Chapter 42 Chapter Forty-One

Catherine Baker-Martin in the hideous darkness below.She closed her eyes, and the darkness surged behind her eyelids.She kept waking up from her extremely short sleep.In her sleep she dreamed that darkness came upon her.The darkness waited for an opportunity, drilled into her nostrils, poured into her ears, and the wet fingers of darkness penetrated all over her body.She covered her mouth and nose with one hand, covered her vagina with the other, and squeezed her hips. She turned one ear to the mattress, and the other had to be sacrificed, letting the darkness invade.A voice followed the darkness, and her body twitched, waking up.A busy voice she was familiar with was a sewing machine.The speed is changing.Slow, then fast again.

The light was on in the basement, above—she could see a faint yellow glow high above her head, with the little trap opening in the cover open.The poodle barked a few times, and the weird voice spoke to it, muffled and slurred. sewing.It's not a good place to sew down here!Sewing belongs to the light.The sunny sewing room of Catherine's childhood flashed through her mind, so delightful! ...the housekeeper, dear Bi-Love, sat at the sewing machine...her kitten blinked at the fluttering curtains. All illusions were driven away by the voice, which spoke to the poodle in an overly fond tone.

"Put that down, honey, you'll get needles, and where are we going? I'm about to finish. Yes, sweetheart. You chew a piece when we're done, Chew a piece of it, beep beep beep beep." Catherine didn't know how long she had been locked up.She knew she had washed herself twice—the last time she had stood in the light, hoping he could look at her body, but the light was so harsh that she couldn't tell if he was looking down at her from behind the light.Catherine Baker Martin's naked body is striking, the size of a girl and a half in every direction" She knows that. She wants him to see her naked body. She wants to get out of this hole. Just get close enough to him As long as you can fight him, you can fight him—she said to herself silently over and over again as she washed her body. Her food was running low, and she knew it was best to do it while she still had strength. Knows she will fight him, and she knows she can fight. Wouldn't it be better to fight him first, and then keep fighting him as many times as he can, until he's exhausted? She knows, as long as she can get her legs around him It's almost a second and a half to send him to West University. Can I take it? Of course I can take it, you fucking! Balls and eyes, balls and eyes, balls and eyes. But. She washes After that, I put on a new paratrooper uniform, but there was no sound at all. There was no response to her request, and the bath bucket was dangling up by a slender rope, and her sanitary toilet was replaced.

She waited now, hours passed, listening to the sewing machine.She didn't go outside to call him.Finally, after maybe a thousand breaths, she heard him come up the stairs, talking to the dog, saying something like "I'll have breakfast when I get back." He didn't turn off the light in the basement, which he sometimes did . There were paws and footsteps on the kitchen floor above.The dog was whining and whining.She believed her captors were going out.Sometimes he goes away for a long time. After a few breaths, the puppy was still milling around in the kitchen above, whining, knocking something down on the floor with a clatter, and bumping something in the floor with a clatter.Maybe it was his bowl. He scratched and scratched. It was barking again, short and high-pitched, this time not as clearly as it had been in the kitchen above her, because the pup had out of the kitchen. It pushed open the door with its snout, and went down to the basement to chase mice: it had done this before when he was out.

In the darkness below, Catherine Martin groped under her cushions.She touched the chicken bone and sniffed it.It is not easy not to eat the few shreds of meat and cartilage on the top.She put the bone in her mouth to keep it warm.She rose now, swaying a little in the dizzying darkness.She was with her in the steep pit except her futon, the paratroop suit she was wearing, the plastic sanitary commode, and the slender toilet that stretched up toward the pale yellow light. cotton rope. As long as her mind was clear, she was thinking about it every interval.Catherine stretched her hand up as far as she could, and she clung tightly to the rope.Is it a jerk, or a slow pull?She gasped for breath countless times thinking about it.Still pulling steadily little by little.

