Never Gonna Tell

by Sarah M. Ross

  “Please. Please,” I beg. “I don’t want to die. I promise I won’t say anything. I’ll swear on anything. Please.”

  Nicky sighs as if exasperated with my pleas. “If it’s any comfort, I’ll make sure that you don’t feel a thing.” With his other hand, he digs into his pocket and comes out with a silencer attachment before beginning to attach it to the gun.

  I close my eyes and picture the faces of those I love most in this world: my parents, Charlie, Kally, and even Marco. I am so thankful that I have such a great family, and now I can only hope that Nicky killing me doesn’t kill them, too.

  I make one final plea, refusing to give into my fate. “Please, Nicky. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to kill me. Just … keep me here. As a hostage. I can be leverage in case you ever need it. I won’t cause you any trouble, I swear it.”

  Frank chimes in. “She’s just a kid, Nicky. C’mon.”

  “I have no other choice,” Nicky replies. He aims the gun at my head and places his finger on the trigger. I hold my breath for what’s about to happen next, keeping my parents’ faces in the forefront of my mind.

  “I love you, Mom and Dad,” I whisper just as Nicky squeezes the trigger.

  “NO!” FRANK SCREAMS, diving for Nicky and tackling him to the ground. The gun is yanked sideways, and the chair leg beside me is fractured when a bullet tears through it instead of me. Frank wrestles Nicky to the ground, each vying for the gun as the two goons stand at the edge of the room, frozen in shock. I scramble behind the chair so I’m out of the path of any more bullets.

  “Reagan! Get out of here, now!” Frank yells. He’s got probably fifty pounds on Nicky, but Nicky is wily and knows exactly where to strike and lands several blows to Frank’s kidneys and solar plexus. Tweedles Dee and Dum have finally snapped out of their stupor and are trying to break up the two, but neither man is budging. “GO!” Frank shouts again. “Go and get help for my boy.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. I scramble to my feet and sprint to the front door, ignoring the searing pain in my side. My fingers tremble as I fumble to unlatch the bolt, but finally manage to get it free. I take one last look behind me to make sure I still have a real chance to escape and won’t catch a bullet the second I cross the threshold. Frank has managed to take control of the gun and is holding it to Nicky’s head while the two goons are pointing their own guns at him. It’s a standoff, and I am not sticking around to find out how it ends.

  I throw open the door and take off, practically flying I’m running so fast. I stumble over a gnarled tree root and crash to the ground, scraping both of my knees before rolling to my side as stars dance in my vision. The pain from my arm and side is unbearable, but I have to suck it up if I want to live. There is no other choice.

  I scramble to my feet once more and push forward, wishing I had taken those cardio exercises in gym class more seriously. Thick brush filled with chiggers and thorns scrape the skin on my legs, and my lungs are on fire, but I don’t dare slow. My life and Marco’s life depend on it.

  It’s not until I’m several hundred yards away do I even think to take in my surroundings so I can know where to send help once I find it. I pause, sucking in as much air as I can tolerate, my heart nearly exploding out of my chest. My eyes dart around, looking for any signs of life. There’s only one SUV sitting in front of the house and no perceivable driveway, just some muddy tracks from when they drove in. The narrow dirt path I’m on is overgrown, indicating to me that it’s most likely isolated. My heart sinks. The odds of finding help out here are not very high. I debate momentarily if I should even stay on the road, knowing it’s the first place they’ll look for me, but I decide not to veer off the main path. It might be a mistake, but it may also very well be the first place I’ll find help. And with the amount of pain I’m in I can’t afford to take it slow.

  Squinting up, I study the sun’s position in the sky. It’s low on the horizon, setting to my right so I know I’m heading south. I press forward, searching for any sign of life that could help, but see nothing in the distance. The area I’m in is pretty densely covered with trees, but I still can’t see any light from a house or smoke from a chimney. I listen, hoping for maybe a car engine, but hear nothing but a few birds in the trees above.

  I take off running again. I run faster than I’ve ever run in my life. My lungs want to explode, I can barely take a breath, and my arm is killing me, but I don’t stop. Adrenaline is pushing me forward.

