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reborrowing · 1 year ago

Text

a mouse in the basement part 5 /6? (probably 7)

this is a project to prompt me to make sentences for a conlang. here are 2200 words exclusively in English.

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Kíkítok masterpost | AMITB Translations

Someone slips up and David takes the opportunity to make an escape attempt before he runs out of time. word count: ~2200 taglist: @whumpsday (comment/dm if you'd like to be added please) contents: captivity, injury, restraints, manhandling, fear, gun, alcohol, alcohol abuse, assault/violence, threat of death, suicide discussion (no actual suicide occurs/occured), drug mention, eye trauma (definitely non-graphic). I think that’s it. Confrontation Time :)

Time passed slower when David was alone. Kiwi had offered him a brief break where things happened and time had meaning. He knew that the room darkened for a while as the sun set and he had lost track of how many times it happened. As he waited for something to happen again, he fell in and out of sleep at what felt like random intervals to dream of escape and better times. He knew he had fallen asleep several times since Kiwi left, but the kidnapper had yet to bring him breakfast to signal the next morning.

Silent light filtered through the narrow window and David woke up suffocating on an afterimage of his mother beside an empty grave.

How much time had to pass before they assumed he was dead? Before they gave up?

He stood up and paced to get away from the thought. The chain laughed along behind him, reminding him that it was inevitable unless he found a way to do something and get out.

He could imagine all sorts of very cool scenarios in which he overpowered the masked man that held him here, but he was a little too practical to believe in any of them. He was a head shorter than his captor and his fighting experience ranged from getting his nose broken on the playground and being mediocre at Mortal Kombat. He didn’t see either of those holding up too well, even if his unbound hands gave him the advantage of surprise.

The door rattled open and David quickly smoothed the duct tape back over his mouth and held his hands behind his back. A weight settled in his chest as he realized he would have to overpower the stranger now or go back to those chains. He couldn’t work himself free, that had been Kiwi’s doing. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to fight. He couldn’t.

Several bits of metal clattered down the stairs, either spilled change or dropped keys. Most lost their momentum halfway through, but a couple bounced off the sides and clinked onto the cement floor below.

His captor thumped down the stairs and David stiffened and pretended he hadn’t noticed anything strange, instead watching the other man descend. It was a pointless bluff. The man stopped about midway down the stairs to bend down and pick up his scattered belongings. His eyes flashed at David and he retreated, closing the door with a sudden slam.

David stared, not sure if he could believe it. His captor hadn’t spent any time on mind games so far, but…

He waited a little longer, just to be sure the man wasn’t coming back, and crept towards where he heard the uncollected keys fall. He found three, all small and silver, all with mismatched teeth. He could reach two of them.

He couldn’t be that lucky.

His captor wouldn’t have left that key behind.

David forced the first key into the padlock around his ankle and, unsurprisingly, it didn’t fit.

Obviously.

But he couldn’t not try the other one.

His heart skipped when the lock clicked open. He was glad for the duct tape back over his mouth because it kept him silent as he pulled the padlock open and the chain fell to the ground. He rubbed his chafing ankle. He felt like he was breathing helium, he was so light.

He was almost free.

He was still here in the dark, but he didn’t have to be. There was still the kidnapper lurking upstairs, standing between David getting back to his life. But David would be an idiot not to try to get away.

He stood. It took every ounce of willpower not to break into a run. He took a long, slow breath and carefully snuck up the stairs. He waited for several long seconds (at least) at the door, listening for signs of someone on the other side and hearing no one. He tried the door and it opened with a small creak.

Sun filtered through the curtains on a beautiful white back door. David covered his mouth to smother the victorious relief and continued his slow creep forward. Something fell to the floor in the room to his right and David pressed himself against the counter as his heart jumped into his throat. He pulled a knife off the countertop and held it with a white-knuckle grip. He doubted he would be quick enough to use it if it came to that.

David recognized the kidnapper’s voice as he muttered to himself. He was somewhere just on the other side of the wall. The voice didn’t seem to be getting any closer. David held his breath.

There was a loud thud, like someone punching a wall. David moved faster until the kidnapper raised his voice.

“What is wrong with you? Is that all you know how to say?”

David froze.

Kiwi?

He couldn’t leave her with this guy.

Well… he could. The door was right there. And, apology or not, she had already left him behind. A part of David still wasn’t even sure that she was real and not just some strange coping mechanism.

“What were you doing down there? What are you?” the kidnapper demanded.

David skulked back towards the doorway to peek into the next room, just barely leaning past the wall. The living room was nearly as sparse as the kitchen. Everything was centered around an old couch, angled in such a way that the occupant wasn’t faced towards the kitchen, but would be able to see it out of the corner of his eye if he thought to look. In front of the couch was a coffee table, bare except for a quarter-full bottle of whiskey and a small bundle of duct tape.

The man there was unmasked, a large but otherwise generic white man in his early 30’s. It was obviously the brute that had been feeding David in the basement. He slammed a hand down beside the duct tape and it shivered with the same broken squeal Kiwi had made when David had grabbed her.

David’s stomach flipped. He stepped forward and spoke up to demand the stranger let Kiwi go. He did it without thinking, without even bothering to catch what words he was using. His brain didn’t catch up with his mouth until the man’s barely-focused eyes landed on him, making him flinch back towards the kitchen.

“No, no, get back here,” the man said, picking up a pistol. “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

The gun’s safety clicked as the man waved it towards a spot on the carpet on the other side of the table. David opened his mouth to argue, to fight back, and his resistance died when the unsteady barrel found its mark across the room.

