The Secret of Zormna Clendar - Julie Steimle (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📗

out of that,” Zormna mimicked back with a snarl at the window. She rolled off the mattress and jerked on the cuffs with a growl. But then she heaved a defeated sigh. There was only one way out, and they knew it better than she did.

Wriggling her wrist in those cuffs again, Zormna pressed her lips together, focusing first of this little challenge.

What had Arden said? Consider your environs. Determine your location. Study your enemy. Assess your resources. Ok. Better get started.

Leaning on the bed pole, she stroked the underside of the mattress. Her fingers bumped across the metal links that held the mattress up. Hopping onto her feet, she kicked the mattress up with one foot and stared at the metal mesh of hooks. Loose and simple. Cheap. Exhaling a sigh, Zormna kicked the mattress back in place and sat down on the corner again.

So. She had that. Her eye flickered back up at the camera. Then she closed one eye. Sighing once more, she closed the other eye. That would also have to be dealt with.

Breathing in, then out, Zormna shifted her shoulders back in meditation pose. She had to think this through.

She was trapped. That was sure. But where she was exactly she didn’t know. Some kind of prison. At this point there was no use screaming. Who would hear her with walls that thick? And who would care, if it was indeed a prison? And was it even near civilization to be heard? As for her enemy, they included idiots, doctors with drugs, and huge men who knew how to strategically wrestle someone into submission. All of them had to be working with those dark men with tranquilizer guns who had overcome her on the street. And they had to be working for or with the FBI.

Fine. She would have to find a way around that. Everyone had their tipping point. She just had to discover theirs.

The question that dug into her mind the most as she sat there, breathing in and out, was why had they captured her? What had changed their tactics? Was it because she had run from the McLennas and was alone? Or was it some other reason? And what did they want from her anyway? Did they know anything real about her? Or just suspicions? And what means would they use to get what they were seeking?

Their basic means were obvious. Kidnapping and drugs—so far. But not forcefully injected, despite their method of capture. They didn’t tie her down after all. Was this a behavioral test then? Was this place not a prison but actually a science lab? They had removed all sensory triggers such as color and comfort from around her. No clocks. The room, except for the damage she had done to it, was sterile. And they had removed everything was familiar to her, including her own belongings.

And what would they find about her if it were a lab?

Zormna chuckled to herself on that one. They’d find a lot of disappointment, that’s what. Because she had nothing—but training.

Well, if it was a lab, and she was the rat, she had to alter their ability to observe their caught specimen. After all, escape was her only goal here.

Zormna opened her eyes and cynically examined the camera in the corner. They could watch her without any interaction. Most likely, they were also recording everything she was doing this very second. Fine. If that was the way it was going to be, she would give them a little more to observe—as a ‘gift’.

Gently scooting closer to the metal post of the bed, Zormna unclenched her fists. They had reddened around her white knuckles. She relaxed, the muscles in her arms going limp. Inhaling and exhaling with rested concentration, she loosened her left hand until it flopped like a dead fish. She easily slipped it out of one cuff. Lifting her right arm, Zormna pulled the handcuff chain out from the end bar, letting it dangle from her wrist for show. Then with a gentle touch of an artist, Zormna slid off the other handcuff.

She held both cuffs in her hands, shooting an impish glance at the camera. Weighing the handcuffs in her palms carefully, she flung them straight at the camera. One of the open ends pierced the lens, shattering the glass. Zormna looked to the door, arms folded across her chest to see who would come.

Sure enough, faces peered in the small window, attempting to see her in the darkness. Their murmurs echoed in the hall, though she could not hear what they were saying. And though Zormna braced for another dramatic, violent entrance, none came.

Eventually the murmurs and mutters moved away from the door, leaving her entirely alone.

What now? She wondered, sitting on the bed. Taking in her environment again, Zormna knew she did not have enough information for an escape—yet.

 

It was hours before the door to her white cell opened again.

Zormna sat up in case she had to defend herself.

Yet instead of large men coming to seize her for some unholy kind of torture, a thirty-something woman with brown hair, about five foot four, entered the room. The woman cautiously glanced at the glass fragments on the ground while carrying in a metal cafeteria tray full of what looked like food. The smell alone was enough to draw her off the bed—well, almost enough. Zormna reactively leaned up to see it. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Corn. Green beans. And one of those cafeteria style fruit cups, along with a dinner roll.  

“I brought your dinner.” The woman lifted the tray a little higher. Her eyes flickered nervously over Zormna’s pale, lean figure, like one who had heard disturbing rumors. The door behind her was open wide enough to see her escape route was guarded. Two of those large men who had seized her before, glared inward. One of them came inside, standing like one of those special ops soldiers on guard duty. A lump in his side pocket showed he was armed. Along with him came a smaller man carrying a broom and dustpan. Zormna frowned.