  The path is not even or flat, and with every passing minute, it grows darker and darker, making it even more challenging to see where I’m going. I stumble and trip repeatedly, resulting in my body becoming streaked with blood on my knees, palms, and elbows. My ankle has twisted more than once, and it’s only the adrenaline that’s keeping the pain at bay, but exhaustion is setting in. After what seems like miles, I spot a tiny building in the distance.

  “Oh, thank god,” I blurt out, trying to catch my breath. I rest against a tree for a second. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in my body aches and is begging me to stop. Pushing off against the tree, I trudge through thick brush heading toward the darkened cabin. It’s about the size of the one Marco and I stayed in, with a faded-red door and matching shutters that are being overtaken by ivy climbing up the sides. The dirt drive is empty and the wood pile barren. It doesn’t appear that anyone is occupying it, but I bang on the door anyway.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Please! Is anyone home? I need help!”

  I move to the side window and wipe away a thick layer of dirt with the hem of my tee shirt in an attempt to see inside. There are large cloths covering all of the furniture and a thick layer of dust covering everything else. No one has been here in a very long time.

  I head back to the front door and try the knob, hoping to get lucky, but it’s locked. I move to the side and try every window as I make my way around the house. Everything is bolted up tight, but I’m desperate.

  Seeing a large rock at the base of the porch steps, I pick it up. “I’m sorry to have to do this,” I apologize to whoever owns the place before I heave the rock, smashing it through the glass window. I use a stick to clear away the rest of the glass and carefully crawl head first into the house, twisting so I don’t land on the shards of glass below. I land with an oomph on my butt. While I managed to escape most of the glass, one sliver has sliced through my forearm. The cut is deep and spilling blood at an alarming rate. I stand, searching for a towel to put pressure on the wound. I find one folded neatly on the kitchen counter and wrap it around my arm, tying it tight with my teeth. It’s not the greatest first aid job, but it’s the best I can do for now.

  I search the rest of the house, hoping for a phone or some other way of communicating. I flick the light switches in the kitchen and living room, but with no luck. The electricity has been turned off, and it’s now so dark I can barely see two feet in front of me. I dig on my hands and knees through every drawer I can find, finally coming up with a flashlight. Clicking it on, it illuminates a small area, but it’s dim. The batteries must be old. I need to press forward. I don’t know how long before this light runs out, or worse if Nicky and his men are hot on my trail.

  Getting to my feet, I’m overtaken by a powerful wave of dizziness. I blink away the black spots and glance down at my arm. The towel is soaked through with blood. Oh, shit. This is so not good. I’m losing it too quickly, and it’s making me lightheaded.

  I have to find help—now! It’s my only chance. There has to be something here. Please, dear God, let there be something here!

  I stumble once more but shake it off and get back up to my feet. Sweat trickles down my face and my skin is clammy. My pulse races under the surface of my skin. I cringe, watching as blood seeps out from underneath the edges of the towel. Ignoring the pain in my chest, I try to take slow, even breaths in an attempt to slow the rate of blood flow, but I’m terrified, and there is no convincing my head not to be scared out of my ever-loving mind right now.

/>   Pulling off sheet after sheet and opening box after box, I finally spot an old CB radio sitting in a box under a desk. I want to cry I’m so relieved. I hurriedly pull it out and switch the knob to on as I begin to scroll through the channels, listening for anyone.

  Channel after channel is silent, and I realize that the power button isn’t lit. Oh no! No, no, no. This is my only chance. I turn it over, opening the battery compartment and wiggling the five D batteries inside before replacing the cover and trying again.

  I flip the switch and want to weep when the little red button lights up.

  “Mayday! Mayday!” I yell, having no idea if that works for only ships or whatever. “SOS! Is anyone out there? Can anyone hear me?”

  I fall back against the wall, clutching the voice box in my hand as another wave of dizziness overtakes me. The black spots behind my eyes don’t want to go away this time. I’m getting very cold and sleepy.

  “Please. I need help. Can anyone out there hear me? I don’t know where I am. A small cabin on a mountain. It has a red door. And red shutters. Please, can anyone help?”