“Man, shit. I knew I shoulda counted, I was just…shit. How the hell did you train this thing to steal keys for you? I snapped its leg and it still won’t even sit still for me,” he said.

David’s face twisted in revulsion. His gaze remained fixed on the gun, not even willing to blink, but he could hear Kiwi crying on the table in front of him, apologizing over and over again. He soured over with guilt.

“No, not important,” the man slurred.” Clock’s ticking. I’m supposed to-to—fuck this. You ever had to clean up a mess a client or someone makes? Probably, right? You work hospitality or whatever you call it. Hotels. Customer service is always a bitch.”

The dark barrel wavered in the man’s unsteady hand and retreated towards the edge of the table. It was still ready to fire as he reached over to pour himself another glass. David wondered just how full that bottle had been when the man sat down. He watched intently, trying to gauge how impaired the man was—if he was slow enough that David could grab the gun.

That would still leave him in the same predicament as before. He’d never held a gun. The man might be drunk and slow, but he was big and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to having his weapon stolen. David had survived this long on cooperation, right? He did like the idea of this guy not having a gun, though.

“One of your coworkers has a real rich aunt, you know? Something Kim? They’re close enough to bet she’d give up a good ransom for him, too. Good enough to find someone like me to make him disappear. So I do my job just fine, nice and clean, but she ignores us once my partner gets in touch. Dumb bitch, right? Blocks us once he starts sending pictures even. Except it turns out the client’s a fucking idiot. Pointed me at you.

“Partner says he dealt with the client, sorted out our payout, but I’m still stuck with you. And every day you’re messing, there’s a chance someone finds a clue that points them in the right direction. To me, you know? I’m pretty good, I’m clean, I look normal. I’ve got a day job, all that. But you being here’s…it’s bad. So I need you gone, but I don’t…I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. So,” the man threw back the rest of his drink with a grimace. “Liquid courage. It’s not helping like it’s supposed to.”

The stranger pouted at him, waiting for pity. It was hard to feel sorry for him, what with Kiwi crying and broken on the table, the gun beside her, not to mention days David had spent in the basement or the task at hand. David took a deep breath and put on a sympathetic face anyway, as if he were dealing with an angry guest and not a killer.

“You could let me go. I don’t know where we are. I couldn’t say anything about you except you’re six-foot-something and have brown eyes. You could just dump me off by a bar or something somewhere and I wouldn’t be your problem anymore, y—”

“Nuh. If I thought I could trust you, I wouldn’t have chained you up. That’s not gonna work for me. Partner’s sending someone to collect you tonight, dead or alive. And the connections my guy knows, you’re gonna want to be dead.”

David swallowed.

The other man tilted his head thoughtfully. He slid his glass back onto the table. Kiwi squeaked as it came to a stop just shy of her hip. She was so helpless there, pinned with just a few pieces of tape.

“But maybe you’d be willing to do it yourself?” the man said

David looked down at the table. The man shook his head and laughed, pulling the gun away. David was left to stare at Kiwi. What little of her could be seen beyond the duct tape looked terrible, shaking and soaked with sweat and tears. David squirmed. The man only found her because she was trying to help him.

“I’m not giving you a gun, I’m only so stupid. But you could send you back downstairs, give you a knife. I might have some oxy laying around somewhere too, if you’re afraid of pain. Rat friend stays with me.”

Heat rose in David’s chest and he had to work to keep the snarl off his face. Why keep her? What did she have to do with anything? Just more bad luck?

“I—Maybe I could try a drink first? Liquid courage, like you said?” David said, voice shaking.

The stranger sagged with relief and laughed. He set the gun back down—now on the couch, well out of David’s reach—and went to refill the glass. Acid rose up his throat as he took the drink and thought about his next move.

He wished he hadn’t dropped the knife in the kitchen.

The stranger raised the bottle for a toast. David nodded grimly and waited for the other man to tilt his head back, then threw the only weapon he had left.

He lunged for Kiwi before he knew if the glass landed or not. He hissed his own apologies as he tore the tape off the table with her still caught within it. She squealed and buried her face in his forefinger as he jerked away from the table.

Shattered glass fell to the floor as the stranger stood. David lingered for only a quick half-second to take in what he’d done. He felt sick. The left half of the man’s face was covered with blood. He pawed at his eye with one hand and groped for the pistol with the other. David pressed Kiwi to his chest and ran.

Half-blind and full-drunk, the stranger missed shot after shot, even at point-blank range.

As David threw himself into the kitchen, a bullet finally landed, just kissing his right arm. He stumbled but kept moving as the stranger staggered after him. David thought his heart stopped at least twice while he fumbled with the lock on the back door and the stranger’s silhouette appeared in the corner of his eye.

Another round of shots rang out as David fell through the door and into a bright, early spring afternoon.

Across the street, a gray-haired woman had been unloading a trunk full of groceries. She heard the gunshots and had frozen with several bags hanging off one arm until the sight of a bloodied, filthy man emerged from her neighbor’s yard. She shouted as she made sense of the scene and rushed David from the sunlight into the safety of her home.

#g/t #giant/tiny #why is the first tag to come up for giant 'giant centipedes'???#g/t writing #borrowers #my writing #a mouse in the basement #oc: david #oc: kiwi #egh i'm kinda self conscious about this one bc I don't drink and it feels obvious but Here it Is!#also I think I did have a couple edits on the lost post not on my main copy cest la vie

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