Whole days passed—or felt like they did—when she didn’t get out of bed. But nor did she sleep. The tiniest of noises kept her awake. She imagined she could hear rats scratching under the bed, but never saw any.

Abbey knew about cam sites. She’d busted her ex-boyfriend on one once. Lee—a stoner creep who didn’t think sending obscene messages to a naked stranger counted as cheating. But Abbey hadn’t given a thought to the woman he had been watching on the screen. Had she been a prisoner too? Was Abbey listed on that same site? Maybe Lee would see her.

She was waiting for the toilet bucket to fill up. When it did, Shannon would have to come in, right? To change it. She would have a chance to escape. He might threaten her with the knife again, but this time she wouldn’t hesitate. She strained over the bucket three times per day, desperate to fill it, careful never to spill a drop.

‘I need a new bathroom bucket,’ she told him, when it was three-quarters full.

‘Fine.’ He pushed some handcuffs though the slot. ‘Cuff yourself to the bed. With both hands behind your back.’

She hesitated.

He reached for the light switch.

‘Okay!’ she said. ‘Okay. I’m doing it.’

She sat down and cuffed her wrists together, the chain behind the leg of the bed. He made her show him how tight the cuffs were. Then he unlocked the door and brought in a new bucket.

Abbey had managed to lift the bed before. She had assumed she would be able to do so again, and slip the chain out from beneath the leg. But with her hands behind her back, she couldn’t lift the frame. It was too heavy, and the angle was wrong.

Shannon had already put down the empty bucket and picked up the full bucket. He was grimacing, revolted by the sloshing fluid inside. It would take another month for her to fill another bucket and get another chance.

Abbey didn’t think she would survive another month.

She lashed out with her foot. Shannon tripped over her and crashed headfirst into the concrete wall. The bucket tipped over and the lid popped off, spilling an ocean of sewage across the floor. Shannon landed in it, facedown, and didn’t get up.

Abbey had watched him put the keys in his pocket. She stretched out her bare foot. She couldn’t reach into his pocket. The opening faced away from her. She curled her toes around the rim of the pocket and pulled, trying to pull down his pants instead. His belt was too tight. But with a sound like popping corn, the stitches snapped. The pocket ripped open and the keys tumbled out, sending ripples across the fetid puddle.

Shannon stirred.