The River Rolls On (Bellingwood Book 10)

by Muir, Diane Greenwood

  The River Rolls On

  DIANE GREENWOOD MUIR

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Design Photography: Maxim M. Muir

  Copyright © 2015 Diane Greenwood Muir

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Polly tried opening her eyes, but her eyelids were so heavy. What time was it? What was wrong? Why was she lethargic? She had no memory of falling asleep. The last thing she remembered was dropping Rebecca off at school. It was starting to rain and she'd watched Rebecca run to the front door, lower her Marvel Avengers umbrella, and turn to wave before going inside.

  But what happened next? Polly concentrated. She had nothing. What in the hell was wrong? She wanted to bring her hands up to rub her eyes, but found that she couldn't move. Something held her wrists to her sides.

  Trying to quell rising panic, Polly attempted to lift her legs. Those were held down as well. When she tried to lift her head, pressure on her forehead allowed no movement.

  "Help me," she said softly. She'd seen enough movies and television to know that if someone had her strapped in and she wasn't gagged, no one outside could hear her. Screaming would be a waste of energy. Everything inside her clenched up and she began to cry.

  Was she going to die? Why was she here? Who would do this to her? What if she never saw Henry again? Had she told him that she loved him? And Rebecca? Who was going to take care of Rebecca when Sarah died? And Jessie and her new baby. She'd just moved into an apartment. Polly was in the process of helping them find furniture. Last weekend they'd gone to antique stores and thrift shops. Oh god, what was happening?

  Polly’s lower lip quivered. It flashed through her mind that this might be some awful practical joke, but none of her friends would take it to this level.

  If only this made sense. But it didn't. Actually, she was having a difficult time thinking much beyond her immediate memories of the morning. Things were foggy. She must have been drugged. But how? And where?

  "Is anyone there?" she asked quietly.

  When no response came, she relaxed. Unless they were watching her from another room, she was alone. She didn't know what time it was or how long she'd been here, but someone would come looking for her.

  Polly pulled her arms against their restraints. Not too tight, but not loose either - her fingers were free, so she patted around, trying to figure out what she was attached to. She took a deep breath and reached out, trying to sense her immediate surroundings.

  She was on a mattress with no pillow. What was holding her wrists? She moved her hands and realized she could feel the outer edges of the bed. She was attached to metal posts. Maybe a hospital bed. What was holding her wrists? Polly bent her hand back in on itself to touch the restraint. Leather, tight enough to keep her in place. She wasn't planning to break her thumbs in order to escape them, no matter what the tough guys in the movies did.

  A door opened, someone took a deep breath and she heard gas escaping a container.

  "Hello, Polly," a voice squeaked, like he'd breathed in helium.

  "Why am I here?" she asked.

  "We'll get to that. Are you comfortable enough?"

  "No. Not at all. Who are you?"

  Another breath and the voice squeaked again. "Oh, not yet, my sweetheart. We have lots of time."

  The voice pitch started to lower back to its normal range. After another loud intake of breath, the person said, "I'll release your head. I want you to be comfortable."

  "What about going to the bathroom?"

  Another intake, "Come now. It's not been long enough for that. You'll be allowed to use the facilities and have food and water in a while. For now, you might as well relax."

  The restraint on Polly's forehead dropped away, but the blindfold remained with pads pressed against her eyes. When she could turn her head, she did so and stretched her neck.

  Another intake of helium. "Try to sleep. We'll be back later." The person drew his finger down Polly's face, hesitating at her lip, then he gently brushed across it. A sharp breath and the finger yanked away.

  The door opened and closed again.

  "Why?" Polly asked out loud. "I don't understand. Why?" Tears filled her eyes, burning when they had no place to fall. Polly twisted her head, rubbing it against the bed. Maybe she could push the blindfold off. She twisted and turned and felt it move. She pushed her head up and down, adjusting so that it would loosen as she twisted. It began to work when she heard the door open again.

  "Oh no," a deep voice said. "That will never do. Not if you want to live."

  This new man reached up and lifted away the blindfold, but she was still in darkness. "It looks as if we'll need duct tape."

  "Not on my face," she whimpered.

  "You made the choice."

  "Why?"

  "Because you tried to remove the blindfold. Our little friend wasn't thinking when he removed the brace. I'll just fix that."

  "No. Why am I here?"

  She heard the duct tape rip from the roll and tried to shake her head. Before she could make anything happen, a strong hand clamped down on her head, then tape was applied from temple to temple.

  "No," she whimpered. "Tell me why."

  A foul odor passed over her nose and she felt him get closer to her. He smelled horrendous. His breath was overwhelming - onions and garlic and sausage. He whispered in her ear. "Because it's about time."

