Page 94 of Escape from the Green

Not beaten or killed in the forest.

And, hopefully, he wasn't coming for me.

He would want to.

He would move heaven and Earth - and The Green - to locate me, get me safe, bring me home.

Hopefully he didn't know it was Cass, the Dark fae. Hopefully he figured some other creature got a hold of me. Would be tracking down leads for a while.

Giving me time.

Time for what, I wasn't sure.

I couldn't exactly escape if I was soldered in.

But if there was a chance, I was hoping I would be brave enough to take it.

I'd rather die trying to escape than spend the rest of my long life withering away in a basement.

Alone.

Going half-crazy.

"Does Cass come down here often?"

"Depends on what you consider often. More recently than usual, but maybe every few weeks.

Weeks.

I couldn't last weeks without at least getting to face my kidnapper.

Surely he would need to speak to me, get proof of my existence so he could use it to get Jasper and Cece to come.

But how soon?

Was he in a rush?

Would I be festering away down here in my own filth for weeks or months before he decided it was time to talk to me?

Why else put a shackle on me that would need to be cut off? It would be an inconvenience to go through that each time he wanted to drag me out to use me.

Then again, men like Cass never had to do anything for themselves, so I imagined the thoughts of inconveniences never crossed his mind.

"Stop those gears a'turning," the old woman told me, shaking her head. "Been down here most my life. Not so calmly either as I seem now. If there was a way out, I'd have found it. I was young and pretty once true. Tried even to use that. Flashing my cunt around to the hungry eyes of the guards. Get yourself used, that's for sure, but not free."

I couldn't find a nice way to say I was not the kind of person who would flash around any part of her anatomy for freedom, so I stayed silent, thinking, trying not to let her pessimism ruin my chances of hope.

"It ain't so bad. They feed us most days."

Most days.

"And they keep it clean enough in here. Cass hates the stench of flesh and sweat and shit and piss, so they come in, take care of things every week or so."

Week or so.

I knew she was trying to be helpful, but all she was doing was increasing my doubts about the whole situation, my assurance that I was not going to be able to withstand this situation long term.

"What's your name?" I asked, wanting to change the subject.