The Promise, Pt. 2 of 10.

          Several minutes later, Jill stirred into consciousness.  Her large eyes fluttered briefly, and she reached out and about for her glasses.  They were on the floor -- away and a little lower.  However, she became aware of her circumstances when her hands encountered a flexible strong barrier on all sides.  "Damn!  The sleazy bitch locked me in a bag to suffocate," she thought.

          A garment bag to be exact.  Already, the air inside was getting stuffy, but she could still breathe with relative ease, to indicate that she had been enclosed in it recently yet.  Her vision blurred more and head throbbed as she slowly stood to regain full circulation in her legs and examine the new synthetic trap.

          The bag was wider and a little taller than she was, of thick clear vinyl, and a zipper, a thin black line, ran vertically up one side almost to the top.  There, at the center, was a sturdy built-in hanger, which held a metal ring fastened around the stainless steel jacuzzi curtain rod, just as it had been in the bedroom closet.  

          Recalling the type of formal evening dress that was "conveniently" removed from the bag, she cursed and loudly whispered, "I wonder what kind of party she'll be going to tonight."  

          Despite her fair-quality vision, she could see how easy it could be to unlock the ring anyway -- IF she was outside the bag, because the curtain rod was well-fixed into the wall and would not give to her best efforts.  Her own weight kept the surrounding barrier more firm, as an effective impediment from reaching the thing too.  Still, it was plastic, not steel or wood, and she reasoned to have the ability to more easily escape and gain some kind of vindication elsewhere.  

          Jill tried, poking gently with her finger at first; then hard and harder in different places.  Each time, the plastic bounced back into its former position.  She subsequently beat at it with her fists and kicked outward, grunting with the efforts, but the bag remained unyielding and firm.  After all, it was designed for protection well enough -- too well now.  

          She ceased struggling to conserve energy and once again, priceless oxygen, and realized that getting out of it was not going to be as easy as previously thought.  "What a way to go," she remarked and laughed, because she was still in the bathroom.  

          In reality, Jill was losing the battle with fear inside, only masking her true feelings even less successfully with an occasional bit of silliness.  With limited room to move, she was feeling increasingly closed in, and the thought of not even getting out sent a growing wave of panic through her mind.  That in turn motivated her to fight it again.  

          Jill swiped and clawed at the strong thick plastic more.  "Let me out.  Damn you!  Let me . . . out," she cried.  "P-please?"

          The ensuing struggle was brief and remained futile.  The bag seemed inescapable by then, and she descended down on her haunches, tired and shaking.  Now, she knew why the thing cost so much and how truthful Dave was about Dawn.  Fresh air was just a small fraction of an inch away.  So far!  Contradiction inside caused further confusion and fear.  Common sense told her to try her best to get out of it before strength faded, but logic replied that such work would use up oxygen faster.  Ultimately, she uselessly struck outward at the bag a single time in protest, put her head forward face-down onto her knees, and began sobbing.  

Continued to Pt. 3.