The Rules for Breaking Read online

  “Look, I’ve got some questions. Did the guy in the ski mask ask about your grandfather or anything about his work?”

  He shakes his head. “No. He barely talks to me. He only comes in once a day to bring me more food and change out the bucket.”

  “Bucket?”

  His eye wanders off to the side. “Yeah, you know. The bucket you use the bathroom in.”

  Oh, man. That’s disgusting.

  “We have a bathroom in here. You don’t?”

  “No! I’ve been going in that bucket for days,” he says. “You have a regular toilet? This sucks.” I feel the vibration when he hits his side of the wall and a small amount of plaster dust falls on my newly clean hair.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  As his head drops down out of sight, Noah mumbles something.

  “You have to talk through the hole or I can’t hear you.”

  His head pops back up. “I’m not sure. I think four days.”

  I’m pretty sure this is our second day. If he’s been here for four days, then Thomas got him about a day or so before he came for us.

  “Do you remember the ride here? Or how long it took you?” Maybe if it didn’t take long, that means we’re in Texas somewhere.

  “No, I was knocked out. I barely remember leaving my house. It was late and I was coming home from a friend’s house. I felt something prick me, like a shot, then I woke up here.”

  There’s no way for me to know how long Ethan and I were out, but we still spent a lot of time awake in that van. If Noah was knocked out for his entire ride, then we have to be closer to El Paso than Arkansas.

  Oh God, what if we’re in Mexico? That would make escaping that much harder.

  “Noah, do you have any idea where we are?”

  “No.”

  Noah and I talk a little longer. He asks about us, but I keep him in the dark about who Thomas is and how I know him. There’s no reason to scare him any more than necessary.

  The lock turns again and a squeaky-clean Teeny bursts into the room. Thomas doesn’t come in, just closes and locks the door again.

  “That was the best shower I’ve ever had,” Teeny says as she drops back down on the mattress.

  Noah wants to keep talking—I’m sure he’s bored out of his mind—but I can’t sit here and do nothing.

  I walk to the shuttered window and pull on the padlock but it won’t open. Maybe if I had something to beat it with, it might bust loose.

  The sun is fading fast and the light from the sconce doesn’t do much to chase the darkness from the room. Teeny’s underneath the light, staring at the bundle of envelopes like she can pry them open with her mind alone.

  “Where do you think we are, like a house or something?” Teeny asks.

  “I don’t think it’s a house.” Aside from the occasional scratching noises that scamper across the ceiling, it’s way too quiet. The place feels big. And empty.

  I run my hands along the dilapidated wall. There are bits of old wallpaper still attached in places that have yellowed with time and the old light fixture looks rusted in places. This room is really old…and forgotten. What is this place? Looking back at the shutters, they seem much newer than anything else in the room, especially with the shiny brass lock and hinges.

  “Do you think this was that girl’s room? Why would she hide her things in a box in the wall?”

  I listen to her with half an ear. If I can pry off one of the hinges, I can probably get one of the shutters off and see outside.

  “And that boy in the other room—does that mean Agent Williams ratted us out?” Teeny asks in a whisper, even though there’s no way Noah can hear anything we say unless we talk directly through the hole.

  “I don’t know. If he did, wouldn’t the kid be back with his family by now?”

  Teeny’s quiet for a few minutes then squeals, “I got the group of letters unstuck from each other without ripping them apart. There are five of them!”

  “Can you make out the address on any of the others?”

  “They all say the same thing except one. It has an X through Henry’s name and then some fancy writing off to the side.” Teeny leans in close, eyes squinting, and reads, “‘Return to Francesca DuBois, Ursuline’—and then two words I can’t pronounce. V-i-e-u-x C-a-r-r-e and then there’s that little mark on top of the last e.”

  I stop working on the shutters and turn to Teeny. “Vieux Carré?”

  Teeny shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Do you know what that is?”

  I sink to the floor. “Yes. It’s what they used to call New Orleans when it was first settled. The French Quarter actually. It’s written on all that touristy stuff back in Natchitoches and I asked Ethan one day what it meant.” I glance around the room. “Teeny, we’re only about an hour from where Mom is.”

  Teeny’s head pops up. “How far are we from Dad?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure what part of Arkansas we were in, but it’s at least five or six hours away.”

  Teeny goes back to the letters and I go back to the window. My mind spins, trying to absorb all of this. Even if we get out of here, what do we do about Mateo? I probably shouldn’t have asked what he does to his victims because my mind has been running with horrible thoughts of burning flesh and melting skin ever since Thomas said the word brutal.

  I work on the window until the room is almost dark, using a splintered piece of wood to pry at the hinges. Teeny has positioned herself underneath the small light and her fingers are delicately trying to pry one of the letters from the envelope. It’s slow work for us both. If this was Francesca’s room, I feel a little sorry for her, and I wonder if it felt like a prison for her as well.

  Noah called for me a few times but I told him to get working on his window. It won’t hurt to keep him busy either.

  What may be the hardest thing about being stuck in this room is not knowing how much time has passed. Is it midnight yet? Or three in the morning? The time thing is really starting to mess with me.

