Free at Last
I was supposed to sleep, but who could possibly sleep after the beating I had endured? I was sure they had tried to kill me. I didn’t want to sleep; this was the night I had waited for—the night I had prayed for–after more than eighteen months in captivity. It was still dark—dark as pitch– and very early. I leaned up from the floor to try to see the clock—3:27—perfect, or so I prayed. Rebecca and Mark were drunk after their celebration when they went to sleep last night—maybe passed out would be more accurate. They’d made a huge mistake. Hopefully it would prove fatal—their last in this lifetime. It was the first night in more than eighteen months that I hadn’t been locked to the bed frame or handcuffed behind my back, or in …