Then her stomach gurgled. But as her eyes rested on the two men that had followed the woman into the room, Zormna shifted back on the mattress and resumed picking tiny glass pieces out of the bottoms of her feet. The light bulb had speckled the ground father than she had intended and she had unfortunately stepped into it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” The woman with the food set the tray onto the edge of the bed with one of those soft, pleading faces.

Zormna’s stomach would have answered for her—as the aromas were enticingly warm and the food looked decent enough. But her instinct said not to touch any of it.

“Come on, now. It is really good.” The woman spoke to her like a nurse, which kicked out the whole prison theory, and tipped science lab idea on its side. Hospital felt truer. The question was, what kind of hospital was she at? She had a guess.

“You need your strength.” The nurse urged Zormna, yet wisely did not touch her.

Deciding to see how far in the woman was on this scheme, Zormna decided to answer rough: “What for? The food is most likely drugged. I’m not stupid.”

The woman pulled back as if she had been slapped.

Ok... Not the bearing of a hardened government operative. She was definitely just a nurse, probably there on a need-to-know basis. The nurse stared at Zormna, quietly deliberating her next course of action.

In the silence, Zormna heard a sweeping noise. She peered around the woman.

Of course, the man with the broom was sweeping up the broken glass—which wasn’t such a big deal until he reached under the bed to sweep out the last bits of the broken light bulb. He dropped it into the dustpan. Then he dragged out the busted light fixture by the frayed lamp cord. The metal scraped across the concrete floor.

Panicked, Zormna hopped off the bed at once.

“Stop that!” She grabbed the dustpan from him and threw it to the floor.

He jumped back, dropping the cone lamp. As it clanged against the metal of the dustpan, he held up the broom to hold Zormna off. He yelped. “I have to sweep up the broken glass!”

Before he could get there, Zormna kicked up the food tray of food, dropped the dustpan, and stomped on the handle. The lamp flipped up and she caught it. The mashed potatoes smeared under the tray and most of the rest had splattered over one wall. The fruit was a mess all over in a psychedelic spray. It was almost like art.

“Your lunch!” The nurse rose in protest.

The large guard moved in, his hand digging into his pocket for something.

“Maybe I like broken glass!” Zormna snapped back, throwing the lamp back underneath the bed then kicking out at the guard before he could pull out his weapon. He stumbled back, eyes widening.

“But you’re supposed to…” the nurse gasped, staring at the mess on the floor. “I will just have to get another tray of food.”

“Don’t bother.” Zormna stepped backward. She kicked the lamp entirely under the bed with a dirty look for the woman. “I don’t trust you. And I will not be eating anything you people serve.”

“Oh, for heaven sakes…” the woman muttered. Yet she stepped back, seeing that Zormna would hurt her.

The door cracked open. Zormna’s eyes went straight to it. She leapt for the door, pushing off the corner of the bed for leverage. She rammed a flying kick into the gut of the man with the broom then vaulted over the other man’s shoulders to get out.

The nurse tumbled into the wall, clutching it for safety.

But those entering the room brought mild electric tasers in hand. They made contact. The shock rippled through Zormna’s muscles, and she collapsed. Unable to move for a few seconds, it gave the guard plenty of time to shove her back into the room. The three who had been in with her evacuated in the same time. The fact that they had not shot her with tranquilizer darts or used that moment to tie her up and haul her into some room for whatever nefarious scheme surprised her.

Aching, Zormna looked up with only a second to get onto her feet. Unfortunately, her feet did not obey in time. The guard door closed before she could reach it. She threw herself at the steel and pounded on it with her fists. “You can’t keep me here! This is kidnapping!”

She kicked the door with a sob. Why were they doing it this way? What was their purpose? She punched the door once more as her voice broke in one last curse. Swearing at the ground, Zormna slumped against it then slid to the floor. Trying to swallow the ache that tightened in her chest and burned in her eyes, despair wrapped around her again. Zormna’s stomach emitted another growl then rolled into painful gurgles.

She looked toward the spilled food. It had to be some kind of psychological game. But the purpose eluded her.

  

Gazing at the piles of goop with a frown, she rose, tiptoeing back to the bed. Dragging the cone lamp from underneath, she yanked the cord from off the fixture. That, she chucked on the mattress with the desire just to break something. She threw the cone lamp cover at the wall and dropped her body onto the mattress with a sulk, wrapping the wire around her hand.

 

The people in that place endeavored to feed her three more times. Each time came a different nurse. One was male. All of them attempted various forms of persuasion, especially appealing to her hunger. But Zormna dumped every tray of food onto the floor. And she chased out anyone who attempted to clean up the mess. By the evening, there was a path between the piles of rejected food, marked by blood streaks from Zormna’s glass-cut feet.

Most of the day, though Zormna sat cross-legged on the bed, glaring