed the tip of his nose on hers.

“
I love you,
Heather.”

“
I love you too, Braden.”
Her voice was surprisingly strong and loud, yet she felt all warm
and comfortable, even sleepy now that the initial shock had worn
off.

His eyes shifted and they both
listened again, hearts palpitating.

He gently put the tape over her mouth,
as her eyes blazed into his.

Imagine him climbing up those old iron
rungs in the rain, in the middle of the night, just to be with
her.

A tear welled up in her eye as he
stood looking at her for a moment. Tearing himself away, still
steaming from the rain, he turned and got busy.

With her head tilted slightly to the
left, she was breathing calmly through her nose as he pulled out a
couple of drawers on her dresser. Her pulse began to rise at this
mystery. Taking a green plastic garbage bag out of another pocket,
he began packing some of her things. A bolt of pure terror hit
Heather. Her pulse shot up and she twitched against the restraints.
She mustn’t fall off the bed. It was too much for her, and she
slumped in physical resignation, drained by the fear and the
knowledge of her predicament. She struggled with the panic. She had
no idea of what came next, but they loved each other. She loved
Braden so much…he was putting her things in the bag. Anything she
could do would make noise…she couldn’t make any noise.