"You don't negotiate with me, bitch!" The Monster snarls. "Or didn't you learn that the last time we had a little talk?" He hauls me up and shoves me onto the chair again.
I'm crying, and I hate it.
"If you don't tell me what you told the feds, I'll cut you to pieces and do the same to Todd."
"Stay away from him!" I shout, sickened by the image in my head of the last time he hurt Todd. Anger gives me strength, and I shove The Monster away from me and bound to my feet. I reach for the pocket with the gun.
The Monster is faster. A flash of silver crosses my gaze, and the knife bites into my cheek. Startled, I stumble back. He pushes me to the ground and shoves me onto my belly.
"I'm taking no chances with you this time, Claudia," he snaps.
Pinned beneath his weight, I struggle to break free. The sound of duct tape being stripped from its roll rips through the air. My cheek is warm from the wound, the blood pooling beneath me.
The Monster wraps my wrists with the tape and leaves me on the floor.
"I'll burn this place to the ground and when I'm done, you want to know what I'll do to your sweet little Todd?" he growls.
He starts to tell me in such filthy, disgusting detail, I break down and cry at the visions flashing n my mind. As he speaks, The Monster snatches one of the jugs and begins dumping its contents all over the living room. The scent of gasoline fills my nose and helps pull me from the building hysteria.
If I die here, Todd is next. The singular thought forces me to act when I want to lie there weeping until it's finally over.
The Monster is going on about the mess I put him in with the feds. "It's your fault, Claudia!" he shouts at me and approaches once more, shoving his foot into my back to keep me on the ground.
I wait for his fit to end and him to move away before I climb to my knees. One of my many readings since beginning to run was about how to break out of bonds. Duct taped wrists in front of the body - easy. Behind me? I can't get the leverage I need to rip the tape. My eyes dart around for something sharp as The Monster returns to his rants and covers the living room with gas.
Todd's scrapbooking project is under the coffee table. I remember there being scissors, even if I can't see them in the shoebox where he's gathered the disjointed project. With a glance towards The Monster, who is in the kitchen, I shuffle on my knees to the table and push it aside with my shoulder. I can see the scissors in the bottom of the box and lean back awkwardly until my fingers brush the box. With more concentration than I thought myself capable of, I stretch for the scissors and maneuver them around the best I can.