Not Quite Daily Drabble: Patience Verse Interlude
That was Pru’s first, hazed thought. It was dark, darker than night on their quiet street, darker than their basement with the lights off, darker than the range when they did trick shooting contests. Dark like she hadn't experienced since the life she’d left behind nearly two decades ago. It was dark, and it smelled of blood.
After a moment, her eyes began to adjust, and she could make out the vague shape of bars, less than a meter away.
She was in a cell. A tiny one. Another thing she’d not experienced in nearly two decades.
“Tim? Hon, you there?” Pru asked, closing her eyes against the sudden spark of pain.
“Here,” Tim said, his voice coming from somewhere on her right. She reached out, ignoring the way the stretch made her ribs creak and protest. Her husband’s hand met her questing fingers, and she gripped it tightly.
“You know anything?” Tim asked quietly.
“Nothing, yet.” They-whoever their captors were-would have to reveal something sooner or later. Even if they did nothing, and left Tim and Pru alone in these cells without food, that too would reveal something. Though the list of enemies she and her husband had racked up in their past lives was impressive, there was only a small number both ruthless enough to condemn them to slow starvation, and patient and pragmatic enough to choose that over more flashy methods.
“Think the one whose skull you dented in survived?” Tim asked, in an idle tone.
“If he’s very unlucky.” Pru’s smirk was crueler than any their daughter would recognize. “I saw what you did with the cleavers. I don’t think that was what Abigail meant them to be used for.”
“I’ll apologize next time I see her,” Tim promised. His thumb rubbed over the back of Pru’s palm. “She’s going to be scandalized.”
“Mismatched socks scandalize Abby, that’s no accomplishment.” Pru chuckled rustily. “Try harder, lover.”
“Once we get out of here, I’ll put an ad out in the local circular that I killed a man. Would that meet your standards?” Despite the light tone, Tim’s voice was as brittle as her own.
“Just barely. But I trust you’ll impress me when we break out.” When, not if. That much Pru was sure of. Retirement had suited them both, but they’d never let their skills slip entirely.
