by Bella King
“Just keep your mouth shut, or I’ll have to cover it, and I doubt you want your breathing restricted,” he says, pushing my feet in and crumpling my body into the small area. “This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
I turn my head, getting once last glimpse at him before he pulls his bandana back over his mouth and slams the trunk shut.
Darkness.
I try to count my breaths, slowing them so that I don’t keep hyperventilating and pass out. This is a nightmare for me. I always avoid tight spaces, and I haven’t had to deal with them since I left my father’s care.
I try to block out the memories, squeezing my eyes shut tightly to trick myself that it’s only dark in here because they’re closed.
It’s mid-afternoon, and the sun is shining nice and bright outside. I’ll be fine. I am already one minute closer to freedom.
The heat of the trunk causes me to start sweating immediately, droplets rolling down my neck, tickling and itching my skin with no way for me to scratch them. My hands are bound so tightly that I can barely move my fingers.
I try to think of home, of the gentle familiarity of a boring routine, but even that doesn’t stop the bad memories from leaking into my head like an oil spill. The thoughts wrap around my brain, constricting, squeezing, and weighing me down, back into the past where my fears were first created.
Chapter Twelve
Marybeth
It’s a warm evening in August, and I’m outside playing on the swings in the backyard. My daddy lets me play outside until the sun goes down, and I can swing for hours in the summertime. My daddy doesn’t like me to have friends over, so I play alone most of the time. It’s okay, though, because I don’t need anyone else to enjoy the swings.
My hands grip the chains that hold up the flexible plastic seat as I swing high in the air. My small hands are sore from gripping the chains for so long, but I can keep going. I’m not afraid to fall.
I swing higher, kicking my legs as I go. I’ve always wanted to swing so high that the chains wrap around the top of the swing, and I do a full circle. I’m not sure if it’s even possible, but I want to try it. Today seems like a good a day as any.
I swing back, gliding through the air. I like to close my eyes when I swing because it feels like I’m flying. I shut my eyelids against the setting sun and swing forward, kicking my legs out again to bring me even higher.
The seat jerks as I come down again.
Once you lose momentum halfway up, you fall some of the way down before the chains snap taut and catch you again. That makes it difficult to get up much higher without slipping out of the seat.
I’m trying, though.
I’m trying so hard to get up.
I kick my legs out in the air, this time harder than I ever have before.
I’m brave. I can do it. I’m going to make it this time. I’m going to swing so high that my feet touch the sun.
For a moment, I’m weightless. I can feel myself drifting out into heaven. My daddy says that’s where I’ll go one day if I’m good, but I want to go now. It sounds like such a nice place, so much better than home.
But just as I think that I’m going to make it, I begin to fall. I’m not gripping the chain as tightly as I should, and my fingers slip from the warm metal, and the chain jerks taut.
I slip from the swing backward, coming down on my back with no ability to correct myself. I feel like I’m falling forever, and then, I slam against the ground.
The force moves through my torso, knocking the wind out of me. My lungs are crying for air, but they can’t get any.
I feel a pain in my back, and I think I’ve landed on a rock.
I roll over, gasping for air with my cheek pressed against the soil. I suck in a few flecks of dirt and cough, regaining my ability to breathe. I’m alive, and heaven is still just as far away as it used to be.
I get up, rubbing my back, and looking around for the culprit of my pain. I spot a rock on the ground where I fell.
“Dumb rock,” I mutter, kicking it.
I have no visible injury, so that’s a relief. My daddy gets angry if I hurt myself, but then he hurts me when he’s angry. I don’t understand it, but I trust him. He’s the pastor of the church, and that means he’s always right. People listen to him.
I look up at the sky and see the deep orange of the sunset. Dinner is going to be ready very soon, but I want to get back on the swing and try again. I was so close this time. I know I can do it.
As I’m walking back to the swing, I hear my daddy’s voice from the house. He’s calling me to come inside, but it barely registers in my head. I don’t want to hear him. All I want to do now is to swing into the heavens.
“Marybeth, get over here right now, or you’re not getting dinner at all.”
I don’t like his cooking anyway.
I turn around and groan. “Can I just stay out for five more minutes?”
“No,” he barks. “Get over here right now.”
I frown as much as I can and drag my feet back toward the house. I don’t like being told what to do. When I’m an adult, I’m not going to let anyone tell me what to do, ever. I’ll be the boss then.
“What on earth have you been doing? You’re filthy,” my daddy scolds, grabbing my arm roughly when I get to the door.
I try to pull away from him, but his grip is too strong. It hurts my arm.
“I was swinging,” I say.
“You weren’t just swinging,” he replies in a serious tone, looking me over. “You’ve been rolling around in the dirt or something.”
“I didn’t,” I say, but he shakes his head at me.
“You’re going in time-out,” he says.
“No, I didn’t do anything,” I plead, but he yanks me into the house and barges toward the basement.
