by Tarah Benner
“You guys okay?” she asked.
Portia let out what sounded like a groan, and Lark knew she would be cursing her if she could.
“Bernie?”
No response.
“Rub the edge of the tape against your shoulder,” said Lark. “It’ll help you get it off.”
Bernie made a noise that sounded an awful like “screw you,” but she went to work attempting to peel the tape away from her mouth, too.
“You making any progress over there?” Lark asked Portia.
Portia turned her head and gave Lark a hateful look.
Lark sighed. She knew that she’d made a mistake in allowing Gideon and his cronies to haul them off to their creepy compound, but she honestly hadn’t expected them to be such skilled kidnappers. She’d escaped prison twice, for crying out loud. It had never occurred to her that she might have trouble absconding from a group of cracked-up cult members.
Minutes faded into hours, and it seemed that Portia was having no success sawing through her wrist restraints. Lark had tried until her wrists were raw, but she just couldn’t find something sharp enough to saw through the rope.
Finally Portia went to work on her tape, breathing a loud sigh of relief when it was finally gone.
“Fuck!” she yelled, not bothering to keep her voice down. “I can’t — believe — this was your plan!”
“Did you have a better one?” Lark replied, suddenly wishing she hadn’t told Portia how to get the tape off.
“Um, I don’t know . . . How about ‘don’t get in the car with a bunch of psychopaths who want to force you into marriage slavery’? Seems pretty basic to me!”
“They were armed.”
“With one gun.”
“Oh, just one?” Lark quipped. “My mistake. I forgot you and your unborn child were bulletproof.”
“We could have stalled until someone found us.”
“And then what would we have done? Driven them off? Gideon would have gone to the feds.”
“Really?” said Portia in a snide voice. “What? Are they just going to call up the Department of Homeland Security on the phone and tell them that a bunch of escaped criminals are living next door? No! The phones are down. The Internet is down. If they wanted to turn us in, they would have reported us to that agent!”
“Wake up!” Lark spat. “We never would have felt safe with them knowing about us.”
“Oh, is that what you were worried about? Because I feel completely safe tied up in their barn.”
“Stop it,” Bernie whispered, her voice coming out low and ragged.
Lark turned to her.
“We aren’t gonna make it out of here with you two fighting like this.”
There was something in Bernie’s voice that multiplied Lark’s concern. Bernie didn’t sound like her usual spunky self. She sounded weak, exhausted, and utterly demoralized.
“We aren’t going to make it out of here period,” said Portia. “At least not without a ring on our fingers and a maniac’s spawn in our bellies.”
“What are you so worried about?” Lark muttered. “You’re already halfway there.”
Lark was unprepared for what happened next. Portia turned, hawked up a loogie, and spit in Lark’s face. It hit her right cheek with a warm wet smack, and Lark felt her mouth fall open in shock.
Portia had spat in her face. She’d literally just spat on her.
“Well, I guess I deserved that,” Lark grumbled, wiping her cheek on her shoulder.
There was a long awkward pause, and then a low rumble of laughter shimmied up Lark’s chest. She pursed her lips together to stop it, but it burst out of her with a snort of air through her nostrils. She clenched her mouth shut, but the laughter continued to shake its way through her until she was trembling in a fit of hilarity.
“What is the matter with you?” said Portia, sounding disgusted and a little concerned.
Lark couldn’t answer her. She had no idea. Tears were leaking out of her eyes, mixing with the laughter in a violent storm of emotion.
A second later, Bernie started to chuckle, too, and soon she was laughing and crying alongside Lark. Portia stared at her with a sour expression, but then Lark could have sworn that she saw the ghost of a smirk crack the corner of Portia’s mouth.
“Oh my god,” Bernie cried, tears of laughter and hopelessness trailing down her cheeks. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Lark panted. “We’re screwed.”
“We have to get out of here,” Bernie gasped. “Portia can’t have her bastard raised by ol’ tub-o-lard.”
