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Evie wanted to wipe her eyes and her snotty nose, but she couldn’t. If she did, the man staring at her might notice her hands weren’t really tied anymore.
Her tears had been real—she was terrified, for herself and Miss Iris—but while Evie made a scene, the elderly woman had loosened the ropes that bound Evie’s wrists. Now what? The house didn’t have a phone, so there was no way to call for help. She could ask to use the bathroom. That got her out of the house, but she’d been to the outhouse once (it wasn’t as stinky as she’d expected) and hadn’t seen any way to escape. It was basically a closet with a poop pit and no back door.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
She wasn’t. She’d shared her chocolate bar with Miss Iris, and they’d given her a piece of peanut butter bread and a glass of water e