I hate it when he does this. He wants to lock me in the basement for punishment, but I’m scared of what’s in there. I know monsters aren’t real, but that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of them.
I look up at my daddy, and he seems angrier than usual. Lately, he’s been stressed out about something between him and my mommy, but I don’t know what it is. She’s gone, but sometimes I can still hear him in his room, and I know he’s talking to her. He wakes me up at night sometimes with his yelling.
I wince as my daddy yanks my arm, but I don’t say anything. I know that when he’s this angry, it’s best to stay quiet. I don’t want him to start hitting me. Sometimes he does that, and it’s been happening a lot more recently.
“Come,” he barks at me, pulling me down the basement stairs after he turns the light on.
I’m surprised that he doesn’t pull me in with the lights off. Usually, he puts me on the stairs and locks the door so that I have to sit there in the dark.
I’m curious why we’re going down this far. I never go all the way down in the basement because there’s nothing interesting down there. The clothes washer and drier are there, but that’s it. Is he going to make me stand at the bottom of the stairs this time? I hope not, because that’s where the monsters are.
It smells like fabric detergent and mildew in the basement. The floor is dusty, and there are probably spiders running around the place, though I don’t see any yet. I’m not that scared of spiders, but I am afraid of what else might lurk in the dark.
My daddy stands me in front of the clothes drier and lets go of my hand.
“I have to do the laundry?” I ask, looking up at him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made me do chores, but I’m not usually allowed to touch the clothes.
“No,” he replies, a bitter smile forming on his serious face. “Since you enjoy getting dirty so much, I thought you might also enjoy getting clean.” He bends over and opens the door to the dryer. “Get in.”
I frown, looking up at him in confusion. I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Get in,” my daddy repeats, grabbing my head and jerking it into the drier. He pushes me in, cramming my body against the co
ld metal barrel inside.
I can barely fit, and my feet are hanging out. I yell and try to kick him as he pushes my feet in and slams the door with a metallic thud.
I’m trapped in the drier, and it’s pitch black. I scream, but the sound of my voice echoing off the close metal walls hurts my ears. Tears are already pouring from my eyes as panic floods my body, gripping me like no other emotion can.
I reach my hand to the door and bang on it, yelling again for my daddy to let me out. “Please, I won’t get dirty again! Please,” I yell, but I can already hear the heavy thud of his feet as he walks back up the stairs without me.
Chapter Thirteen
Rey
I pull down my bandana and slip a thin cigarette between my lips, lighting it up with a cheap red gas station lighter. The sweet, flowery scent of Marybeth is slowly replaced with the dry papery earthiness of prison tobacco.
I suck air through my teeth with the smoke, enduring its harshness for the buzz. After all this, I need to relax. I can’t let my nerves eat me up before I get to Canada. My mission is nowhere close to being over.
I cruise down the highway, getting close to a place where I can grab some more food. Drive-throughs are the best since I can go through with my bandana, and nobody asks any questions. They don’t get paid enough to care, but I still need to be careful. All it takes is one old lady with surprisingly good vision, like the one at Marybeth’s drive-in, and the police will be back on my ass.
White ash swirls through the air behind the car as I tap the end of my cigarette out the window. I don’t normally smoke, but on occasions like this, I have little else to do. I’m not particularly fond of what’s on the radio, and now, I don’t have anyone to talk to.
Marybeth is probably sweating bullets in the trunk, but it’s better for her to be there than in the passenger’s seat when I pull into the drive-through. She’ll scream her head off for the police the moment she sees another person, and then I’ll have to kill her.
I kind of like Marybeth. I don’t want to kill her.
A smile creeps over my face at the thought of her exposed midsection and little jean shorts. She sure knows how to make a man want her, but she acts like she doesn’t know the first thing about seduction. She acts like a good girl, but she hints at something far more capable.
I have to wonder if that story about her father being a pastor was made up or if she was telling me the truth. How ashamed would that man be if he knew that she was riding around with the biggest sinner in the whole damn world?
And once I get to Canada, I’m also going to be one of the richest.
I chuckle, taking another slow drag of my cigarette as I ease up to a stoplight at the first intersection since we left Marybeth’s small Texas town. We won’t be out of Texas entirely until tomorrow, but I’m happy with how far we’ve come considering the circumstances.
I drive past a few drive-throughs until I find one that has everything I want. I’m not in the business of exposing myself to more than a few faces this afternoon. It’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me again, and then I have to get the hell out of here.
The speaker at the drive-through crackles, a tired voice coming through it with the mask of cheer over their words. They recite some special that I’m obviously not interested in and then ask for my order.
I order for myself and Marybeth since I know she’ll be hungry. A woman can pretend she enjoys eating apples all she wants, but I know that she’s going to be much calmer with a belly full of junk food.
I don’t hear Marybeth’s muffled voice in the trunk crying for help. She must know that now isn’t the time to try anything. She’s not really in any position to escape, and I’m not hesitant to take action where needed. She won’t get away from me that easily.
