CHAPTER SEVEN
"Oh, God." Paige drew her knees up to her chest. "But shouldn't we try to
escape anyway? We can't just sit here and wait to die. I want to see Ralph
again. . .the rest of the team. . ."
"I do, too," he said before shaking his head. "No, they would be too vigilant
now. The odds of being recaptured are too high. The optimal time for escape
would be about eight to twelve hours before the deadline. Stress and fatigue
set in by then, attentiveness begins to relax. As the deadline nears, the
odds of successful escape also decrease when preparations for the end game
begin. And there are more of them than the ones we saw. I would estimate
at least a hundred."
"That's not what I want to hear, Walter," she said, seemingly unimpressed
by his barrage of facts. "You're positive we're trapped in here?"
"Unless I'm missing something. . ." Fumbling with the zip-tie around his
wrists, he forced it through its eyelet backward, breaking off the little
catch which held it in place. He brought his hands forward, the broken tie
dangling from his right arm.
Paige stared at him in amazement. "How did you do that?" she wanted to know.
"I took a seminar on how to escape from various types of restraints, ropes,
duct tape, handcuffs, zip-ties. It was very informative." He tentatively
reached his hands toward her. "Let me do you. . ." he began before trailing
off when he heard what he had said. He knew enough slang to know it had been
inappropriate.
Her cheeks turned pink. "It's okay, Walter," she said. "I know what you mean."
She scooted forward so her wrists were accessible. As he maneuvered her restraint,
his fingers accidentally grazed her bottom and he heard her gasp as a shock
of lust shot through him. Taking a deep breath to clear his head, he focused
on freeing her, which he accomplished in a matter of seconds.
"Can you show me how?" she asked, rubbing at the indentations the ties had
left on her skin. She straightened out her legs, displaying her still secured
ankles
"Sure."
Once their legs were unbound, Walter got up and started walking around, putting
his hands on the walls.
"Now what are you doing?" He could hear the exasperation in her voice, tinged
with a bit of fear.
"Looking for a secret panel, a trap door," he replied as he knelt down on
the floor, feeling the tiles to see if any were loose. He couldn't reach
the ceiling without jumping, as it was two feet higher than his six foot
frame. Standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, he
assessed every square inch of the white plaster above his head.
"Nothing." He flopped back down on the musty mattress.
"Did you really expect to find anything?"
"The odds were slim," he conceded. "I had to make sure." Tipping his head
back against the wall, he closed his eyes. Think. They couldn't just be stuck
in here, with no means of escape, with death awaiting them at the end. He
was missing something. He had to be. Nothing was impossible.
"They'll check on us from time to time," he said. "Probably in four or six
hour intervals."
"If they're just going to kill us," she said a bit hysterically, "why would
they bother?"
"Empathy," replied Walter. "The need to treat us as human beings even though
they plan to kill us. It's illogical, of course."
"Only to someone with no empathy." Paige sighed. "I thought you had evolved
more than that."
"I understand the concept, just not the reasoning behind it." He stared at
the door. "That's the only way in or out. If we could come up with a plan
to ambush them, I could. . ."
"I swear to God, Walter O'Brien, if you're thinking of sacrificing yourself
for my sake. . .for the ‘greater good', I'll kill you myself."
Dammit. "No, of course not." Technically, it wasn't a lie. . .now.
She went on as if he hadn't said anything. "I'm not Ralph's only parent,
you know. Drew is perfectly capable of raising of his own son. Having him
stay with us this week has been really great."
Walter closed his eyes. So it was true. She and her ex were getting back
together. A sharp pain slashed through him as thoughts filled his mind of
the flaky ballplayer trying to comprehend what raising Ralph would entail,
of Paige and Drew. . . On top of what had already occurred that day, it was
too much to for him to process.
"Drew? Take care of Ralph?" he lashed out. "He'll end up like Sylvester,
running away from home at fourteen and suicidal by sixteen. Or like Happy,
angry at the world. Or Toby. . .
"Or like you? A human robot? Incapable of feeling emotions?" Paige's voice
cracked and he could tell without looking she was crying.
"Oh dammit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. . ."
"You don't say things you don't mean, remember?"
"Okay, well. . ." He sighed heavily. "It's. . . It's none of my business
if you get back together with. . . Drew. It's your choice and. .."
"What are you talking about? I'm not getting back to together with Drew."
She stared at him with a puzzled expression. "Why would you even think that?"
"You invited him to stay with you. You had a great time with him." He gulped
nervously as he gazed blankly at the pattern of the fabric covering the mattress.
"I. . .I saw the pills, Paige. I know what they're for."
"Walter, for a genius, you can be pretty stupid." He glanced up at her when
he heard her laugh. Tears still lingered on her cheeks and he hated himself
for putting them there. "You think I'm sleeping with Drew based on such flimsy
evidence?" She sighed impatiently. "I invited Drew to stay because it's easier
for him to spend more time with Ralph instead of commuting back and forth
between the condo and a motel. Yes, he's the father of my son. But that's
all he is to me. Any love I ever felt for him died long ago."
Then it was her turn to stare at the mattress. "The pills," she said. "After
I had Ralph, my cycle became irregular, so my doctor prescribed them. I've
taken them on and off for years, whenever I could afford them. Like ever
since I started working for Scorpion."
Her explanation filled him with relief. "So they ‘re not for. . ."
"No. And anyway, what does it matter?" she asked, glancing up at him. "We're
going to die. I'm not going to be able to get back together with anyone even
if I wanted to. I wonder what time it is," she said, changing the morbid
subject.
He flicked his right wrist, which was bare. "They took our watches," he reminded
her unnecessarily.
"It seems like we've been here for hours."
"Vierordt's law," stated Walter. Seeing her blank expression, he explained,
"It's a matter of time perception; short time intervals are usually overestimated,
longer time intervals underestimated."
"Oh, so like the saying ‘Time flies when you're having fun'?" She smiled
then frowned. "Except this is the exact opposite of fun. We've probably only
been here twenty minutes. So what are we going to do for the next twenty-three
hours and forty minutes?"
"Find a way out. . ." He held up his hands as she started to protest. "That
doesn't involve the greater good," he finished.
She nodded and he felt the tension leave his body as she believed his lie.
There was only one way out and it involved invoking the greater good. He
would be damned if he would let anything happen to her if he could prevent
it. And if it was at the expense of his own life, so be it.