The Wife He Traded for Her Sister

4: 4

The basement went black.

I slumped against the iron door, dragging in breath after ragged breath.

That lunatic. He'd actually locked me up like this?

I felt for my pocket. Thank God, the phone was still there.

I pressed the power button. The screen lit up, throwing pale light across the cobwebs around me.

I keyed in the emergency number. Before I could hit call, the screen flickered twice and went dead.

Damn it. No battery.

I hurled the phone to the ground, and it clattered with a hollow echo.

There were no windows down here. I couldn't tell day from night.

I had no idea how long I'd been locked in. I only knew I was cold all over, my head splitting.

Thunder rolled outside, then the pounding of a downpour.

The hurricane had come.

Before long, water began seeping in through the corner of the basement.

It rose fast, cold, past my ankles.

I have severe claustrophobia. The dark and the rising water made it hard to breathe.

"Let me out! Is anyone there? Help!"

I pounded on the iron door, but my voice was nothing against the storm.

From upstairs came the faint sound of music and laughter.

Then I remembered. Today was Tilda's birthday.

Jim was throwing her a lavish party.

Up there, he was celebrating with the woman he loved, soaking up everyone's blessings.

And me, his wife in name, was down here in this cold, damp hell, slowly waiting to die.

The water kept climbing, over my calves now.

Shivering, I dug through the piles of junk for something to stand on.

My hand brushed against a heavy old wooden crate.

The wood was swollen from the water, and it fell apart the moment I pushed on it.

A yellowed paper medical file slid out.

By the faint flicker of lightning through the gap in the door, I made out the words on it.

Odette Pruitt — Heart Match Report.

I froze.

Back when the surgery happened, they'd told me the records had all been destroyed.

Hands trembling, I tore open the file and pulled out the pages inside.

By the steady flashes of lightning, I read what was written there.

The next second, it hit me like a lightning strike, and my whole body went rigid.

The match report showed it plainly.

The donor of that heart, in the donation consent form, had named one and only one recipient: Odette Pruitt!

And on the other report, my sister Tilda's match result was written out in stark letters:

Rejection. No match. Five glaring words.

So that heart, from beginning to end, had always been meant for me.

Tilda had never matched at all, let alone given up her chance for me.

For three years, they had all lied to me together.

They used a heart that was mine to begin with to hold me hostage by guilt.

They made me give Tilda anything she wanted, made me grovel with gratitude.

And at the very end, they made me hand over my husband, my dignity, everything, without a fight.

The water had risen past my waist.

I was shivering, but the cold inside me ran deeper.

In the corner my hand found an old spare phone, one Jim had tossed down here long ago.

Half not believing it, I pressed the power button.

It still had a little charge!

I called Jim right away.

It rang a long time before he finally picked up.

In the background were noisy music and Tilda's sugary laughter.

"Jim, the basement's flooding, I'm going to drown, let me out—"

My voice was faint.

On the other end, Jim seemed to move off to a quiet corner. Then he gave a cold laugh.

"Odette, what game are you playing now?"

"What, two days without food and you can't take it? Starting with this cheap sob story?"

"The basement sits way up high. A little water's going to drown you? You think I'm three years old and that easy to fool?"

"Let me tell you. Sign the divorce papers first."

"Then get on your knees and kowtow an apology to Tillie, and maybe then I'll think about letting you out."

"Beep, beep, beep—"

The line cut off without mercy.

I looked at the screen going dark and a bitter, brutal smile pulled at my lips.

Jim, you brought this on yourself.

I gripped the real match file in my hand and dialed 911.

"Hello, 911? I'm being held against my will in a basement at a private house, I'm about to drown, please help."