  Teeny finally falls asleep and I haven’t heard from Noah in a while. I’m determined to get these shutters open and look outside. I get as far away from the window as I can, then barrel toward them.

  A loud thump vibrates through the room the second I hit the shutters, then I fall back on my butt.

  The shutters hold firm, but a searing pain radiates down my arm. I wait a moment to see if I’ve alerted anyone, but the room stays eerily quiet.

  One more try. I massage my sore arm, wincing. If I’m going to do this, I have to ignore the pain. This time I crouch like a football player, turn to the side, and drop my shoulder.

  I nail the shutters again, and again nothing but pain. Are there bars behind the shutter that I can’t see?

  “Ugh!”

  I’m so tired, and pissed. And completely done with this. I stomp around the room, muttering to myself.

  I kick the door and pound on the wall before collapsing on the floor, not caring if someone hears me or not.

  Why does everything have to been so damn hard?

  Noah’s big brown eye peeks at me from the hole in the wall, and I crawl to where he is.

  “Anna, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just sick of being in this room,” I answer.

  “Tell me about it. Did you get the hinges off?”

  “No, I need a tool or something. This room looks like it’s going to fall apart around us, but that stupid shutter will still be in place.”

  His eye closes for a long minute. “Do you think he’s gonna let us go?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Noah disappears from the hole, and I’m sorry I had to be so blunt, but I’ve learned that being prepared for the worst possible scenario is sometimes the best way to avoid the worst possible scenario.

  Rules for disa
ppearing

  by Witness Protection prisoner #18A7R04M:

  Be forgettable. No name brand clothes or anything remotely cute….

  New rule by Anna Boyd:

  Be unforgettable and high maintenance. It’s surprising how well this can work for you if done in the right way.

  door pops open and Vader sticks his masked head inside. I’ve been waiting for this moment all morning.

  “Do you need anything?” Vader asks.

  “Yes. I need tampons. And Advil. And possibly a heating pad. And a change of clothes and new underwear.”

  I may not know what he looks like but I know he’s a guy and not a very old one. If there’s anything that freaks a guy out, it’s talking about your period and actually asking for them to buy supplies. A girl’s menstrual cycle is a guy’s kryptonite.

  Even with the mask, I can see the panic in his eyes.

  “I’ll probably need another shower, too.”

  My plan is to get out of this room again and I hope faking a period will do it. I was so focused on taking a shower last time that I completely forgot to scope out that other bathroom for something that could help me. And what are all those papers on the desk? Thomas’s plans? I need to get back to that room.

  He mumbles something I can’t understand and quickly slams the door then turns the lock.

  It doesn’t take as long as I thought it would before Thomas sticks his head back in the room. It’s the first time since we’ve been here that he’s not dressed as a priest.

  “I understand you have some feminine issues this morning.”

  Luckily, I was already in the fetal position on the mattress so I look the part. “I have really bad cramps. I’m going to need a change of clothes and some tampons.”

  “I don’t believe you.” This doesn’t faze him like it did Vader.

  Oh, crap. He’s calling me on this.

  “What do you hope to gain by this?” he asks.

  Staring at him for a few seconds, I try to figure out how to handle this.

  “Look, do you need to see proof?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. Show me you’re just a little bit human.”

  The door shuts and the lock turns.

  “What are you doing now?” Teeny asks.

  “I need to get back to that room with the shower. It’s full of stuff. Maybe something we can use.”

  “I don’t know if that’s the way to get back in there. I think you pissed him off.” She looks a little nervous. “I know what Ethan said, but I’m really worried about this Mateo guy. He wants to kill us. I know Thomas isn’t saying he won’t kill us later but he’s not saying it right now and I think we stay with the guy who is not saying he will kill us.”

  I love Teeny’s ability to whittle this down to the simplest issue, but she doesn’t know about Agent Parker. And she also doesn’t know he will most likely dispose of us just as easily. But I look at her face and that misleading calm still etched all over it and decide I can’t shatter her completely right now.

  “I know, Teeny. I’m more than willing to let Thomas take care of Mateo. But what happens after that? It won’t hurt if we have some way to take care of ourselves, too. I won’t do anything until we both agree to it.” She doesn’t look like she believes me. “Tell me the latest on Francesca. Did you get one of the letters out?” I need to distract her.

  She picks up a single page. “I got the one that was returned to her out but it’s hard to read. The writing is so small. I think it’s written to the guy in the picture, Henry, although the name is smudged pretty bad at the top. And from what I can get it’s really horrible. She’s telling him what happened to her—why she disappeared. She got tricked into getting on the wrong ship in La Rochelle—Les Deux Frères—but she doesn’t know who did it. And she says she’s living in a convent right now. And she gets paraded around in front of these really gross old guys to see if any of them want to marry her. And the other girls are really mean to her. And she’s scared. She’s worried that by the time this letter gets to Henry and he comes to get her it will be weeks and weeks and probably too late.”

  “Weeks? Where does Henry live?”

