by Alexia Purdy
“We need to hurry up. That storm’s travelling fast.” Swanson stood bare-chested, holding his boots in one hand and slinging his T-shirt over his shoulder. I slipped my tank over my head, flipping my long blonde hair out the back to hang loose and wet against the cotton. A giant chill took over my body and I shivered. The eerie sense of being watched returned, but when a thunder clap rustled the trees across the river, the feeling left me. My attention turned toward home and curfew.
Veva yelled again for me to get in Swanson’s truck. She stood in the bed, finishing the final touches of redressing. The red taillights of Swanson’s truck lit the night, along with the next lightning strike.
“Ride with me.” Tripper’s invitation tempted me. I hated to admit I was curious what Tripper’s lips would feel like against mine. His smile hinted at the knowledge he knew how to use his mouth for pleasure. Tripper’s voice triggered the imagination for what passionate sex might feel like: warm, rolling, and crushing. He stood over six feet to my five-four, with a slight wave to his hair that curled under his baseball cap. Scruff covered his jaw at the end of each day, and after two days, the trim effect was distractingly attractive. His chocolate-colored eyes melted my insides when he looked at me in a certain way: deep, mesmerizing, and desiring. I didn’t understand the sensation. I’d never been with a boy, let alone a man, like Tripper Grant. Hell, the only boy I’d kissed was Camryn Harper, on a dare my junior year of high school. He became my boyfriend until we graduated. He never looked at me the way Tripper did, though, like he wished to devour me whole, leaving not a scrap behind.
My already pebbled nipples stood at even greater attention. Sharp points ached against my still-wet bra. My lower regions flittered at his appraising gaze and I rubbed my thighs together. Tripper didn’t miss the movement. He tormented me by dangling my flannel shirt with a come-and-get-it smirk. I don’t know why I brought it with me. The night was too warm but my mother always worried about cold and told me to take it with me, just in case. Just in case of a rare chill after ninety degree days in September. Just in case a wave of artic air decided to descend on our little strip of heaven. Just in case, just in case. Momma overprotected me to the point of suffocation some days, as if she anticipated something awful would happen to me, like freezing on a hot day, or being swallowed by the tempting trees beyond the river.
Still holding out my shirt like a matador, teasing me to rush him, I reached for the flannel. Tripper withdrew it, flung it over his shoulder and stalked to his truck, hopping in the driver seat without so much as a glance back to me. Tripper’s pick-up truck sat next to Swanson’s. I stopped briefly near his own lit taillights as his truck revved to life, realizing he wasn’t going to open the door for me, like a gentleman should. Sauntering between the two trucks, I lingered a moment, like I would ride with the ungentlemanly flirt, then used the tire of Swanson’s truck to hike myself into the bed next to Veva.
“What the hell?” Tripper barked out his open passenger window, slapping his hand on the steering wheel of his new F-10. He dangled my shirt to tease me, and I giggled at his frustration.
“Keep it as a souvenir of what could have been.” The bold taunt surprised even me, but Veva burst into deep laughter.
“That’ll teach you not to be a gentleman,” Veva teased. Did I mention Tripper brooded? He wore it well, but his demeanor didn’t endear me to him. Swanson revved his engine, and at that signal, Tripper took off like ghosts from hell were on his tail. Veva laughed harder as we jolted back against the cab of the truck at the weak attempt by Swanson to catch up with his brother. His truck fishtailed, and we each reached for the edge of the bed, laughing hysterically as our bodies jostled. Seeing Veva’s boots slide to the tailgate in slow motion, I realized I’d left mine behind.
“Wait,” I pounded on the back window to get Swanson’s attention. His head twisted briefly.
“What?” he shouted over the roar of the engine and Luke Bryant belting a ballad.
“I forgot my boots,” I yelled. “Stop the truck.”
“What?” he countered, reaching for the radio dial and lowering the volume.