  It takes all my effort to turn the dial, trying another frequency and repeating my pleas for help. My hands have suddenly turned to lead, and I’m so tired.

  I just want to sleep.

  “Help. Please.” I mutter, my eyes closing involuntarily. “I’m going to die. I need…”

  It’s the last thing I remember muttering as the world slips away.

  MURMURED VOICES CALL out in the distance. They’re panicked and hurried, but I don’t know why. I try to open my eyes to see who they are, but it’s too hard. I’m too sleepy.

  “Pulse is weak and thready…”

  “BP sixty-two over forty and dropping. We’re losing her!”

  Who are they losing? I wonder.

  “Start an IV. Push two hundred cc’s of epi and call the blood bank. Tell them we need two units of packed red blood cells, STAT. And have two more on standby.”

  “On my count. One. Two…”

  I really want to keep listening, but the voices are so far away. I struggle to focus, but they’re fading, and I’m just so tired. Why am I so tired? I think I’ll just rest a while…

  A STEADY, REPETITIVE beeping fills my ears, while the sharp tang of antiseptic cleaner makes my nose twitch. I never did like that smell.

  “I think she’s waking up! Her finger just moved!”

  “I’ll go get the nurse.” There’s a shuffling of feet followed by the creak of a door.

  “Honey? Can you hear me?”

  Mom?

  “If you can hear me, open your eyes, Reagan. I’m right here, baby.”

  I try, but it’s as if they’ve been glued together. My mom’s perfume fills my nose, and it instantly calms me. My eye twitches as something warm blots my temples and forehead, the simple action comforting me like when I was a child sick at home with the flu.

  “Try again for me, Reagan. You can do it. Just open your eyes.”

  It’s clear now that it’s my mother’s voice, and I want so badly to see her. I do as she asks and try again, pushing my eyes open before blinking several times at the brightness.

  My mom stands above me, her hand brushing the hair from my forehead as she smiles. “Oh, sweetie.” She bends and kisses my forehead. “Oh, thank God.”

  I attempt to open my mouth so I can talk, but I can’t make my jaw work. There’s something in my mouth. It’s choking me. My eyes widen with panic and I gag when I realize I can’t breathe.

  Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “No, no, Reagan. Don’t try to talk. You’ve been intubated and have a tube down your throat. Daddy went to get the doctor, hold on, okay? He’ll be back in a minute.”

  I fight the urge to gag as my eyes scan the room. A large vase of fresh yellow daisies sits on the windowsill, a balloon tied around it wishing “get well soon.” Beside it, a TV sits on top of a large wardrobe. It’s on, but muted. Even without sound, I know that Maury is confirming that some guy is not the father.

  Mom squeezes my hand, bringing my attention back to her face. Tears well in her eyes, and she brushes them away. “I’m so relieved you’re awake, sweetie. We’ve been so worried.”

  The door opens again and my dad hurries in, followed by a nurse in pale green scrubs. She leans over my bedside, two fingers searching out the pulse on my wrist as she talks to me. “Hi there, Reagan. My name is Briana. I’m a nurse here at UTMC in Knoxville. It appears that you’ve been in an accident, and you lost a lot of blood.” She pauses, checking the numbers on the machine behind me and writing them down on a chart at the end of my bed.

  “Doctor Navarro will be here in a minute to see if we can remove the ventilator that’s been helping you breathe. You had a collapsed lung. In the meantime, I’m going to ask you a few yes or no questions, okay? All you have to do is blink your eyes once for yes and twice for no.” She sets the chart down and looks at me, waiting for my response.

  I blink once, indicating “yes,” and she smiles. “Great. Do you know your name?” She sticks a thermometer in my ear to take my temperature.

  I blink once more and open my mouth to answer before remembering the tube.

  “Just blink, sweetie,” Mom prompts. “Don’t try to move.” Dad has his hand wrapped around her shoulder and is tugging on his ear like he always does when he’s nervous. I want to tell them that I’m okay but know it’s impossible right now.

  The nurse continues. “Are you in any pain?”