  She flips the page over. “She’s from France. She got on a boat thinking she was going to England. But she came to the Vieux Carré instead. Maybe he lives in England and that’s who she was going to see.”

  “You said she lived in a convent? If you think this is her room, does that mean we’re in a convent?”

  Teeny shrugs and I stare at the wood beams crossing the ceiling, thinking about Thomas in the priest outfit. For some reason, he’s dressed like a religious person. That would make sense.

  I read the letter for myself—the parts that are legible—and Teeny’s right. It is pretty horrible. When Thomas opens the door, I slide the paper back to Teeny. He’s got a plain white plastic bag and motions for me to follow him. I’m hoping he lets me have the whole room to myself, not just the bathroom.

  When we get to the room, I stop in the middle and hold my hand out for the bag. He passes it to me but doesn’t move.

  “Uh…I need some privacy.”

  He motions to the bathroom but doesn’t say anything. I open the plastic bag, trying to stall for some time. There’s a box of tampons, Advil, a black pair of exercise pants, and a three-pack of panties. Even though I asked for the panties, I’m a little grossed out that Thomas or Vader picked underwear out for me.

  “This is the last errand we’ll be running for you.”

  Great. I’ll have to make the most of my time in this room since I might not make it back in here. With my head turned down like I’m looking in the bag, I eye the room for anything that could be of help.

  The bed…nothing.

  The nightstand…small lamp, book, newspaper. It’s folded and too far away to read what it says.

  The desk…laptop, lots of papers, pens, books, more papers…that’s it.

  Thomas clears his throat, loudly, and I move to the bathroom. There’s no doubt he’s waiting on the other side for me to finish.

  Glancing around the bathroom, there’s just the usual stuff. Nothing that could be a weapon or a tool. I start the water and undress. No sense in wasting this opportunity.

  It was probably overkill asking for all this stuff, but he got everything on my list. Maybe I shouldn’t have used my only favor on this. I wad some wrapper paper from a tampon in the trash can just in case, and then I see it. It’s a wooden handled plunger tucked behind the toilet. Once I pull the rubber part off, I’ve got a pretty thick solid piece of wood, almost like one of the clubs cops use.

  I roll it up in my dirty jeans and smile to myself—I now have a weapon.

  Rules for disappearing

  by Witness Protection prisoner #18A7R04M:

  Don’t be afraid to get down and dirty.

  New rule by Anna Boyd:

  Maybe you should be just a little afraid of this.

  decide it’s best not to tell Teeny about the plunger just yet. She’s been so weird since all this started—barely upset, hardly any tears. I plan on using it to bash the padlock on the shutter door until the damn thing comes off, but I’m going to wait until nighttime. I made a lot of noise last night and no one checked it out, so I’m assuming they can’t hear what’s going on in here from that far down the hall. If I do manage to get out of this building, I don’t want to run into Thomas right outside. I haven’t seen Vader all day, maybe because he’s scared of what I’ll ask for next, or what other female problems I might drop on him.

  I’m so worried about Ethan. Every time my mind drifts to him, my confidence shakes, but then I remember his instructions. Be smart. Get him talking. Find a weapon. God, if I could just talk to him once—see if he’s made any progress.

  Noah is driving me crazy. I really feel bad for h
im, but I can’t sit at that wall and small talk with him all day. I finally convince Teeny to talk to him; he’s closer to her age anyway. She’s sitting on the floor, telling him all about Francesca and the letters. She’s completely obsessed with her and has invented this whole star-crossed-lovers thing between Francesca and Henry. I think she has lost herself in their world so she doesn’t have to think about ours. I can’t hear Noah’s side of the conversation but I’m sure he’ll listen to Teeny talk about a girl who’s been dead for a couple of hundred years all day just to have something to do.

  God, I wish I could talk to Ethan.

  Teeny finally falls asleep not long after the room gets dark, so I dig the plunger out of my jeans. There is a small gap between the shutters and the padlock, just enough to get a small slice of view, but not wide enough to get the thick wooden part in there.

  I stare at the shutters a while. I need to get it open, but it can’t be obvious to Vader and Thomas what I’m doing.

  I whack the lock a few times, but all I manage to accomplish is a lot of noise. Louder than the night before. It’s a miracle I haven’t woken Teeny, but she’s sleeping like the dead right now. I can’t risk them hearing me, so I change tactics. Positioning the stick above the small padlock, I push down with all my weight. The wood creaks, and that’s all I need to keep going. It takes several tries, but the latch from one of the shutter doors finally pops off.

  I want to scream with joy. Instead I do a silent victory dance around the room. I push the small shutters apart and the night opens up in front of me. It’s dark and really quiet. The window is small but there’s a good view of the grounds in front of the building we’re in as well as the buildings across the street.

  There’s some sort of courtyard below my window with maze-like shrubbery. From what I can see in the darkness, it looks beautiful. And far away. We’re at least three stories up and the roof tiles look slick. I debate climbing out of the window. I’m not sure there’s any way down, but maybe I can get to the next window over. If Noah is on one side, Ethan has to be on the other. Unless Thomas lied—which is totally possible.