“My boots,” I said, crawling to the back of the bed. Swanson slowed to a halt and I jumped over the tailgate without giving a second explanation. My mother would kill me if I lost the pricey birthday gift she gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Real cowboy boots were expensive, and these had a turquoise design etched into the light brown leather. I raced for the river edge, ignoring another crackle of light as large as a tree trunk and a football field away from me. One boot lay on its side at the top of the subtle dip to the river.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I scrambled, hunched over, searching for the other. A scraggly bush haphazardly here and there on our side of the river provided a break in the otherwise flat terrain.
“Where the hell are you?” Nearly on my knees, I spotted the boot, resting on the water’s edge, upright, like I stepped right out of it and into the river. Shaking my head, I reached downward for the boot perched dangerously close to the embankment edge, when my footing slipped and my right leg led the rest of my body toward the inky liquid below.
“Triple shit!” I stood with one foot in ice-cold water up to my knee, and the other braced on the embankment in an odd sort of split. I whipped the boot out of the lapping water in anger and was blindsided by something that sent me flat against the water with a force that stung. Hoisted upward, I gasped from shock and for air. A large arm wrapped around my waist and my feet left the river as I kicked backward. Opening my mouth to scream, a meaty hand anticipated the sound and covered half my face. Legs wild, arms thrashing, my body attempted to twist to no avail. The smell of dank river and dirt filled my nostrils. My eyes shifted, but I could see nothing, given both the darkness and my position.
Lightning struck closer to the river bank, illustrating a momentary outline of the river leading into darkness and the flat open field to my left. It looked like a line drawing done in pencil. My heart beat in time with the slap of thunder that followed. As swiftly as the sound came, it ended, leaving an eerie echo matched only by the sharp growl of: “Let her go.” Feral, animalistic, the sound traveled with a reverberating echo over the river.
My full body swung with my captor. Thick, hairy arms lay under my hands and I breathed deep, attempting to still the nauseous sensation in my stomach. My mouth opened to bite and gagged reflexively from the sweat-slick thickness of fingers over my lips. Horror struck at the realization that not only one but two men were going to have their way with me. Kicking outward toward the second man, hoping to make enough contact to startle him, my body jackknifed. The second man used this move to his advantage. With lightning speed, he gripped both feet in one hand and used my elongated legs as a means to drag me and my captor forward. A brief glance showed dark jeans and a zippered hoodie covering his head. No sign of his face, but a voice resonated from within the dark hood.
“I said, let her go.” The voice. Rough and rapid as the river water over deep rocks, it rolled over my body. If I wasn’t already quaking with anger and fear at my entrapment, that tone would have made me tremble. One hand still held both my ankles to his side, but his chest practically rested on mine. My captor released my mouth, stretching his thick hand forward to swat at this other figure like an annoying fly. The movement was so quick in response, I hardly saw the hand that rose and captured the thick one. An onlooker might have thought the two shook hands on an agreement. We were a tangle of hands and legs and wrists.
“I’ll say it one last time. Let. Her. Go.” With the swift breeze of my captor’s failed swat, the hoodie of my savior fell back, revealing midnight black hair, hanging down his neck and curling around it. Long bangs slashed over an iridescent blue face, but his eyes, the blue was as bright as the colored glass bottles my momma stood on the windowsill in the kitchen. Those cobalt vessels appearing like nothing special until the sunlight hit them, and they lit the pane and the area around in a wash of dancing blue light. Those eyes
pierced mine before shifting back to my captor.
My ankles released. My captor’s arm twisted, and as a unit, we spun. My back slapped against the bulging chest of the man who held me.
“I warned you,” growled the voice over both our shoulders. A sickening crack sounded behind me only seconds before another strike of lightning and simultaneous snap of thunder collided. My body dropped, plunging me into the icy water up to my shoulders. I scrambled forward on hands and knees despite the frigid temperature. My hands disappeared under the inky water and cut against sharp river rocks hidden from sight. Despite the thump of something large and gelatinous sounding hitting earth, I didn’t turn back. My legs trembled, whether from the cold depth or the shock of danger, I could no longer distinguish. Hands gripped my waist and I screamed, the strangled sound drowned out by the heavens opening and the hard assault of rain. Long daggers of water struck, and jabbed, and stung my chilled skin. I could hardly see three inches let alone three feet, but I felt my savior’s presence everywhere. Still shaken by the experience, I attempted to run, my feet now bearing the brunt of the rocks below. A strangled whistle sounded behind me and the crashing noise of water followed. A horse’s whinny filled the air. But I continued to run. My waist was encircled, and I was hoisted into the air. A great beast of a horse was at my side and I shifted my legs to straddle it out of instinct.
