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   Chapter 24 No.24

The Book of Deacon By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 4991

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:03

As painful as its appearance had been, the shard's removal was doubly so. With the utmost of care, she pulled the piece of wood through the tear in the blanket, out of her shoulder, and to a point just above the topmost of her bindings. A knife would have freed her with a few slices, but the jagged splinter tore only a few fibers of the rope at a time. After an eternity of patient scraping, the rope held by a tiny strand. Myranda strained at the weakened rope and it snapped. The other coils loosened and she was finally free of the chair.

The injured arm was the first to reach the floor, and she had to roll quickly off of it. All of that time bound in the same position made standing a difficult task. When she was on her feet, she looked around her and strained her ears. She was alone. Whoever had tied her up had left and all of the noise had failed to prompt a return. A sharp throbbing in her arm drew her attention. It was bleeding fairly heavily. Convinced that she was safe from her captor, at least for the moment, she decided to care for the wound. The blanket was ruined; it might as well serve one last purpose. She tore it into strips and used it to bandage the afflicted limb. The blood from the gash had seeped through her shirt and the blanket, pooling on the floor. Looking at it intensified the dizziness that its loss had caused.

With the most pressing of her concerns attended to, Myranda set her mind to the task of escaping. She assessed the situation. Of course

w. With nothing securing it the wooden grapple fell to the ground outside, dragging the precious rope along with it. All that was left behind was a useless length of rope no longer than her arm. By the time she looked back to find the person who had thwarted her escape, the window was empty.

"Who are you!? What have I done!? Why are you holding me here!?" Myranda cried out to her captor. Silence was her answer.

Beaten, Myranda stood the fallen chair upright and sat down, no more free now than when the ropes had bound her, and with a rapidly stiffening right arm to remind her of her defeat. She surveyed her prison once more. Tiny windows topped the sloping roof on either side, they themselves topped by a smaller roof. Above the entrance was a small room that once held the church bell. The hole that had been made for the bell pull to hang through now showed a few dry, rotted strands. A plank with some stray rungs dangling from it was all that remained of a maintenance ladder.

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