by Bobbi Holmes
“What time is it now?” Bridget asked, never taking her eyes off the road.
“We have plenty of time,” Aileana said.
“Once we get to the trailhead, I figure it’s going to take us about twenty to thirty minutes to walk to the altar. I don’t see how we can make it any faster, each one of us hauling one of them. It would have been easier if it was just Donovan,” Bridget grumbled.
“You’re the one who offered them cookies,” Davina said.
“What was I supposed to do when you let those two walk in at the same time Donovan was about to keel over?” Bridget asked.
“How did I know what you were doing? You could have warned me,” Davina said. “Called me up, told me what was going on and not to just barge in the store.”
“Oh yeah, right, and how would we do that with Donovan standing there?” Bridget asked.
“Enough, you two; stop arguing,” Aileana snapped.
The sisters remained quiet for the rest of the drive. When they finally arrived at the trailhead, they got out of the van and went to work immediately, each knowing what she had to do. When first discussing Donovan as a sacrifice, they all knew where it would take place. They had been to the altar many times since moving to Oregon.
Aileana had originally suggested using a travois to transport Donovan’s body from the van to the site. It was what the Native Americans had used when hauling goods or people any distance, she had told her sisters. Plus, it was something they could make themselves. Aileana had found instructions online on how to make one. She figured all they would need was rope, a tarp, a good ax, and maybe a hunter’s knife. Those were all things they already had. They would also need long poles, but she figured those they could get from the forest.
Originally the plan was for Aileana to make a travois once they arrived at the trailhead. But now there were three people to transport, so they needed to make three travoises. There was not enough time to transport their prisoners one at a time using one travois. This meant they each had to make one; two sisters could not just stand around and watch Aileana, as would have been the case if they just had Donovan to transport.
It didn’t take long for the sisters to realize it wasn’t as easy to make a travois as they originally thought. But they had no other option, they had to persevere, and eventually they completed their task.
One by one they removed their prisoners from the van, rolling each one onto a travois. They had a few items they needed to take with them, such as battery-operated lanterns, which they tied to travois poles.
The sister witches dragged their unconscious prisoners over the narrow trail, with Bridget leading, Davina behind her, and Aileana at the rear of the procession. The sun was setting, yet there was still plenty of daylight making its way through the treetops for them to see where they were going.
They had put the rest of the rope and their ax back in the van, but Bridget shoved the hunting knife in her jacket’s pocket for protection. While she might not fend off a mountain lion with the knife, having it gave her some comfort. She told herself that when she arrived at the altar, she would cast a protection spell to get them out of the forest safely and back home. Normally she would have done that before entering the forest, but everything had happened so fast. They did not have enough time.
Panicked, he felt suffocated. Something filled his mouth, blocking the air. Survival instincts kicked in, and he took a deep breath through his nose, drinking in the unexpected scent of pine. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt heavy, and someone was jostling him around, like he was being pulled over a sandy beach on a sleigh while trussed up like a deer on the top of his grandpa’s old jalopy.
He heard shouting, but he couldn’t understand the words. It sounded like a woman. Heavy breathing replaced the shouting. Suddenly the jostling stopped, and then he felt himself drop, his head and shoulders bouncing against something hard. Someone rolled him onto the ground. He landed on his side. It wasn’t sand. It was hard, and there was a rock jabbing his right hip.
It felt as if glue secured his eyelids shut. He struggled to open them and finally succeeded. Blinking several times, he tried focusing. Surrounded by shadows, he heard voices, more than one. Standing was not an option. He could feel his ankles tied together, as were his hands, securely at the wrists, at the front of his body.
A burst of light several feet away illuminated the space. None of it made any sense. Then he saw them, the three women with long red hair, and he remembered going into Pagan Oils to get Kitty something for her headache. But why had they brought him here?
He heard one of them say, “The cop first.”
The next moment he felt hands grabbing him on either side of his body, taking ahold of his arms right below his shoulders. They began to drag him.
Seventeen
Wherever they were, it appeared to be a circular clearing in the middle of the forest. The light he had seen earlier now came from the center of the circle. Instead of a bonfire, it looked like three LED battery-operated camp lanterns, each turned on. Lanterns were not the only source of light. The setting sun provided some illumination, making its way through the trees, but providing more shadows than light.
At least they don’t plan to burn the forest down, Brian thought, adding cynically, just kill us.
They had him sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out before him, bound securely with rope. His back leaned against a tree. He looked down at his hands still tied together, now resting on his lap. He tried to move but then realized they had not just tied up his legs and wrists; they had also tied him to the tree. Apparently, they did not want him to jump up and hop over to them. What exactly did they expect him to do, escape by headbutting them with his hands and feet tied up?
When placing him by the tree the women said nothing, nor did they seem to notice he had regained consciousness and now watched them. Or perhaps they didn’t care.
He looked across the clearing, beyond the lanterns, into a pair of terror-stricken eyes. They belonged to Heather Donovan. They had tied Heather up to a tree, as they had tied him.