“Let me go!” I demanded. Strong arms trapped me, pressing me tighter against him and ignoring my plea. He flicked his wrist, ordering this mighty black steed to gallop faster.
We travelled straight down the middle of the shallow river, racing the rain that cut razor sharp. Any moment, I thought he’d turn us back as we sped in the opposite direction of my home.
“Where are you taking me?” The rain drowned out my question. Although he saved me from whomever attacked me, I worried that I’d narrowly escaped one threat to encounter another.
“Take me home,” I half-begged, half-cried, gulping in a mouthful of rain, and my body shifted in the saddle in attempts to face him and draw his attention. A firm hand came to my hip.
“Be still.” His command only infuriated me.
“Turn back!” I demanded. His arms tightened around me. We leapt up the river bank and sprinted under the trees, using them as broken umbrellas. The mighty steed groaned beneath us before I heard the crack of bones and we dropped several feet.
“What the…” The overlarge stallion had morphed into a narrow dirt bike, agile and sleek for the narrow trails within the woods. I screamed in shock and horror, but the sound was swallowed by the steady whine of the dirt bike leading us deeper into the woods. The bike appeared too slim to hold both our weights and my body shifted left in opposition to the direction of the tires. My legs wobbled awkwardly off each side as I teetered on what I considered a thin seat of metal. The wheels sputtered and we fishtailed.
“Brace your feet on mine.” Tender, torn feet landed on solid boots, my body trapped within the confines of his thighs and his arms. I held my breath in fear we would tumble over as he sped over bumpy roots and narrow gaps between solid oaks. Mud added to the torture of our race as it slapped me occasionally in our twists and turns. My head was gently pushed forward and his hand briefly held my neck before we jogged right. I couldn’t get any wetter, between the river and the rain. My skin raised with gooseflesh and my limbs shivered uncontrollably. I whimpered as my teeth chattered. Questions ran through my head.
Was this a dream?
What was this strange beast we rode?
Who was this strange man behind me?
Could this be happening? Was I destined for a fate worse than the creep at the river?
The only thing keeping me from full-blown panic was when I recalled he had saved me, and the fact that his fingers were woven through my hair, as if trying to protect me from the rain. Suddenly bone tired, my eyes drifted shut in despair. My hands ached. My feet cut. My heart raced while the bike below me vibrated between my thighs. My stomach dipped as the bike catapulted toward the river. The front wheeled up and my captor yelled: “MORPH!” Metal tore apart as the head of the stallion reappeared. We hit the riverbed with a hardy thump, pitching us both forward as the rear of the horse returned. The result rose us up several feet. I lurched forward then sprang upward like a bobble-head toy. My head knocked his shoulder and an arm encircled my waist to steady my body. I was pressed back against a firm chest.
“Where in hell are we going?” I yelled over the splashing hooves and thudding rain.
“Exactly,” he shouted next to my ear.
“What?”
“Hell,” he barked. My neck twisted and it caught his nose. He sniffed my hair above my ear. I spun further, my brows pinching, my eyes questioning. Those cobalt gems remained forward, focused. His face was a mask, stone-looking and bluish. Glancing down at the hand flat against my stomach, his nails were black and pointed, almost like talons or claws. Sensing my appraisal, he clenched his fingers into a fist, but it caught my thin tank and scratched against my belly. I cried out. Instantly, his hand removed from me and I noted the now shredded appearance of my shirt. I quivered again in fear, convinced death awaited me. My shoulders hunched forward in reaction to the sharp scrape.
“My apologies.” His formality sounded ancient and strange. My first glance would have placed him roughly the age of Tripper, but the cadence of his voice sounded years older. Thoughts of Tripper shifted to Swanson and Veva.
