Chapter 17

Summer woke up, at least partly, to an uncomfortable feeling in her arm. She was lying on her side with her arm beneath her.

She tried to reposition her arm, but it wouldn’t move. She must have been lying on it for some time, pinching a nerve or restricting blood flow. She was now fully awake. She tried harder to move her arm, but it still wouldn’t move, so she tried to roll onto her back. She couldn’t move at all. Panic set in. She pushed harder to command her body: to move an arm, a finger, a foot - anything. She wasn’t restrained and there was nothing wrong with her senses: she could feel her arm and her ribs pressing against each other. She could feel one ankle resting on the other foot. She simply had no control over her body.

She was terrified. She fought, and fought, trying to overpower her situation. She knew, somehow, that if she could just start moving, it would all break loose. All she needed was one little wiggle or twitch. Just a finger. But she couldn’t.

How long would she be like this? Was it permanent? What if she could never move again, never speak? She struggled as hard as she could. Her body wouldn’t even let her cry.

She heard movement. Her roommate Matisse was getting up. She could help. Maybe if Matisse could just lift Summer’s arm for her, that would be enough to break free. But then the door opened and Matisse was gone. Every moment was a fresh hell. There was no option to relax or wait. Every moment was struggle, and failure, and despair.

The door opened again. Maybe Matisse had brought help? Jennifer could figure it out - or at least get her to a hospital. Someone sat on her bed beside her: she could feel the mattress shift. “You left a piece of yourself behind - inside me.” It was Laurel’s voice. “I’ll be keeping it.” She got up and left.

Knowing that the little bitch had done this to her didn’t reduce the horror. How far would Laurel really go? How far could she go? What the hell had she done?

Matisse came in again, smelling shower clean. Help, maybe? She was getting dressed. Then she left Summer alone again.

There was no acceptance of her fate, only struggle. This was life or death. Her heart and lungs knew it even if the rest of her body was a stringless puppet. Her brain reacted to adrenaline even if her muscles didn’t. Her blood pounded in her ears. Then finally a ray of hope: she moved her thumb. She moved it more. Then her hand. And then she was free. She was covered with sweat and her chest felt like she’d run a marathon. Shaking, she got dressed.

Everyone was acting normal. Nobody knew a thing. Except Laurel. Laurel was on the floor in the living room poking at her laptop, wearing her stupid little girl shorts and T-shirt, oblivious. Summer could rush her, beat the crap out of her and put her in the hospital before the baby could blink. But then, Laurel would have known that. She was sitting suspiciously close to a window. What if Laurel had one of her beasts outside, watching?

Up the ante. Summer fingered the hilt of her knife. One stroke across the throat would end the bitch. But..., if there were a demon around somewhere bound to her, how would it react? Even without a demon, what if Laurel had some sort of contingency? The little bitch said she was keeping a piece of her - what did that mean? What sort of power did Laurel have over her? Her chest tightened and her legs shook when she looked at the meek skinny child. She was afraid.

She needed to figure it out before she dared do anything. Maybe Jennifer would help her.