A faint scraping sound made me open my eyes. Heather had stood up again and was once more inching her way toward the sink. "Heather—?"
"Shh!" she hissed. Her face held concentration, and not even a touch of the despair I was feeling. What was she up to?
I soon found out. Again she hoisted herself to a sitting position, on the edge of the sink itself this time. Instead of getting up on her knees, though, she extended her hands back toward the jagged spikes of glass in the broken window. Without hesitation—and without touching anything else—her fingers zeroed in on a particularly loose fragment. She tugged, breaking it free with only the slightest snap, and I finally realized what her plan had been. Hopping down with her prize, she started back toward me.
But we were still a long way from freedom. We now had something to cut the ropes with, but with my hands half-numbed from loss of circulation I knew I could never cut Heather's bonds without severing a vein in the process. Her hands were probably in the same condition, and even with her enhanced sense of touch she wouldn't do much better on my ropes. Still, it was our only hope.
Heather, however, seemed to have an entirely different idea. "Open your legs an inch," she whispered as she reached me. I started to object, but she seemed to know what she was doing, so I shut up and did as I was told. Turning so that her back was to me, she stooped down and placed the piece of glass directly between my knees. "Close 'em," she said.
"Wait a second, Heather, this is too dangerous," I objected, suddenly realizing what she had in mind. "Why don't you go around and cut my ropes instead?"
She ignored the suggestion. "Close your knees and hold it tight," she hissed furiously.
I did so. I was terrified for her hands, and my stomach was knotted at the