  "Time for what? Why are you doing this?"

  "Patience. Patience."

  The door opened and closed and in a few moments the scent of him dissipated. Polly was alone again. She felt the burning sensation of tears in her eyes again and wondered how in the hell she was ever going to get free.

  This was Iowa. How could this be happening in the middle of Iowa? People didn't do these types of things here. What had she ever done to anyone that would cause them to hurt her like this?

  "Wait a minute," she said out loud. "You aren't hurt. No one has hurt you. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and start thinking through this. Pay attention. The only way you're getting out of this is to be smarter than whoe
ver it is outside the room."

  She took a deep breath. What would the tough Polly do? Probably not lie here and whimper. She'd think and plan and be aware.

  Polly started thinking about the television shows she watched. She loved a good mystery and the heroes were always solving problems because they observed, not because they screamed and threw tantrums. In fact, she couldn't bear it when they portrayed women as screamy little stupid things. Any woman worth her salt would only use screaming if it was going to do her some good.

  She slowed her breathing, trying to relax, listening for anything that might tell her where she was. A few quiet moments passed. There. A car started. She might still be in town. She listened for sounds inside whatever building she was in. There was a television playing somewhere but it was only background noise. If they'd turn that off, she could hear so much more.

  What else could she do? She tried to sit up. It was awkward, but she tried. That was bad. Dizziness and nausea forced her to lie back down. If that had anything to do with the drugs they gave her, it would soon pass. She wished they had given her something to drink. Her mouth felt like cotton.

  Polly took a few moments to salivate, concentrating on bringing relief to her dried out tongue and throat. She still couldn't get past how strange this was. This only happened to actors who were about to be killed in a scene. Maybe it happened in big cities or to people with money who were being held for ransom.

  Wait. Ransom? She and Henry didn't have that kind of money. They might if everything was liquidated. Did Henry know yet that she was gone? Was he worrying? Had these kidnappers called him? Did they tell him not to contact law enforcement? What about Lydia? She'd be beside herself. She was always trying to protect Polly.

  Sal. They had just started construction on the coffee shop. Sal couldn't do this on her own. Nobody out here knew Sal like Polly did. What would she do?

  And Jason. Polly's eyes burned with tears again. She loved Sylvie's boys. They filled her days with life and so much joy. Jason was deep and brooding while his brother, Andrew, was outgoing and filled with energy. She didn't even have to ask him and he'd know what she needed and was off to take care of it. Every day after school, he tore up the steps to get Obiwan and Han for a quick walk outside. He watched over Rebecca, worrying about her more the closer her mother got to the end.

  At the thought of her dog, Polly lost all control. How could she ever leave her animals? She was just getting to know them. Sure, it had been a couple of years, but this was when it was getting fun. Luke and Leia were comfortable in the house no matter how many people or animals came and went. Obiwan was her heart and soul. She loved him so much. He'd never understand why she wasn't coming home again. Sweet little Han had turned into a wonderful companion for Henry. He loved traveling to job sites and never got more than ten feet from his master. If he lost sight of Henry, he ran to find him. Even at home, he lived for Henry. At least they'd have each other.

  "Stop it," she said. "You have to quit feeling sorry for yourself. Think."

  Polly hitched herself on the bed, wondering if it was on wheels. It moved, but there were brakes in place.

  She wondered exactly what was around her wrists, so she scootched down in the bed until her face was against her right hand. She touched her cheek with her thumb and started to cry again. Maybe she could rip that tape off and finally see.

  After twisting and contorting, Polly finally snagged a corner of the duct tape and began to pull. Everything in her clenched. There was no way to rip it off, she didn't have leverage or enough turning radius ... unless she could twist her head so she got the other side of the tape. It took a few minutes, but finally she had another corner. She peeled enough back to get a good grip and then, steeling herself, took a breath and flung her head away from her hand, ripping the tape away.

  She shuddered and then put her face back in her hand so she could brush away the pads covering her eyes.

  Leather bands were strapped to her wrists and ankles. Damn it, she wasn't going to let them keep her here. She twisted and contorted herself again and couldn't manage to get into a good position to wrap her teeth around the strap. The collar bone she'd broken last fall rebelled at the pressure she was putting on it while pulling herself into these strange positions. She relaxed and tried to think.

  Polly looked around the small bedroom and saw nothing except for the bed she was on and a tank which she assumed was the helium. A door to the right and a much smaller door on her left - probably a closet. There was a window at the other end of the room, but dark, black plastic had been taped to the window sill, covering it completely.

