In the Woods

by Farrar, M K

  IN THE WOODS

  M K FARRAR

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  IN THE WOODS

  First edition. July 10, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 M K Farrar.

  Written by M K Farrar.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  Chapter One

  The first thing she became aware of was the roar of an engine. That, and the vibrations shaking her right down to the bone.

  Cassandra Draper tried to open her eyes. Her lids were heavy—too heavy—as though they’d been weighed down by something. What had happened? Had she been out drinking? If so, this was the worst hangover she’d ever suffered from—and she’d suffered from a fair few in her time—and she had no recollection of anything that might have taken place to get her into such a state.

  In fact, she struggled to remember anything at all.

  The noise surrounding her felt impossibly loud, as though it filled her head and not just her ears. The roar sparked recognition, but she couldn’t quite place it, or perhaps couldn’t think clearly enough to place it. Her thoughts were similar to when she was sleeping—ethereal and impossible to pin down, though she knew she was awake now.

  Open your eyes.

  Why had something she’d done every day for the past twenty-three years suddenly become so hard? Had she been in an accident? Maybe she was paralyzed and that was why she couldn’t move. But wouldn’t that mean she’d be in the hospital? And no hospital she’d ever been in was as loud as this. Plus, it didn’t smell like a hospital. The scent of treated leather and the tang of oil filled her nostrils.

  “We’ll be landing soon.”

  The male voice from beside her was like a defibrillator pad applied to her chest, jerking her into the next level of consciousness. The man had been forced to lift his voice to a shout to be heard over the engine.

  Engine?

  Landing?

  The knowledge of where she was—or perhaps, more accurately, what she was in—suddenly hit her.

  A plane.

  Oh, God. She was in a plane.

  Her heart pounded, adrenaline racing through her veins. She knew without a doubt that she’d had no plans in her immediate future to take a flight.

  A groan came from somewhere close by, and she realized she’d been the one to make the sound. The moan had escaped her lips involuntarily in the same way she sometimes made a noise right when she was on the cusp of falling asleep.

  “Waking up, are you?” that same male voice said from beside her. “Good timing. It’s going to be more fun with you awake.”

  Something in his tone sent ice through her veins. There was a snide edge to his voice, but it was strangely triumphant, too. Though she still had no idea what situation she was in, she knew deep down that it was bad.

  Cassandra groaned again and tried to move. Something heavy weighed down her arms and feet. She managed to jerk her arms, and something jangled. A chain? Was that a chain?

  Finally, her eyelids fluttered. Bright light pierced her brain, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut again. So, it was daytime—she knew that, at least. Was that better than waking up in the dark?

  “You might wanna hang on,” the man said. “The landing can be a little bumpy.” Then he paused and snorted laughter. “Oh, wait. You can’t. Never mind.”

  What had happened?

  Come on, Cass. Think.

  She tried to recount her day, doing her best to remember. Had she gotten up that morning as usual and headed off to work as a barista in a coffee shop that was within walking distance to where she lived in New York City? Living in the city was expensive, and she shared a shitty little apartment with her a roommate, Lacey. She and Lacey were like passing ships, with Lacey working regular office hours, and having a healthy social life, so that by the time Lacey woke up in the morning, Cassandra was already gone. The apartment had two tiny bedrooms, and barely a corner for a kitchen. The bathroom had mold growing in the corners, and the hot faucet rarely ran more than lukewarm. Maybe she could afford somewhere a little better, but not by much, and anyway, she didn’t feel like the crappy apartment was any better than she deserved.

  She started work early, and had to be up at five to make it in on time, but she didn’t mind. It didn’t matter to her if she had to do the early shift. Whether it was four in the afternoon or four in the morning, it made no difference to Cassandra. She didn’t have any kind of set sleeping pattern, insomnia plaguing her for as long as she could remember. She’d followed every piece of advice she came across—and whenever she mentioned insomnia to someone, it was guaranteed they had advice to throw at her. Take a bath before bed. Don’t use any electronic devices. Sip warm milk. Put lavender under your pillow. She’d tried everything to establish some form of decent sleep, but if she got four hours, she considered that a good night. If she started work early, she’d often be finished by mid-afternoon, so she’d go home and sleep for a couple of hours then. Everyone told her she shouldn’t nap, that it would only affect the quality of her sleep at nighttime, but she called bullshit on that. If she didn’t sleep when her body allowed her to, she’d still sleep just as badly at night, but now she’d be on even less rest. People meant well with their advice, but until they were actually living her life, they needed to learn to keep their mouths shut.

  Besides, she liked seeing the city when hardly anyone else was awake. The office workers weren’t yet going in to work, and she’d keep her head down, her hands in her pockets, as she passed the street cleaners and delivery truck guys, all those people who got the city ready for the day before anyone else was up. There were always a few stragglers from the nightclubs who hadn’t quite made it home yet either. Sometimes, they made their way into the coffee shop, preparing themselves for a day of no sleep with a hearty injection of caffeine.

