Bob reviewed his limited choices. If he somehow managed to sever the cable, he could try to break out before Derrick noticed he was gone. Except the window was painted shut. Even if he got outside, hiking back to civilization would be slow going, especially since he would have to avoid roads if he wanted to avoid Derrick. And it would be dark soon. Plus his ankles were chained together, and he didn’t have a coat or even shoes. If he was lucky, he would lose toes. If he wasn’t, he would lose his life.

Neither option seemed ideal.

Bob found it oddly soothing to be typing the same words, to be slowly walking to nowhere. He tapped the up arrow on the treadmill and the display changed from .8 to .9. So did that mean he was walking less than a mile an hour? He pushed the button a few more times until it read 1.3. The brisker pace seemed to let his thoughts move faster. It was also helping him warm up.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Bob sniffed. He could smell himself. The rancid stench of terror was now overlaid with the healthier sweat of a man working out. These days, he didn’t go to the gym. Too many people wanted to get his advice about the book they were secretly writing (or more often, secretly only thinking about writing) or tell him they thought a particular actor on the TV show was ill-suited to the part. He had an exercise bike at home but never used it.

He reached the end of the page, pulled it free, and rolled in a new one. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

If only he wrote thrillers! Then he would already have figured out how to get out of here. An intimate familiarity with medieval weaponry was no help in this situation.

Derrick must have a phone. Everyone did these days. Could he somehow distract him and pilfer it? Then he could call 911, and they would work their magic and figure out where he was besides some cabin near Mount Hood.

Only how could he get the phone without Derrick noticing?

That left physical confrontation. Bob had never been in a fight of any kind. And while Derrick was scrawny, he was far younger and more agile than Bob. Bob wasn’t young, mobile, or particularly strong. But he was stubborn, with more than his fair share of guile.

Maybe he could hit Derrick with something. But what? The room didn’t offer a lot of choices. The fruit bowl wasn’t heavy enough. He was too squeamish to use the half-full chamber pot. That left the typewriter. He hit the treadmill’s stop button.