Richard and I were staying at the McGarrigle Hotel. He fell asleep, trying to roll onto his side, as I pulled him back with the handcuffs. I sat with my back straight against the headboard. Richard's heavy breathing became a gentle snore. I tugged at the handcuffs slightly and he didn't stir; I began to twist my wrist to slide the handcuffs off. The metal caught on the bone in my wrist and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Richard's snoring stopped and I froze, holding my breath. When he began again, I pushed the handcuff with my free hand. I bent my fingers together as much as I could, trying to make my hand as small as possible. I worked quickly before Richard could wake up and stop me. Finally with one great pull, the handcuff slipped off and I raised my wrist to my face. The skin was raw and bruised. As I examined my hand, bending it to make sure it wasn't injured, Richard rolled over, his arm draped over my waist. I squealed in surprise, and then covered my mouth. He seemed to still be in a deep sleep. I pulled at his arm, pushing him slowly. Once I was able to slip from beneath him, I rose from the bed. Richard landed with a small thud back onto the mattress. His snoring was muffled by the pillow. I crept toward the door, grabbing my shoes and stockings on my way. My hand was on the doorknob, when I remembered the gun that Richard had pointed in my back countless times during our journey. I tiptoed around the bed and could see one of his pants pockets was full. I slowly reached for the gun, my eyes glued onto Richard in case he woke up. My hand closed around the gun and I pulled it out from his pocket. But when I had it in the light, I could see that it was nothing more than a common pipe. I tapped against his other pocket to check if there was anything there, but it was empty. Furious, I threw the pipe down onto the bed and left the room without another look behind me.