I manage to roll through the drive-through without any issue, quickly handing off a hundred dollar bill to the cashier and grabbing my food without accepting my change. These people work for too little for me not to do something nice for them. I like to imagine that the good karma will get me a slightly better spot in the fire when I inevitably go to hell.
I look left and right at the intersection as I’m about to pull out onto the road again, but I freeze when I spot a blue and white police car rolling down the road. I toss the bag of food off my lap into the passenger’s seat and duck down, cursing under my breath as I wait for it to pass. If the lights start blinking blue, then I’m flooring it.
There are many perks to being a cartel boss, such as access to nearly anything I want, whether it be money, booze, or women, but the downsides are equally as steep.
For one, I can’t go anywhere without people recognizing me, especially since my last arrest. I’m pretty sure that my bounty was doubled after my most recent escape.
Secondly, women never stick around. I always imagined myself getting married one day, maybe settling down a little when the money got good enough, and I owned a big enough piece of land to where nobody bothered me. Unfortunately, the only women coming after hardened criminals are equally fucked up. I don’t want that.
But I’ve dipped my body in the sweet sulfur of sin, and the scent of me alone scares the innocent away. Women such as Marybeth, for example. She’ll flee the second I let her out of my sight, as proven by her earlier actions. She’d rather face death than spend time with me.
I did kidnap her, though, so I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else.
A loud honk from behind me causes me to jump back to attention. I peek over the steering wheel to check for the police, but they’ve already gone, having cruised right past the biggest bust they’d ever have in their career.
Sucks for them.
A slam my foot into the gas, spitting sparks and black smoke out of the exhaust at the car behind. I look back at the thick black rubber marks I left on the road, and I smile in satisfaction. Life is meant for living, and cars like this are meant for high speeds and long drives.
Chapter Fourteen
Marybeth
I’m covered in sweat, but my heart rate is finally starting to slow down. I can handle this. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m an adult woman who knows how to control her fears and emotions.
That’s what I tell myself as I picture myself outside in the open, instead of trapped in the trunk of Rey’s car as he screeches out of the parking lot.
There’s not much in the trunk with me, but there’s a crate at my feet, blocking me from getting comfortable. It’s large enough to take up an annoying amount of space, and it makes me wonder what Rey could have in there. Did he just escape from prison?
I kick the crate at my feet, trying to get some more space for my cramped legs. It’s too heavy for me to move out of the way, which only makes me more curious as to what’s inside of it.
Even with the small space, I can move around enough to change positions. I shuffle my body around in the trunk so that I’m facing the crate, sticking the fingers of my bound hands into the gaps between the wooden planks on the side. I can feel how thin they are, and it’s likely that with enough force, I might be able to break one.
There could be something in this container that helps me escape, but I doubt it. I’m doing this to satisfy my curiosity and take my mind out of panic, at least for the time being. If I don’t stop breathing so heavily, I’m going to suffocate in here.
I arch my back like a cat, pulling the plank of wood until it gives way with a splintering snap. I can’t see what’s inside of the box because it’s pitch-black in the trunk, but I can reach my hand through the jagged edges of the opening and feel around.
My fingers hit plastic, but the kind that’s used to wrap up trash. It’s guarding something firm, but not that firm that it doesn’t have any give.
I’m even more curious now than I was before. What could Rey have in here?
For a second, I become terrified that it might be a dead body, but I would’ve smelled that by now. There must be something else in here, something that Rey wants to keep a
secret.
I run my fingers over the plastic, looking for an opening, but I won’t be able to get in without tearing a hole in the bag. Rey is sure to notice if he checks the box, but how can he blame me for breaking into his stuff when he locked me in the trunk with it for over an hour?
I dig my nails into the thick plastic, stretching it as far as I can with my hands bound together. It takes me a solid minute to get through, but once I manage to pierce a hole in the bag, I’m able to tear the rest of the way through without a hitch.
My fingers meet with something papery when I reach into the bag, and as my hand wraps around the first object, I immediately recognize what’s in the bag. Hiding under a thick layer of plastic in the back of Rey’s cherry-red Mustang car are stacks upon stacks of cash.
I thumb through the notes to make sure I’m not mistaken, but money is distinct. You know it when you feel the texture in your hands. It even has a smell to it, which is now wafting through the enclosed space.
“What are you up to?” I mutter softly, feeling how many stacks there are in the bag.
Even if they’re all just dollar bills, there has to be at least a few thousand dollars in here. That amount goes up drastically if these are twenties or even hundreds. Rey told me that he had just escaped from prison, but where did all this money come from? There’s more to his story than he’s letting on.
The car slows, and judging by the smell seeping into the trunk, Rey already has his food. That must mean he’s stopping to let me out.
God, I sure hope so.
I turn my body back around, wiggling into the position that Rey had put me in. The car stops completely, and I push my foot against the crate to cover up the hole. I don’t want to think about how mad he’ll be if he notices it right away.
