Yell! Scream! Shout!
Her brain demanded, but her lips just mumbled nothingness.
Get up! Run!
A figure emerged from the men’s room, approaching the truck.
Help. Help me, please.
He came closer, opened her door. And it was then she realized it was him. The crazy guy who’d taken her.
“Awake, sugar?” His voice sounded odd, almost robotic.
With one hand, he pushed her helplessly back against the seat. With the other, he doused more of the foul smelling liquid onto the rag and raised it to her face.
“Sorry. Just a little longer, and we’ll be home. You sleep now. Sleep.”
She’d fought him weakly, but hadn’t stopped his arm from forcing the acrid smell into her nose and mouth.
When she next awoke, the sun had risen and a pink horizon greeted her gritty eyes through the passenger side window. She noticed the red geranium for the first time on the floor by her feet.
They were crossing a river on a metal bridge, and the light winked on her face in repetitive flickering waves.
“You won’t need this anymore, sugar.” He leaned over to roll down her window and tossed her purse out into the open space. It sailed over the bridge railings and disappeared.
“No!” A weak gurgle escaped her lips. Hot tears scalded her cheeks. “My phone.” It was all she could manage. And in spite of all the other essentials that flew past her and into the river below, all she could think of was her beloved iPhone. Gone. Wet. Useless.
“How will I call my parents?” she murmured, as if the crazy guy next to her would actually care or answer her.
He patted her leg, leaving his hand on her thigh.
She pulled away.
“Oh, don’t worry. You won’t need your folks anymore. You’re with me, now, sugar.”
“Stop calling me that!” With a sob, she drew herself closer to the open window, for one wild moment thinking maybe she could throw herself out of it, roll on the road, and scream for help.
But her muscles flagged and her arms were tied.
He leaned over her and rolled up the window. “No crazy ideas. Sugar.”
She closed her eyes and let the tears stream down her face. “Why?” She opened them and turned toward the monster sitting beside her. He looked so normal. So much like every other guy on the street of small town USA.
“Because you’re the one. You were meant for me. Now hush up and go back to sleep.” He reached for the rag again.
“No! Please. I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink, please?”
He leaned down and opened a small cooler sitting on the floor between them. Uncapping a bottle of water, he handed it to her. “Drink up.”
She drained the bottle, managing to hold it between her bound hands.
“What do you say?” he growled, lowering his eyebrows in her direction while turning onto another highway.
“Huh?” She turned blurry eyes toward him.
“What. Do. You. Say?”
Heart pounding, head aching, she leaned as far away from him as possible. “Um. Thank you?”
“Good girl. Now shut up and let me drive.”
Chapter 27
When she next awoke it was to the truck bouncing over potholes and ruts. Her head bumped against the window, and her bleary eyes shot open.
Outside, tree branches swept past the truck. Beyond that, deep blackness.
The inside of the cab smelled like fast food. Portia realized she had eaten nothing since her capture, and suddenly her stomach rolled in hunger. “Is there any food left?” she asked, sounding to herself like a beggar child asking for a morsel at the king’s table.
He seemed relaxed. Happy? As if she were a sudden annoyance, he tossed her a bag.
She dug into it, finding half a carton of cold fries and an apple pie. She slid the pastry out of its sleeve and bit into it, deciding it was the best thing she’d tasted in years. Later, she’d wished she’d eaten the fries, too. At least they had calories. Even cold, there had to be some nutrition in them. Better than nothing.
When she gobbled down the last bite, she reached for another bottle of water and drained that, too. Urgent pressure on her bladder came minutes later, when they jarred over another bump.
“I have to go,” she said. “It’s an emergency.”
He grunted, looked at her as if she’d interrupted a pleasant daydream, and stopped the truck. “Well, don’t go far. We’re almost home.” He gestured toward the door. “You can do your business in the woods. But there are bears and wildcats, so stay close.”
She fumbled with the door handle, incredulous. He was going to let her go! She could pee in the woods, then turn to run. Anywhere would be better than here. Anywhere, even if there were bears waiting to pounce on her.
Slowly, she opened the creaking old door and slipped out.
He cranked down her window. “Make it snappy, sugar.”
Sugar, again. Oh, how I already hate that nickname.
She backed away ten feet and crouched behind a bush, quickly emptying her bladder. When she stood to zip her jeans, the world spun.
Damn. That chloroform, or whatever it was, is still in my system.
“Come on. We’re almost there, and I’m tired.”
In spite of her muddy thoughts and the dizzying sensations coursing through her, she turned and ran as if chased by the hounds of Hell.
In the distance, now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, something glimmered. Silvery in the moonlight, it beckoned. Salvation. Freedom. A lake! Could she swim across it to get away from him?
His heavy grunt met her ears, then a shout. “Hey! Where are you going?”
She pushed her rubbery legs as hard as she could manage, swinging under pine branches, almost falling, and stumbling through the underbrush. Thorns raked her skin. Her eyes began to tear, because although she tried to run as fast as she could, she realized she was actually lurching at a painfully slow pace, like a crazy drunkard, arms and legs moving, but making little or no progress.