“My friends are waiting for me.” The statement seemed weak. “They’ll call the police, but I won’t tell anyone what happened, if you just take me back. No one would believe all this anyway.” Doubt for my own sanity crept through my brain.
“I cannot.” This man was clearly on a mission, and it was taking me in the opposite direction of home. While he’d been my savior in one instance, I suddenly realized he was a captor in another.
Ready to protest, or plea for my life, my voice faltered as a large building loomed before us. The entire structure stood black, metallic and foreboding. Not a single light shown from its glassy windows. The rain subsiding, water trickled down its sleek sides, like snakes writhing in escape. We headed for a tunnel ahead arched in limestone block. What should have been white brick was dark and dank looking, wet from the sudden storm and encased in crushed mud. We slipped under the arch, my captor ducking his head. Chilly air surrounded us. His breath brushed over my cool skin, enhancing the sudden cold. It was as if he’d eaten ice cream, his mouth frozen and exhaling to tease me. His grim face and clenched jaw proved he wasn’t kidding. Our faces were so close we nearly rubbed cheeks. If he turned his head, he’d kiss my jaw. My mouth watered at the disturbing thought.
The horse slowed, prancing wildly as his nostrils flared and his flanks spread from the excursion of a hard run.
“Whoa, Killer,” my captor soothed. “Home, boy.”
Home?
“What is he?” I asked instead, staring down at the mane of the creature that evidently was more than a horse.
“Up,” The horse’s master called out, ignoring my question. Ahead of us, a gate rose, methodically slow, into the heavy stone above it. Sharp points on the ends accentuated the frightening structure that screamed stay away, danger lives behind here. I gripped the horse’s mane harder in my fists, finding no comfort in the coarse hair as I typically would in my own horse, Greece.
What was this place? One moment I faced a modern skyscraper, but in this tunnel a heavy gate stood guard like you’d see as the barrier to a castle dungeon or a hidden lair. My eyes scanned the moist cement walls, dripping with condensation. Gate barely risen, we ducked under the iron structure. It fell instantly with a clanking thud behind us. Echoing off the stone corridor, the sound solidified my imprisonment. I was trapped. Once the noise settled, a new one arose. We cantered up an incline, exiting the river enough that only a thin layer of water trickled over the stone flooring. A second sound echoed down the walls: a moan, a whimper, a sharp cry. What was that noise? I tilted my
head as if I could distinguish it better. Its intensity grew as we pressed forward.
A moan, a whimper, a sharp cry.
“What is that?” I questioned. My voice, barely a whisper, trailed off. The sounds increased.
A moan, a whimper, a sharp cry. Then a wail.
I spun into the rider behind me and ducked my head. Pressing my cheek firmly against my savior-captor, my fists rose and clenched his open hoodie, soaked through like me.
A moan, a whimper, a sharp cry, a deepening wail.
My eyes pinched shut and I pressed harder into his chest. The hand that had scraped me released the reins, then rubbed hesitantly up my back. I peeked up at him as his tender touch surprised me. His hair was swept back in our haste through the rain. His face illuminated in the darkness of this cavernous space, that bluish tint reflected from intermittent torches. A scar curled from his forehead to his jaw near his hairline. Another scar crossed his strangely dark blue lips: a perfect line from nose to chin cut both curves. His jaw clenched in concentration. The moan, whimper, and sharp cry murmured throughout the cavern, calling and responding from all sections in a dull volley, and pulled me away from my observation. The elongated sound of each vibrated almost sensually throughout the tunnel. A sharp cry caught my breath as we drew near the end of the tunnel. I sat up straighter and inhaled. The stench was a mix of saltwater, fish, and rot. The irony—this was Nebraska. I shifted to question my fellow rider and without a word escaping my lips, he answered.
“Welcome to Hell.”
hell
[Hades]
“Welcome to Hell.” The words didn’t do justice to where we had arrived. The girl trembled against me, her grasp on my hoodie so tight I expected the zippered edges to snap in half. She sat with her tender cheek pressed against my chest, and her delicate fingers clenched in the fabric of my clothing like I was a lifeline instead of a monster who planned to steal her life.