Upon hearing Bernie’s nickname for her would-be husband, Portia finally succumbed to a snort of laughter.
“What about you?” she chuckled. “Are you saying that you’re all jazzed about marrying the extra-beardy one?”
Bernie shrugged. “I guess I could get used to it. But I would spend my life pining for Simjay and his stupid handsome face.”
At those words, Portia finally relented. She let out a loud full-body laugh, and Lark stared at her in shock. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Portia laugh. She’d been on the receiving end of her evil snicker and a fake haughty chuckle, but she’d never seen Portia let out a real honest-to-god laugh.
But after another couple of hours, the absurdity of their situation began to wear off. Lark’s throat was parched, her clothes were soaked with sweat, and she realized that they’d been left without food or water or any place to relieve themselves.
Just before sundown, the barn door slid open, and all three of them squinted as the building was flooded with late golden light. Lark’s heart sped up, and she gritted her teeth in defiance. Three shadows stood in the entryway: a man and two women.
“Well, well . . .” said the man. Lark instantly recognized Gideon’s voice. “Looks like someone’s been chatty.”
Lark was too parched and exhausted to realize what he was referring to. Then it occurred to her that he’d noticed the missing duct tape.
Gideon strode toward them, and Lark lost sight of him in the blinding golden light. It wasn’t until she heard his footsteps disturbing the hay on the ground that she realized he was only a few yards away. The two women were hovering shyly behind him, as though they feared they might catch the girls’ sinfulness secondhand.
“Mary Ellen,” said Gideon, beckoning one woman forward.
Mary Ellen shuffled slowly up behind Gideon. She was holding a waterskin and looked as though she would rather be anywhere else. Gideon took the waterskin, unscrewed the top, and offered a drink to Bernie.
Bernie didn’t say a word. She just drank greedily. Next it was Lark’s turn. She gulped it down with a manic desperation, sloshing water all down her front. But when Gideon offered the waterskin to Portia, Portia took a few sips and spit the rest on Gideon’s shoes.
“Ungrateful bitch,” he hissed.
“Portia, you have to drink,” said Bernie weakly. Lark knew Bernie was thinking about the baby, but she also knew that Portia would not be cowed by Gideon or anyone else. Portia was unbreakable.
“This is your chance if you would like to use the outhouse,” said Gideon. “I will escort you outside, but Mary Ellen and Mary Margaret will . . . supervise.”
The mention of an outhouse visit was a welcome relief, but then Lark had an idea.
Bernie was first to be escorted to the bathroom. Gideon untied her feet so that she could walk but left her arms bound behind her back. She stumbled out with the Marys flanking her on either side and Gideon trailing behind her, and Lark waited with her heart in her throat.
Once they were gone, she turned to Portia. Portia’s face was shining with sweat, and her eyes were glazed with fatigue.
“Listen,” she said, speaking in a low, urgent whisper. “Whatever happens, you need to keep yourself and Bernie safe.”
“What?”
“Don’t try to be the hero. Just do what Gideon says, and take care of yourselves.”
“What
are you talking about?”
“I’m getting out of here,” said Lark. “I’m gonna go for help.”
“Are you crazy?”
“This might be the only chance we get,” Lark continued. “I’ll find the Baileys and come back to get you.”
“No!” Portia hissed. “If you get caught, they will kill you.”
Lark swallowed. She’d already considered that possibility, but it didn’t matter. She was the one who’d gotten them into this mess; she had to get them out.
There was no more talking after that. A second later, the barn door slid open, and Gideon and the Marys reappeared with Bernie.
Bernie looked disgusted and slightly scarred by the whole experience. Lark tried to catch her eye as she approached to communicate her plan, but Bernie just stared back with a confused look on her face.
Once Bernie was secured to the wall, Gideon started to untie Lark’s feet and released her bindings from where he’d tethered her to the wall. He hauled her to her feet, and Lark got a surge of empowerment just from being upright again. Gideon kept hold of her arms as he marched her out of the barn, and Lark fought off the slimy feeling she got from having his hands on her body.