His footfalls came heavy and loud behind her, punctuated by his mechanical, raspy breathing. “God damn you, girl. You’ll pay for this.”
She froze inside, panicking. The silvery sparkle, which she now thought of as her salvation, didn’t seem any closer. With one last huge effort, she forced her legs to move forward. Stars blurred overhead. Trees loomed out of the darkness. She slammed into a big oak tree, banging her head against its massive trunk.
Turning, she saw him, getting closer.
He was laughing.
“You’re not getting very far. What’s wrong? Lost your sense of direction? Feeling a little woozy, sugar?”
She spun, legs churning away from him.
Come on, Portia! Move! Do it for your family. Do it for your horses. Get away from this crazy bastard!
With a deep gulping breath, she poured on the speed, feeling hysterical pleasure in the long strides that took her away from him.
Go, go, go! Her mind chanted encouragement, and she felt her brain clear, just a little. There, to the right, a trail led to the water.
Pounding faster now that she had no obstructions, she flew down the trail, not daring to look over her shoulder.
“Sugar, you’ll never get away from me.”
He sounded closer than she’d expected.
Run!
She reached the lakeshore, and without stopping to take off her shoes or jacket, slogged into the cold water.
Too late.
His hand reached her arm and jerked her backwards.
“Are you stupid?”
She fell into the water, soaked to her neck.
Heavy breathing met her ears and she felt the world spinning again. “Let me go!” But her words sounded feeble, even to herself.
His arm reached around her neck, squeezing hard. “I said, we’re almost home. Now, don’t go spoiling everything. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
His arm pressed harder against her
throat, and when she could no longer breathe, she stopped struggling, and the world went black. Again.
Chapter 28
The man lay next to her on the double bed, curled away from her. He wore gray flannel pajama pants and no shirt. Blackish gray hair swirled over his chest, up his neck, and down beneath his waistband. He breathed evenly, snoring slightly through parted lips. Long gray hair lay flat against his skull, spilling onto the pillow.
She looked down at her body, covered in a sheet.
Oh, God. No.
Waking rapidly, she took stock of her situation, lifting the covers.
Relieved, she found she still wore her underclothes, but noticed her wet shirt and jeans on a chair by the boarded up window. Her sodden sneakers lay on the floor beneath the chair.
What had he done to her while she blacked out?
She moved on the bed, wiggling her legs and hips. She didn’t feel sore, so she didn’t think he’d forced himself on her. Thank God.
The room was simple, walled with rough boards whose chinks were filled with what looked like dry mud. One chair. A small table. A door leading to the bathroom. Closet, closed. And another larger room on the other side. Probably a living room, she figured.
She wiggled sideways, sliding her bare legs off the mattress and to the floorboards below. Slowly, carefully, she edged toward her clothes on the chair. They were still damp, but not wringing wet like they must’ve been when she was dragged out of the lake, unconscious.
She squirmed into them, slid on her still-wet sneakers and looked around the room. All windows were boarded up, even the little window in the rustic bathroom.
The man snored louder, snorting once and turning onto his side.
Barely breathing, she eased out of the bedroom into the living room, which she discovered was the only other room in the cabin. A mini-kitchen stood off to the right. A table and two chairs separated the kitchen space from the couch and chairs that faced a fireplace. Jackets and caps hung from a wooden peg by the door, which was firmly shut. She approached it, praying he couldn’t lock it from inside, but her heart fell when she saw the four-inch steel padlock attached to a chain looping through the door handle and to a bolt on the wall.
She tried it, anyway, and with a sob of frustration, fell to her knees by the door.
Locked in.
Trapped.
Panicking, she shot to her feet and tried to pry one of the boards off the windows. Attached from the inside, she realized they were fastened with long, heavy screws, three on each side. The wood seemed almost petrified, it was so thick and heavy.
She looked around for a tool to pry one of the boards off.
There, by the fireplace. A long brass tool hung on a hook. She lunged for it, trying to be as quiet as possible in her squeaking sneakers. Slowly, carefully, with shaking fingers, she inserted the flat-tipped end of the tool beneath one board, pushing hard on it.
It didn’t budge.
Again, she leaned her weight against the tool and pushed as hard as she could.
The board didn’t move, not even a fraction of an inch.
Frustrated and exhausted, she collapsed on the floor in a heap.
What’s he going to do with me? Kill me? Rape me? Keep me like a little wife to cook and clean and polish his boots?
Sobs overtook her, and still, the steady snoring came from the bedroom.
What should I do?
She glanced toward the bedroom again, thinking of ways she could immobilize him and steal the key. Maybe she could knock him out with the fireplace poker? Tie him up?
Could she overpower him?
No. He was too big. Too strong.
Her mind continued to race, but a sense of helplessness and fear descended on her. After another twenty minutes, her tears dried. Maybe she should just wait and see what the situation was. She might be able to slip out later in the day, or during the night. Once she knew where the key was, she—
Before she could finish her sentence, his voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Good, you’re up.” He lumbered into the living room and sat on the couch, watching her. “Trying to escape already? Well, aren’t we the little wildcat, huh?”
