Wincing against the pain, Jack pushed himself back to a sitting position. At least the bleeding had stopped. The prospect of the Black Kings’ arrival spelled doom. From bitter experience, Jack knew these gang members would have no qualms about shooting him no matter what state he was in.
For a few seconds Jack lost total control of himself. Like a child in a temper tantrum he yanked inconsequentially at his shackles. All he managed to do was cut into his wrists and knock over some detergent containers. There was no way he was about to break either the drainpipe or the handcuffs.
After the fit had passed, Jack slumped over and cried. But even that didn’t last long. Wiping his face on his left sleeve, he sighed and sat up.
He knew he had to escape. On his next trip to the bathroom he’d have to try something. It was his only chance, and he didn’t have much time.
Three-quarters of an hour later Terese reappeared in her clothes. She dragged herself to the couch and plopped down. Richard was on the other couch flipping through an old 1950s Life magazine.
“I really don’t feel too good,” Terese admitted. “My headache is still killing me. I feel like I’m coming down with a cold.”
“Me too,” Richard said without looking up.
“I have to use the bathroom again,” Jack called out.
Terese rolled her eyes. “Give me a break!” she said.
No one moved or spoke for five minutes.
“I suppose I can just let loose right here,” Jack said, breaking the silence.
Terese sighed and threw her legs over the side of the couch. “Come on, stalwart warrior,” she said disparagingly to Richard.
They used the same method as before. Terese unlocked the handcuffs while Richard stood poised with the gun.
“Do I really need these handcuffs while I’m in the bathroom?” Jack asked when Terese started to relock them. “Absolutely,” Terese said.
Once inside the bathroom Jack took another rimantadine and a long drink of water. Then, leaving the water running, he stepped on the closed toilet seat, grasped the window trim with both hands, and began to pull.
He increased the pressure to see if the window casing would come loose.
Just then the door opened.
“Get down from there!” Terese snarled.
Jack stepped down from the toilet and cringed. He was afraid that Richard was about to hit him on the head again. Instead Richard just crowded into the bathroom, holding the gun out in front of him trained on Jack’s face. The gun was cocked.
“Just give me a reason to shoot,” he hissed.
For a second no one moved. Then Terese ordered Jack back to the kitchen sink.
“Can’t you think of another place?” Jack said. “I’m getting tired of the view.”
“Don’t push me,” Terese warned.
With the cocked gun just a few feet away, there was nothing Jack could do. In a matter of seconds he was handcuffed to the drainpipe yet again.
A half hour later Terese decided to go out to the store to get some aspirin and some soup. She asked Richard if he wanted anything. He told her to get some ice cream; he thought it might feel good on his sore throat.
After Terese had left, Jack told Richard that he had to go to the bathroom again.
“Yeah, sure,” Richard said without budging from the couch.
“I do,” Jack averred. “I didn’t get to go last time.”
Richard gave a short laugh. “Tough shit,” he said. “It was your own fault.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “It will only take a minute.”
“Listen!” Richard yelled. “If I come in there it will be to crack you over the head again. Understand?”
Jack understood all too well.
Twenty minutes later Jack heard the unmistakable sound of a car approaching along the gravel drive. He felt a rush of adrenaline in his system. Was it the Black Kings? His panic returned, and he stared forlornly at the unbudgeable drainpipe.
The door opened. To Jack’s relief it was Terese. She dropped a bag of groceries on the kitchen table, then retreated to the couch and lay down and closed her eyes. She told Richard to put the groceries away.