The sun had fallen behind the trees, and darkness was settling over the compound. This was both good and bad. On the one hand, it would make it easier for Lark to disappear. On the other, it would make finding her way back to the Baileys’ that much more difficult.
Gideon quickened his pace, shoving Lark along a worn dirt path toward the outhouse. Lark looked around and saw tiny slivers of light leaking from the little shacks around the compound. A man was walking back with a bucket of water, and he stopped to watch Lark pass with a sickening degree of interest.
Lark gagged. She could only imagine what it would be like to be married to one of those creeps. She thought of Gabriel and how quickly he’d agreed to take on Portia’s unborn child so that he could have her all to himself.
When they reached the outhouse, Lark saw that it was about the size of two regular bathroom stalls. The smell inside was not overwhelming. There was just a slight park-bathroom odor emanating from two buckets that seemed to have been converted into toilet seats over the holes in the ground.
Gideon turned and made to close the door, but before he left, he twisted back around and grabbed Lark by the bit of flesh that connected her shoulder to her neck.
“No funny business,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Do you understand me?”
Lark was breathing hard and fast, but she managed a nod, hoping he would release her.
Instead, Gideon pulled her closer, and she got a whiff of his stale, disgusting breath. “I will kill you, Lark. I won’t even hesitate. Just give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”
Lark swallowed and nodded slowly.
Gideon held her gaze for one more second before releasing his grip and letting himself outside. Lark was left alone with the two Marys, who were still looking at her as though she were carrying some sort of disease.
“Here,” said Mary Margaret, taking the lid off one of the buckets and waiting for Lark to approach.
Lark wrinkled her nose. This might be the most awkward bathroom break she had ever experienced, and that was saying something.
Mary Ellen bent down to unbutton Lark’s pants while Mary Margaret held her still, and Gideon’s words echoed back in her head. He would kill her if he had the chance.
Lark squirmed. Mary Ellen’s hand slipped away from her fly, and Lark saw her opportunity. Mary Ellen bent closer to try again, and Lark drove her knee into the woman’s nose.
It all happened so fast that no one could have seen it coming. There was a sickening crunch followed by a shriek. Warm blood gushed down over Lark’s knee, and Mary Margaret let out a cry of panic.
The first Mary started to sob, and Lark used the momentary chaos to head-butt Mary Margaret in the temple.
This time, her aim had not been true. The top of her head grazed the side of Mary Margaret’s, but the force of the strike threw Lark off balance. She careened into the wall of the outhouse, and one of the Marys let out a scream.
Lark aimed a kick at the nearest Mary — she’d lost track of which — and the woman she’d struck bounced into the wall like a pinball.
A second later, the outhouse door flew open. Gideon shot in as though he’d been expecting trouble, his eyes alight with fury. Lark aimed a kick that caught him squarely in the gut, but he rebounded in an instant and threw himself toward her.
Gideon moved with a surprising amount of speed, and Lark felt his fingers close around her throat as he shoved her back against the wall. She choked and thrust her knee up into his groin, and she saw Gideon’s eyes pop out of his head.
Lark shouldered a Mary out of the way and threw herself against the door. It swung open, and she staggered out into darkness, gasping as the cool air washed over her.
Lark ran. She didn’t look back. She didn’t think. She just aimed her body toward the road and sprinted through the field as hard as she could.
She stumbled once over the uneven ground and heard footsteps coming up behind her. Lark pushed her legs harder, hands still bound, but she knew she wasn’t fast enough.
She cringed as the footsteps grew louder behind her. Gideon was closing the distance between them, and there was nothing she could do.
Cold dread flooded through Lark’s body. She pumped her legs harder. But then a hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, and pain sliced across her scalp. Lark screamed as Gideon tugged her backward, ripping out a chunk of her hair. She ducked and tried to slip away, and Gideon grabbed her by the throat.