His eyes shifted to the left of Heather and spied a third captive, Walt Marlow. Like him and Heather, the women had placed Walt against a tree, but his head was turned at an odd angle, with his eyes shut, suggesting Walt had not regained consciousness. Or perhaps he was dead.
If any of the captives wished to call out for help, it would be impossible with the gags the women had put in each of their mouths.
Brian looked from Walt back to Heather, and then to the three women now gathered by the lanterns. One woman held something in her hands, but he couldn’t see what it was. It was relatively small, cupped in the palms of her hands. She held it up to the sky and chanted. The words sounded like senseless gibberish.
The woman placed whatever she was holding on the ground between the lanterns. The women then held hands, forming a circle around the lanterns, and chanted. Each turned her face to the sky, and together, while holding hands, they moved around the circle, reminding Brian of demented children in a horror movie, playing ring around the maypole.
He continued to watch, and he got the impression they had put themselves into a trance while still moving around the lanterns and chanting. Then he noticed something fall out of one of their pockets. Whatever it was, it glittered, but then disappeared, unnoticed by the women, who inadvertently buried it into the dirt and pine needles as they circled the lanterns, carelessly stepping on the fallen object.
These crazy women are freaking nuts, Heather thought as she watched the chanting redheads circling the lanterns. She kept looking over at Walt, silently urging him to wake up so he could get them out of this mess. She looked forward to seeing him send the crazy wannabee witches flying into a tree and knocking them out. After he did that, he could untie the ropes, and then they could start for home. Perhaps it would be best if Walt didn’t knock them out too hard, so they could tell them how to get home. Heather had absolutely no idea where they were. The place
was not familiar. But Walt could use the same powers of persuasion on them as Marie had used on Beau.
Knowing Walt was just a few feet away from her was comforting, even though he had not yet come to. She knew he was still alive. If dead, she would expect his spirit to be lingering nearby, and she would see him. And if that was the case, she assumed he would still have his power to move things, as he had the last time he had been a ghost. Which would mean he could still help her and Brian escape. But Heather wanted Walt alive. Having him dead again would break Danielle’s heart.
She tried wiggling out of her bindings, but each time she moved, they seemed to get tighter. So she stopped trying. Heather then focused on her gag. It was some disgusting piece of cloth covering her mouth and tied around her head. It smelled gross, and Heather wondered what they had used the rag for prior to rudely shoving it in her mouth.
Looking back to Brian, she noted he did not seem to be trying to get out of the ropes. Like her, he sat still. She suspected the ropes securing him tightened when he moved, as did the ones holding her. She looked from Brian to the redheads, cursing herself for ever stopping in their stupid shop.
The women obviously thought they were actual witches, the way they pranced around the lights. She wondered if it was kosher for witches to use LED lights. A respectable witch should use candles or a bonfire.
Turning her attention back to the gag, Heather got a piece of its fabric into her mouth and bit down, gnawing it with her teeth. While it might smell disgusting, she was happy to discover its fabric was old and brittle, easy to tear. She persistently continued to gnaw and tug, determined to chew through the gag. And if Walt didn’t wake up soon, she would chew through the damn ropes on her wrists too, she told herself.
While working the fabric between her teeth, she suddenly remembered her dentist’s admonishment about using one’s teeth for tools. But wasn’t that really the purpose of teeth? Heather asked herself as she continued to chew the now damp fabric.
Dozens of scenarios flashed through Brian’s mind. He detested feeling so vulnerable and unable to know what the women planned to do with them. But he doubted he would like it. Overhead the sun was quickly sinking, at least giving him some sense of direction of north, south, east and west. Although, he wasn’t sure how that was going to help him if he remained tied up.
The women finally stopped chanting, and one leaned down to the lanterns, picking something up. He assumed it was the object she had placed there earlier. She carried it away from the light and disappeared into the shadows beyond the trees encircling the clearing. When she returned a few minutes later, there did not seem to be anything in her hands.
He watched as the women began picking up the lanterns.
One captor looked at her accomplices and said, “We’ll come back tomorrow night and get it. It will be over by then.”
“What about the travoises?” another one asked, pointing to something on the ground.
“No reason to haul them out. They got broken, and it’s not like we’d reuse them anyway, and according to the spell, they’ll be gone when we return.”
The sisters walked together into the darkness, disappearing from sight. Listening, Brian could hear their voices as they talked amongst themselves. No longer discussing their captives, it was now burgers versus pizza. The voices grew fainter. He found it bizarre they would kidnap three strangers, haul them in the forest, and leave them as they returned home—while discussing what they intended to have for dinner.
Finally, he could no longer hear the voices. But then he heard the engine of a vehicle start, and the vehicle driving away, until he heard nothing more, beyond the sounds of the forest, where the three women had dumped them.
“Holy crap!” Heather called out, making several spitting sounds.
Brian looked to Heather, and fortunately, because of the setting sun cutting through a section of trees, he could see her. The women had taken the lanterns with them, and once the sun set and twilight ended, it would plunge them into darkness.