  I blink again, my eyes shifting to my sore arm.

  The nurse smiles. “It wasn’t broken, you just dislocated your elbow. It’ll heal in a few days.”

  I close my eyes in relief.

  “Any pain besides that?” she asks.

  I blink twice for no.

  “You’re doing great. One more question before the doctor comes.” She checks the bags of fluids that hang from an IV pole before typing into the tablet next to her. “Do you remember what happened to you? The police have been in a few times inquiring. They will want to talk to you.”

  What happened to me… I repeat her words in my head. My eyes close as the memories break through the haze. The cabin. Marco. The car accident. Nicky. Frank. Oh god, Marco!

  My heart races, sending the machine monitoring my blood pressure into hyper-drive. My mom covers her mouth and whimpers at the sudden noise, leaning into my dad for support.

  I gag once more on the ventilator. I need to talk! I need to tell them what happened. I need to tell them about Marco! He may be already dead. At that, the monitors go wild. I push myself up in the bed, but the nurse puts her hand on my shoulder and gently pushes me back down.

  “You need to relax, Ms. Wilcox. You’re perfectly safe here. We know you were kidnapped, but there are two armed guards right outside your door. No one is going to hurt you. But I need you to calm down before you do damage to yourself. Okay?”

  My eyes widen, begging her to see what I’m trying to communicate. I can’t relax. I can’t calm down. I need to tell them.

  Mom comes around to the other side of the bed and gently rubs my arm. “I promise, nothing can hurt you now. Everything is—”

  She’s cut off by the door swinging open. Several people in lab coats come sweeping in. An older man with a white beard steps forward, introducing himself and the residents in tow. Nurse Briana briefs him on my stats as he applies a pair of latex gloves to his hands. “How are you doing there, Ms. Wilcox? I’m Dr. Navarro. I’m going to check to see if we can take that tube out, but I’m going to need you to be stable first. So can you close your eyes, count to ten, and relax a little for me?”

  Oh, thank goodness, I think. I nod and do as he asks. The sooner this tube comes out the better.

  “That’s much better.” Dr. Navarro smiles, shining a light in my eyes. “Pupils even and responsive.” He places a stethoscope on my chest, moving it around a few times. “Lungs sounds strong. Let’s remove this,” he instructs one of the residents.

  My
mom is ushered to the back of the room with my dad, and I’m surrounded by the medical team. The door opens again, but I can’t see who else has come in. Dr. Navarro smiles down at me. “I’m going to tell you how this works so you don’t begin to panic at any stage, okay?” He waits for me to blink once and continues. “We’re going to suction out any fluid that’s collecting in your throat, then I’ll count to three and pull it out in one pull. When I reach three, I want you to cough, okay? It’ll help release the grip your larynx has on the tube and make it hurt less. Can you do that?”

  I nod.

  “Good girl.” He turns to one of the residents. “Dr. Patel, push a milligram of Ativan first so she’s nice and relaxed. Briana, come around to my right for suction.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Nurse Briana replies, moving quickly.

  “Now, Reagan, once the tube is out you may feel a little breathless. That’s normal, okay? We have oxygen here on standby that can help you with that. Your main job here is to stay calm and remember to cough. Got it?” He smiles down. His face is kind and reminds me of my grandfather. “On three. One, two, three!”

  I cough, trying not to gag as the tube is ripped from my throat. “Good, good. Take a deep breath now,” one of the residents instructs. I suck in as much air as I can get, the crispness stinging my already- raw throat, but I keep sucking in, coughing repeatedly.

  Nurse Briana attaches a nasal cannula to my nose, and after a few minutes I feel a lot better. My mom takes a tentative step forward.

  “How do you feel?” she asks.

  “Marco!” I exclaim, my voice rough, and I start coughing again. My voice is raw and scratchy and I sound like an eighty-year-old who chain-smoked her entire life.

  Nurse Briana hands me a mug of ice water with a straw, instructing me to take a few sips. The water soothes my aching throat, each sip making me feel more like myself. Mom looks completely confused, turning to Dad, who shrugs his shoulders.