  Had she even reached work that morning? She felt as though she could remember being there, but that day might have been the previous day or the day before that, even. Things were pretty routine at the coffee shop, with the same customers coming and going, always ordering the same thing. She could easily mistake one day for another.

  She was sure she’d had to open that morning. Her manager, Donna, had asked her to open because she’d had an appointment and couldn’t make it in. Had she done it? Had she opened the coffee shop as normal?

  She didn’t know why it seemed so important to remember what had happened that day. If she could, then maybe she’d be able to figure out why she’d woken up in a plane with a strange man beside her.

  A strange man beside her.

  The thought jerked her awake. She hadn’t even realized she’d been dozing, fading away from the reality she’d woken in and going back into a dreamlike state. Her eyes flickered open again, and this time she kept them open, despite the light hurting her head. Her vision was blurry, only shapes and bright white
ness surrounding her. She couldn’t allow herself to sleep or go off into whatever form of semi-consciousness she’d been in for God knew how long. A man was beside her, and she was in a plane, and right now she was fairly certain she wasn’t here willingly.

  Her stomach dropped. They’d dipped lower, reducing altitude. The man had told her they were due to land soon. Would that be at an airport? Even if it was a small, private one, there would be other people around. People who might be able to help her.

  Help. Yes, she needed help. Everything about this situation was wrong, and she wouldn’t be able to fix it if she didn’t get hold of herself and wake up properly. Her head pounded, and nausea swirled in her stomach. She hadn’t been drinking. If the last thing she remembered was going in to work first thing in the morning, then she wouldn’t have been drinking. The man beside her must have given her something to subdue her—some kind of drug. And if she’d been drugged and put in a plane, and her hands and feet were weighted down by a chain, then it meant she was in a whole heap of trouble.

  “Coming back to the land of the living?” the man said. “I can see you. Perking back up.”

  Cassandra managed to shift her weight away from the direction of the voice and the man it belonged to. Something tightened across her chest, holding her in place. She was strapped in. It seemed kind of strange that this man had cared enough about her safety to bother strapping her in when he must have drugged and abducted her. But perhaps it wasn’t her safety he’d worried about. He might have strapped her in just in case they crashed, and he didn’t want her body flying around the cabin, hitting him, or he figured strapping her in would be one more defense against her waking up and trying to get away. Her vision was coming back and so was her control over her body. She tried to lift her hands, meaning to touch her face, but they were so heavy, and she couldn’t separate them. Metal dug into her skin, cold and unforgiving. He’d chained her hands, and her feet as well, her ankles pressed uncomfortably together. One thing was clear, this man had no intention of letting her get away.

  She leaned to one side, her forehead resting on the cool glass. Vibrations shook through her. The plane was small, only seating four people, though she was sure they were the only people on board. A propeller spun on the nose of the plane, and when she squinted out of the window, the wings were above her, not below.

  “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

  Her voice was hoarse, rasping up her throat. Her tongue felt thick and furry, her lips glued to the front of her teeth. She tried to generate some moisture, but nothing was working. She’d have given anything for a drink of ice-cold water. Maybe it would even help the thumping behind her eyes and the sickness churning in her stomach. She didn’t want to throw up. She had the feeling the man piloting the plane wouldn’t be pleased if she puked in his aircraft, but she also knew it wouldn’t do anything to help her dehydration or the awful taste in her mouth.

  His voice was cold. “That doesn’t matter.”

  It did to her.

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  He laughed at that. “I’m sure you’ve read about me in the papers or online. I think you can use your imagination.”

  Read about him? Why would she have read about him? Was he supposed to be some kind of celebrity? Or perhaps he just thought he was. She blinked hard, trying to bring him into focus. Everything continued to swim around her, as though she was looking through a haze. It must have been the drugs he’d given her. But she needed to see who was responsible for taking her. Knowledge was power.

  Gradually, her abductor took shape.

  Thin lips, a weak chin. Blond hair, fine and thinning on top. Young. Her age, perhaps, or maybe a couple of years older. He must have started losing his hair at an early age. Was that why he hated women? Had they laughed at his advances, taunted him, perhaps, and that was why he’d resorted to abduction? Not that there were any excuses, of course. Plenty of men—and women—weren’t successful in their love lives and didn’t resort to kidnapping and violence.

  It hit her. The Magician. Or, at least, the man who’d been dubbed as the Magician by reporters, and then the name had been picked up by people online so the title had spread. Young women had been going missing all over the state, and the person responsible had been given that nickname because the women had all vanished without a trace. One thing magicians were known for was making young women disappear.