The length of the cotton rope sticking out was longer than she estimated.Reaching as high as she could, she regained hold of the rope and pulled, swinging her arms from side to side, hoping the rope was slowly fraying where it passed the edge of the wood at the opening above her head.She grinds until her shoulders ache.She pulled, and the rope was still extended.Now there is no extension, no more extension.Clear on high.Poof, the rope fell down and covered her face in circles. She was squatting on the ground with the rope falling over her head and shoulders; the hole above her head was so high that the light was too low to see the pile of ropes on her body.She knew how much rope was pulled down.Can't be entangled together!Measuring with her forearm, she carefully lowered the rope to the ground, loop by loop.She counted to fourteen arms long.The rope broke at the mouth of the well.

Her tying the chicken bones with a few shreds of meat on the string connecting them with the toilet is now the more difficult part. Dry carefully.Her mental state is as if a person has encountered bad weather, like a person who has to take care of his own life on a small boat under bad weather conditions. She tied the frayed end of the rope around her wrist, and tightened the knot between her teeth. She stood as far away from the rope as possible.She grabbed the handle of the toilet bucket, made a wide circle, and threw the bucket straight towards the dim light above her head.The plastic bucket didn't push the opening, hit the underside of the lid and fell back, hitting her face and shoulders, and the puppy barked even louder.

Slowly she straightened the rope again, threw it once, and threw it again.When she threw it for the third time, the toilet fell and hit her severed finger, and she had to lean against the sloping wall to breathe until the nausea stopped.When throwing it for the fourth time, the bucket still swelled and hit her, but the fifth time it didn't, the bucket went out.The bucket was somewhere on the wooden manhole cover next to the opening.How far is it from the hole?hold on.Gently, she pulled.She jerked the rope to hear the clunk of the bucket handle on the wood above her. The puppy barked louder.

She couldn't pull the bucket over the edge of the hole, but she had to pull it closer to the hole.She drew the bucket closer to the hole. The puppy was walking among mirrors and mannequins in a room not far from the basement.Sniff for threads and debris under the sewing machine.Nose arched around the large black wardrobe.Look towards the end of the basement where the sound came from.He rushed to the gloomy and dark place to bark, and then rushed back. At this time, only a voice was heard, which echoed weakly in the basement. "Bao-babe-" The puppy barked and jumped into position, its chubby little body trembling with the bark.

At this time, another sound like a wet kiss was heard. The dog looked up to the kitchen floor above, but the sound was not coming from there. There was a smacking sound, as if eating. "Come on, baby! Come on, sweetheart!" The dog ran on tiptoe, ears pricked, into the darkness. "Come here, sweetheart! Come here, baby!" The poodle smelled the chicken bone tied to the handle of the toilet.It scratched on the edge of the well and made a whining sound. Tut tut. The little poodle jumped on the wooden manhole cover.The smell is right here, between the barrel and the hole, and the dog barks and whines at the barrel, hesitating.The chicken bone moved very slightly.

The poodle crouched, its nose clamped between its front paws; at the back, its tail wagged desperately in the air.It barked twice, then slammed onto the chicken bone, and clenched it tightly with its teeth.The bucket seemed to want to push the puppy off the chicken bone.The poodle barked at the bucket, and held on, straddling the handle, his teeth clamped down on the bone.Suddenly, the barrel knocked the poodle to the ground. It slipped on all fours. The barrel pushed the dog. The dog struggled to get up, but was knocked over again. The dog fought with the barrel, and its rear end and one hind foot slipped into the hole. , the dog's paws were scratching and crawling frantically on the wood, the barrel slipped, and the dog's back half was stuck in the hole, but the puppy broke free, and the barrel slid over the edge and fell down, carrying the chicken bone disappear into the hole.The poodle barked angrily down the hole, and the barking sounded down the well.Then, it stopped barking and turned its head to hear a sound that only it could hear.He hurried down the top of the well and up the stairs, still screaming, when somewhere upstairs a door was heard slamming shut. Catherine.Baker Martin's face was covered with tears.Tears fell.She clung to the front of the paratrooper suit.She was drenched and her breasts were hot.She believed that she was dead.