  Polly took a deep breath and contorted herself until she couldn't move any longer, finally reaching the strap of the restraint on her right hand. She put her teeth on it and pulled, but found that it was thick and resistant to the small tugs she was able to make. Then she saw the metal brace that had been snapped down to keep it from moving and her eyes filled with tears.

  Slumping back in the bed, Polly allowed the tears to flow. Now that she could see, the tears weren't of loss, but frustration. There had to be a way out of here. She had to be able to find it.

  She heard the television turn off and a front door slam shut. She went rigid, but soon a car engine roared to life. Polly waited as she heard it shift gears and drive away. Now was as good a time as any to fight through the restraints. She gathered her resolve and contorted herself again to try to reach the snap holding the leather strap closed. Her tongue reached it, but she didn't have enough strength to make it do anything.

  Polly continued to twist her wrist and head until she felt her top teeth scrape against the metal. Just another few millimeters and she could. Ahhh! She got her mouth around it and pulled back, releasing the strap. More tears leaked from her eyes as she pulled the strap through the buckle. She tugged back on it, releasing the prong.

  One wrist was free. She scrambled to release the other wrist and then bent forward to unbuckle her ankles. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window, peeling back the tape to look outside.

  Her heart sank. She was in the middle of nowhere. She had no idea where she was and no idea how to get out of here. There was nothing in the room that she could use as a weapon, so she grabbed one of the heavy leather straps that had bound her ankles. Maybe the buckle would hurt someone bad enough for her to escape.

  And where were the rest of her clothes? She was dressed only in her panties and bra, everything else was gone. Rain was still pouring down outside, but today was supposed to get up into the mid-sixties. She'd live through cold rain if necessary.

  With the buckle in her right hand, Polly gently turned the door knob, praying she could be absolutely silent. Fortune was on her side and the door didn't squeak. She stepped into a darkened hallway and held her breath, listening for sounds and movement. There was nothing.

  She tiptoed down the hall and peeked around a corner into the living room, not at all surprised to see that it was filthy. Pizza boxes and empty food containers, beer and soda bottles littered every flat surface.

  Desperate to find her clothes, Polly considered going back and checking the two rooms she'd passed in the hall, but worried that if someone was sleeping in one of them, her escape would be over. There had to be something here. A pair of men's boots sat beside the front door. At least those would give her protection on the ground. She grabbed them up and took one last look, then ducked into the kitchen and looked through the cupboards. There. Black trash bags. That would be enough. She pulled three of them out of the box and rather than open the front door, gently turned the handle on the kitchen door. It led out onto a rickety stoop and stairs. If anyone was in the house, they would certainly hear her on that.

  The only solution was to step toward the outside of the stoop. She placed a foot down and slowly lowered her weight, then did the same with the other foot, moving forward. Looking around, Polly saw trees and grass. She had to find a road, but out here, the first person she saw on that road could be
her kidnappers.

  "Okay," she thought silently. "Everything in Iowa is on a mile long grid. All I have to do is walk a mile and I'll find a road. I can do that. Even if I have to walk two miles. I can still do that."

  She ran for the tree line, swearing and cursing as her feet hit every rock and tree root. As soon as she felt that she had some protection from the house, Polly stopped to put on the boots. Her feet were bleeding and a gash on the ball of her left foot hurt like hell. The boots were much too big, so she stuffed a trash bag into each of the toes and pulled them on, then laced them up. It was uncomfortable, but at least she could travel without further cutting herself to pieces.

  She ripped a hole in the bottom of the last trash bag and drew it over her head, poking her arms through holes she ripped in the sides and feeling much better at not being quite so exposed. Polly looked down at herself. This was better by far than the feeling of helplessness she'd had while strapped to that bed. She still had no idea who had kidnapped her or why they'd done it, but they'd screwed with the wrong woman today.

  Running through the trees, Polly hesitated when she heard a vehicle pull in at the trailer. She only had moments before someone would look for her. She took off at a dead run, stopping at a creek separating the trees from an empty field. Farmers were just starting to plant crops and what she needed to find was someone out here with his tractor. She scrambled down the bank and decided to run through the water, hoping to throw them off. The creek turned back on itself several times and she came to a spot where the bank wasn't quite so steep. She grabbed a root sticking out and pulled herself up, then sat to catch her breath.

  She needed to keep going straight, not zig zag through a creek. There had to be a road. There had to be a farmer's house. How long was this going to take?

  A sound from where she'd run from spurred her into action and Polly took off, dashing for another copse of trees. This ran along the creek for a distance as the bank got steeper and steeper. Polly finally came up to a fence line and stopped for another breath. The fence would lead somewhere. She climbed through the barbed wire to the other side and then took off running along the fence.