The sudden disruption to her momentum threw Lark off balance. Her knees buckled, and Gideon tackled her from the side.
She hit the ground with a burst of agony, and Gideon landed on her hips. She twisted and flailed beneath him, and Gideon flipped her onto her back.
He aimed a punch that hit her in the mouth and sent a burst of pain through Lark’s skull. She tasted blood — sharp and thick — but she kept fighting to get away.
It was no use. Gideon was bigger and stronger. He flattened her on the ground and hit her again. This time, the force of the blow rattled Lark’s brain, and she fought the urge to pass out.
Everything became a painful blur. She heard footsteps off in the distance and the scandalized shrieks of the women in the outhouse. She could see the wavering shadows of onlookers rushing to the scene, but Lark was too dazed and exhausted to move.
Silent tears were streaming down her face, but they were tears of rage, not pain. She’d had one chance — one glorious chance — and she’d blown it. She wouldn’t get another shot, and she’d ruined Bernie’s and Portia’s chances, too.
With the watchful eyes of the crowd on him, Gideon wouldn’t strike her again. But she could tell by the furious gleam in his eyes that he wanted to beat her to death right then and there. He was panting with exertion, and Lark knew that he was embarrassed. He’d almost lost one of his hostages, and his future bride was making a fool out of him.
Gideon clambered off her crushed body and yanked Lark to her feet. He was gripping her arm hard enough to leave a bruise, while the onlookers stared in disbelief.
Gideon tugged her back toward the barn. Lark stumbled, and he heaved her over his shoulder. Lark squirmed and bucked and kneed him in the chest, but she was too exhausted to put up a fight.
Gideon started moving through the darkness, and the low whispers of the crowd faded in the distance. Horror and dread pooled in Lark’s stomach, and she closed her eyes to avoid being sick.
Gideon had warned her, and he was about to make good on his promise. He was going to kill her, and there was no one who could stop him.
15
Lark
Panic and horror overrode Lark’s senses as Gideon carried her across the field. At first she thought he was taking her back to the barn, but he charted a straight course across the compound toward the farmhouse looming in the d
istance.
It stood like a black specter against the steadily darkening sky. Its jagged roof jutted out against the swirling gray clouds, and its windows gleamed at Lark from across the field.
The only light inside the house leaked from a dirty first-floor window, where someone had lit a fire in the grate. Lark could see the light dancing across the walls as Gideon pushed his way through the back door.
The smell of burning wood reached Lark’s nostrils, but it wasn’t powerful enough to obscure the musty odor of the old house and the burnt food that had hardened on the stove.
Raising her head a couple of inches to get a better look at the house, Lark banged her head hard against the doorjamb. Gideon didn’t seem to notice. Light was emanating from a room down the hall, and Lark could see it throwing long shadows behind Gideon.
“Son . . . Is that you?” called an old man from the other room.
“Yes, Father. It’s me,” Gideon huffed, striding into the kitchen and dumping Lark onto the floor. Her shoulder hit the gritty tile first, and her hips and legs were quick to follow. Pain spread throughout her body, but she immediately twisted onto her knees and tried to get back on her feet — a difficult task with her hands still bound.
But before Lark could get one foot underneath her, Gideon shoved her in the shoulder — hard — and Lark slammed onto the floor.
“Mother — fucker!” Lark growled, aiming a kick that missed Gideon by inches.
“Gideon, who’s with you?” called the old man.
Gideon didn’t answer. He just grabbed a wet rag off the counter and crammed it roughly into Lark’s mouth. Lark gagged at the intrusion of wet, soapy cotton, and Gideon took the opportunity to smash her body flat against the ground and tie another piece of fabric around her mouth to hold the dishrag in place. It was a dirty kerchief, and it stank of sweat and diesel fuel.
Lark was starting to lose herself to the panic. She couldn’t move an inch with Gideon smashing her into the floor. She couldn’t scream. She could barely breathe.