  A rush of cold swept through her. Shaking took over her limbs, and the chains rattled.

  “No, no, no.”

  Her emotions had been on mute before. She assumed it was yet another side effect of the drugs, but now panic burst inside her. This man was a monster. Seven girls were missing now, each of them in their late teens or early twenties. All slim and pretty, and with their whole futures ahead of them.

  Perhaps she should have been more careful when she’d walked to work, alone, in the early morning. But the girls were missing from right across the state. There was no way for her to know he was so close, or that he’d choose her as his next victim. Of course, she’d read about the missing girls, and about the nickname reporters and people on social media had given him, but it had felt so distant. She hadn’t known any of the women who’d gone missing, and had never thought for one moment it would happen to her.

  Cassandra screamed in terror and lashed out with her chained hands. He lifted his elbow in defense, blocking her blows.

  “Hey!” he snapped. “You want me to crash the plane?”

  Right at that moment, she didn’t even care. If he was going to kill her anyway, she’d take him down in the plane with her. At least then he wouldn’t kidnap any more girls.

  He might have been thin and wiry, but he was strong, and she was still woozy. He batted her joined hands away, easily defending his head and face. The strength quickly drained from her limbs, and she barked a sob, her head hung.

  She didn’t want to be some weak, weeping woman. She wanted to fight him, to make him pay for thinking he could do this to her, but she was frightened and weakened from the drugs. But crying and begging was never going to help, and the sensible part of her brain knew that.

  Cass suddenly remembered the belt across her chest. Her wrists might be chained together, but she still had use of her fingers. If she was able to undo the belt, maybe she could throw herself over the back of the seat and into the space behind. It wouldn’t put much space between her and the man who’d taken her, but it would be something. He wouldn’t be able to come after her because he was still flying the plane.

  Her ankles were also chained. That was probably going to cause her the biggest problem. But she could kick, at least, as though she was impersonating a mermaid. Maybe it would be enough to keep his hands off her long enough to wriggle into the back.

  Still sitting in the seat, she moved her hands, inch by inch, toward the belt buckle. The moment the buckle unclipped, she’d have to move fast. She cast glances toward her captor out of the corner of her eye, checking to see if he was watching her or had noticed what she was up to. He appeared to be focused on flying. Her pulse raced, her mouth even drier than it had been before.

  Her fingers caught the buckle, and she pressed the button in the middle. It clicked open, and she didn’t even hesitate. Pushing with her feet, she threw herself over the top of her seat.

  She didn’t get that far.

  Cass caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, too late to do anything to defend herself. His fist caught her cheek, slamming her head back against the back of the seat. Pain exploded, lights dancing across her vision. The world spun around her again, her line of sight tunneling, and she clawed her way back to consciousness. She was terrified that if she lost consciousness now, she might end up dead before she ever woke up again.

  “Stupid bitch.”

  He hissed and shook his fist, as though hitting her had hurt him. Good. She hoped he broke his fingers. Her face throbbed as though he might have cracked her cheekbone.

 
She slumped back into her seat and was only vaguely aware of him reaching back across her. He tried to refasten the belt, but couldn’t do it with only one hand.

  “Fuck it,” he swore. “We’re here now, anyway. Time to set this baby down.”

  Chapter Two

  She left her stomach several hundred feet above the rest of her as the plane dipped steeply. The pain in her cheek pulsed in a steady rhythm, and in Cass’s mind she pictured a lighthouse with its wave of light, swooping over and over. The image made her dizzy, but she couldn’t seem to shake it. Once more, she fought to bring herself out of her stupor. They were landing now, and she remembered the possibility that he might be landing at a small airport and how there might be other people around. People meant help. And right now, she was in desperate need of some help.

  Lifting herself higher in her seat, she peered out of the window and looked down to the ground below. She couldn’t see anything from here that looked like an airport—no towers or buildings, or any sign of other planes. Only a green ocean of treetops stretched ahead.

  The small aircraft flew lower, and she felt the nose of the plane lifting, the movement pushing her farther back in her seat.

  She struggled to tell which of her ailments were caused by the drugs he must have given her, and which by the punch she’d taken to the face. How had he drugged her, anyway? She still couldn’t remember anything much. Had he come into the coffee shop as a customer and slipped her something, and waited until she’d passed out before snatching her? Or had he abducted her by force and maybe injected her with something to subdue her? She guessed it probably didn’t matter either way. The result had been the same.

  The wheels of the plane hit the ground. The impact jolted through her, sending fresh explosions of pain across her face. She let out a groan and rolled to her side, hoping he’d think she was just huddling into herself, when she was actually trying to see where they’d landed. The plane lifted into the air again for a fraction of a second, and then bumped back down. They bounced a couple more times before the wheels stayed on the ground.