Read Escape from Bondage for Free Online Page A

kept.
    Loosening his grip, he straightened
up, and with a quick gesture, made her move out from the sink a bit
and stand up tall. Then he put his right arm under hers, and around
her shoulders and then he bent. The other arm went behind her legs,
as far down as he could reach, just behind the knees, and then he
lifted her bodily and carried her off into the basement, with
Heather gasping and giggling as she realized that there were more
pleasant surprises in store.
    A glimpse of the clock on the stove
showed it to be six-oh-seven p.m. on an otherwise quiet Saturday
night.
     
    #
     
    On the ground floor was a small
library, with its own fireplace. All four walls were ceiling-high
with bookshelves, except for a couple of tall windows and above the
door.
    In a nook was a desk, and Sister
Heather had already noted the PC on her first tour of the place.
There were a couple of laptops around as well. Someone else had
already sort of made them their personal property, and there were
apparently no other jacks except for those already installed in
three or four rooms of the house. Here at least, she could have
access to the internet, if she dared use it.
    Arriving back from school early on
Wednesday evening, she went straight to the reading room on an off
chance. Christmas was coming and a lot of activity seemed to
revolve around the kitchen and the lounge area.
    A quick look confirmed the place was
empty. Better, it had a lock on the inside of the door and the
machine hummed softly, already turned on and with the desktop blank
from being left unattended. She quietly locked the door. Shaking
the mouse, the screen lit up and she sat down. She was still in her
coat, which she unbuttoned, listening to the sounds of cheerful
people on the other side of the rear wall.
    That must be the kitchen.
    With a deep breath of resolution, she
began searching the internet for information. Finding what she
needed with a few key words, she quickly sent some materials
through to the printer. This was the danger time, but it shouldn’t
take long. She stood and went over to it, checking to make sure the
form was legible and not tiny on the page or anything. Her pages
looked good.
    Going back to the computer, the
original source of all her troubles and all of her exaltation as a
woman, she shut the website down, deleted the browsing history, and
pondered whether to shut it off but decided not to in case someone
else had a project going.
    Putting the folded papers into the
back of a big hardcover from the shelf by the door, one on
Byzantine mosaics and other ecclesiastical art forms, she quietly
left the library and headed up the back stairs to her
room.
    The smell of food coming up from below
tormented her as she washed and freshened up in the austere fashion
she had employed for over twenty years.
    She had no choice but to go down for
supper, and yet on the other side of that window freedom
beckoned.
     
    #
     
    Dinner was lighter in mood, as the
festive season took off and everyone had something to say except
her. It didn’t help, and their apparent happiness threw her down
into a well of self-pity however so briefly. She no longer felt
like a part of it.
    After what seemed like forever, she
excused herself and went up to her room. She changed into her
pajamas, and sat in a chair beside a good desk lamp. She wasn’t
really fooling herself that she was reading it as she idly flipped
pages. At one time the book would have fascinated her.
    Now it was merely symbolic.
    The papers from the back of the book
were safely in her top drawer. She had plenty of time.
    She kept looking at her watch…darkness
came early in December. Every minute dragged.
    Sister Heather got a good black pen
out of her teaching bag, and put the papers on top of her small
work desk.
    She adjusted the hooded desk lamp.
Filling out her name, age, current address, presumably this
address, all that was easy enough. Signing and dating the thing
took but a moment.
    Hesitating over the box