Heather had chewed through her gag, and she continued to spit, Brian assumed to rid herself of any loose fibers from the gag. Taking Heather’s lead, Brian worked to chew through his gag, as Heather had chewed through hers. If they could talk to each other, perhaps they could come up with some plan to get out of this predicament. Although, he wasn’t sure how, not unless someone heard their cries for help. Someone other than a mountain lion. One plus, if the women were telling the truth, they were not planning to return until tomorrow night.
“Walt! Wake up!” Heather screeched, repeating it over and over.
Brian assumed Heather feared Walt was dead, which he might be. Yelling in itself was not a bad idea, but she should call for help as opposed to yelling at Walt to wake up. But the woman was clearly hysterical, which he understood. If he didn’t have a gag shoved in his mouth, he might yell along with her.
“Darn it, Walt, wake up!” Heather yelled again. “Walt! Wake up and get these ropes off us before it gets dark. Walt!”
Heather continued to scream at Walt while Brian focused on chewing through his gag. When he finally freed his mouth from the restraint, he looked to Heather and said, “Heather, calm down.”
“What do you mean, calm down? It’s going to be pitch dark any minute, and I don’t know about you, but I would like to be untied by then,” Heather said. She then turned to Walt and yelled, “Walt, damnit, wake up!”
“Heather!” Brian snapped. “You’re hysterical, and that will not help get us out of this. You need to calm down so we can discuss a rational plan. Yelling at Walt won’t help.”
“The sooner he wakes up, the sooner we can get out of these damn ropes. Walt!”
“Heather, they tied Walt up just like we are,” Brian said, his tone overly calm. “You are hysterical. You need to stop. Walt can’t help you right now. But maybe—”
“Oh, shut up, Brian,” Heather snapped. “If you’re not going to help me wake Walt, just shut up. You know nothing. And frankly, I do not have the patience to pretend right now.” She turned back to Walt and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Walt!”
“Heather! Stop. I think Walt might be dead.”
Heather stopped shouting. She looked to Brian and smiled. “You do?”
Brian frowned at Heather, uneasy with her odd expression. Was she about to laugh? Was this what a woman looked like who had been pushed over the edge of sanity? he wondered. “I know he’s a friend of yours, but you need to face the possibility. He hasn’t moved since we got here.”
Heather laughed. “I told you, you know nothing. If Walt was dead, well, we would already be free by now.” She turned back to Walt and started screaming again for him to wake up.
We are going to die, Brian thought as he watched Heather yelling like a deranged woman at the unconscious man. What did she expect him to do if he did wake up? Brian wondered. But the woman had clearly lost it, which did not bode well for their chances of survival. He had hoped they could put their heads together and perhaps come up with a plan, but she had been pushed too far, and if someone happened by and saved them, perhaps after hearing her shouting at Walt, he suspected she might end up in the psych ward when they got out of the forest.
“You’re awake!” Heather shouted.
Brian looked quickly to Walt. He wasn’t dead after all.
Eighteen
Walt’s eyes felt dry, scratchy as if the wind had blown sand into them. He wanted to wipe the sand away, but he couldn’t move his hands. Blinking, he focused on his surroundings. A shaft of sunlight cut through the trees from the west, breaking through the shadows surrounding him. He knew it came from the west, because he instinctively knew sunset approached, not sunrise.
He heard someone shouting his name, demanding he do something. Turning his head toward the shouting, he saw it was Heather. He tried to call out, ask her what was happening, but something was in his mouth, preventing him from talking. He wanted to stand up, but he couldn’t. Each time he moved, some
thing—he assumed a rope—painfully cut into his body.
Glancing down, he looked at his wrists bound tightly together and resting on his lap. He tried raising his hands to remove the gag, but a rope wrapped around his arms below the elbows restricted his motion, only allowing his hands, bound at the wrists, to make it halfway to his chin.
Walt told himself to settle down. He needed to remove the gag from his mouth. Since he couldn’t see how it was tied, it would be impossible for him to undo the knot with his energy. But perhaps it would be possible to will the fabric out, away from him, and pull it down, off his mouth and face. He focused, wincing a bit as the gag’s knot cut into the back of his head. He pulled the fabric forward.
Brian watched as Walt tried to make sense of his surroundings while Heather continued to shout at him. He looked from Walt to Heather and was about to tell her to stop yelling at the poor guy when he heard Walt say, “What happened?”
Brian turned back to Walt, whose gag now hung below his chin. He wondered how Walt got it pulled down with his hands bound like his, but assumed it must not have been as tightly knotted as his and Heather’s, which they had literally chewed through to escape.
“It’s getting dark. We need to get out of these ropes. Hurry,” Heather begged.
“I don’t understand. Where are we?” Walt asked.
Heather let out a sigh and then said, talking quickly, “As best I can figure, those redheaded psycho witches drugged us with those damn cookies. They brought us out here for some witch’s ritual, where they have left us for the night, and they plan to return tomorrow night, probably to finish us off if the wild animals don’t do it first. Now will you untie us?”
“Heather—” Brian began.
“Shut up, Brian,” she snapped. “We don’t have time. It’s getting dark.”