She shook her head and looked away, leaning against the wall beneath the window.
“Fireplace poker didn’t work for you?” He laughed, metallic and rough. “I don’t think so, sugar.”
Anger coursed through her. “Stop calling me that! I have a name.”
He rose and approached her. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson in respect.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her toward the bedroom.
Chapter 29
It wasn’t a punishment for the weak.
No food, no water, for one whole day.
He’d duct taped her mouth and shackled her to the bed like a dog on a chain, with only a chamber pot to use in an emergency.
She lay beside him the next morning, weak and ravenous, but seething with anger.
How dare he? How could he? Who does he think he is?
She turned to face away from him, but the restraint on her wrist wasn’t made for comfort. Wiggling up on the bed, she managed to flip over and put one hand beneath her cheek, while the other remained tangled by rope.
She had to figure out how to play him. How to appeal to him.
It seemed he wanted obedience.
Well, I can fake it as well as anyone. I’ll be his goddamned geisha girl if he’ll just feed me.
Once she got her strength back and her head on straight, she’d come up with an escape plan.
Yes. That’s it. Pretend to be respectful and sweet. Go along with him. Watch and wait.
But what if he wanted more than she could give?
What if he expected all the favors of a wife?
She shuddered, suddenly feeling cold all over. The last time she’d made love with a man had been almost a year ago, when her college boyfriend Ben and she parted. He, off to the Peace Corp in Africa; she, back home to Bittersweet Hollow.
The Hollow.
Oh, how she missed it, even now, even though it had just been a few days. The peaceful green fields. Her beloved horses. Her mom and dad. Her new puppy, Boomer.
Tears crept behind her eyes, tightening her throat.
NO.
I will not cry in front of him. I’ll be strong.
With a deep shuddering sigh, she controlled herself.
I can do this. I can beat him.
As if he read her thoughts, he woke, sitting up on the side of the bed. Yawning, he grumbled the words at her. “Scheming again? Trying to figure out how to get away?” He ripped the tape from her mouth.
She turned toward him, masking her face in tranquility. “No.”
“Learned your lesson yet?” He stood and yawned, stretching his arms over his head.
His movement was so human, so natural-looking that it cast her situation in an even more surreal light. How could such a monster look so normal? Act so normal? And yet be so absolutely abnormal?
“Yes. I’m sorry.” She rubbed the sides of her mouth where the tape had reddened her skin.
He almost smiled. “Well. You should be. I went through a lot of trouble to bring you here.”
She nodded meekly. “I know. Thank you.”
In a flash, his face turned red. His bushy eyebrows shot down, his jaw tightened, and his eyes bore into hers, reminding her of a mad dog. He leaned forward and grabbed her hair again, yanking her toward him. “You’d better not be playing me, bitch.”
The switch from mild-mannered psycho to raging bull surprised her. She realized maybe she’d laid it on too thick. Maybe it wasn’t believable. This time, she let the tears out. He’d expect that.
“No. I’m not playing you,” she said, weeping openly. “I’m…I’m just so hungry. But I miss my family a lot, too. I really want to go home.”
He tossed her onto the bed, knocking her head against the headboard. “That part of your life is over. I’m your family now.
Me.” He growled at her.
The hairs on the back of her neck raised as a chill stole down her neck.
He leaned in so close she could smell his horrible morning breath. “Me. And me alone. Get it, sugar?”
She gulped, wiped her cheeks, and nodded. “Yes.”
“All right. I’m untying you now. Go make us breakfast.”
“I need the bathroom. May I?” She nodded toward the closed door.
“Yes. And empty that smelly pot while you’re at it.” He motioned toward the chamber pot on her side of the bed. “It’s disgusting.”
She wanted to scream at him, to tell him he made her use the gross thing, to tell him to shut the hell up and go screw himself.
But she didn’t. Like a beaten slave, she shuffled to the pot, lifted it, and took it into the bathroom with eyes cast downward.
She didn’t dare ask him if she could shower. He’d probably explode. So she did her business, washed her body as best she could with a facecloth, drank for a full minute from the faucet, and combed her hair with the black comb on the counter that had his gray hairs protruding from it. She’d cleaned it out, had run it under boiling hot water from the tap, and then after wetting her hair under the faucet, ran the comb through it. She’d managed to hang on to the hair tie from the other day, and pulled it back into a tight ponytail.
When she came out, she went straight to the kitchen. He talked to her while she made scrambled eggs, toast, and fried ham.
“Today you’re going to start on a schedule. You’ll wear the clothes I bought for you, they’re in the closet. Get rid of those skanky jeans and that disgusting shirt. And you will not,” he said, lunging toward her and pulling on the ponytail, “wear your hair like this. I want it loose. Flowing. On your shoulders.”
With an apologetic nod, she quickly removed the hair tie. “Okay. I didn’t know.”
Grunting, he pulled out a kitchen chair and sat, waiting for her to serve him. “Now you do. Don’t forget.”
Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) Page 10
