by Reid, Angela
False Regret
Pikorua - Book I
By: Angela A Reid
Text Copyright © Angela A Reid
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
By: Angela A Reid
Text Copyright © Angela A Reid
All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Chapter 1
When I opened my eye, the other too swollen to pry apart, the first thing I noticed was the pain. A hot current ran through many irritated nerves along my skin, but especially my face. The cold and wet, unforgiving pavement beneath my prone body seemed to seep into the depths of my aching bones. The shivering caused the tender places to throb as if a drum line had taken up residence inside of me. Moisture clung to my snug black jogging shorts and old U of M T-shirt, dropping my body temperature lower. After I awoke, several minutes passed before I could remember what happened.
I’d gotten home from work that evening, nothing significant on my mind except what I might make for dinner that night. Not a single thing sounded appetizing in the moment, and I hated eating alone, anyway. Instead of slaving away in the kitchen, preparing a microwavable meal for one, I went outside to burn off the day’s stress. Running cleansed me and helped me shed my troubles. The local park where I liked to jog was not brimming with gangsters, drug dealers, or even angry teenagers, so I never gave my safety a second thought. I believed I was invincible in a town with little to no crime. I didn’t see the need to strap on a gun or carry a can of pepper spray every time I left the house. Paranoia didn’t shroud me the way it should have, something my father, a police officer, had always chided me for when I was younger. I knew he’d still be harping had we continued our relationship much past that of a few short conversations on the phone during holiday seasons or birthdays.
My waking nightmare gained shape as the fuzzy memory came into view. I had rounded the curve on the path at the park. The bend took me across an old foot bridge that creaked as my soles slapped the planks, and the sound echoed over the slow stream below it. I jogged to a tree lined hill where the smell of pine trees filled my nose and made me think of Christmas. As I sniffed the air, with my eyes almost closed, someone seized me. The man, dressed in darkness, stepped out of nowhere and subdued me. His callused hand fell heavy over my mouth to suppress any ensuing screams as his other arm gripped my waist and held me against him. My own hands grabbed at his forearm to wrestle him from my face. He was strong and muscular as my nails dug into his ropey sinew. His body felt like unrelenting marble as he restrained me against him and dragged my writhing form to a white, windowless work van parked a few feet away. I fought with my entire five-foot-four inch frame, using my Nike running shoes to kick him in his shins and my fingers to claw at his ski-mask. Oddly, my abductor was not rough with me, even though his flesh lodged under my fingernails as I scraped them along his arm skin. He put his palm between my head and the roof of the van to protect me from thrashing myself unconscious. He used his weight, but not all of it, to fold me into a comfortable position just before he shut the door, locking me inside the dim space.
The van reeked of oil and reminded me of the quick lube where I’d gotten the lubricant changed in the Focus the week prior. Another man took over the abduction as soon as the door shut. He wasted no time in restraining me, using his body like a battering ram, crushing me into the metal ridges of the van’s floor. The brute shoved a dirty cloth into my mouth and taped it in place, causing me to gag and choke for air, before I realized I could breathe through my nose.
Abductor number-two wore a camouflage ski cap and matching jacket. I watched as he pulled a burlap bag from the ripped pocket of his grimy coat. He jammed the sack over my head, blocking my vision and giving me instant claustrophobia. It had the stink of death, as if road kill had once inhabited it, but my thoughts turned to something darker, more sinister. What if these men had killed someone else? Maybe it was that poor victim’s stench roiling into my nostrils, which were filling with mucus as the reality of my fate sank into my brain. Violent shivers gripped me as I panicked, smudging out all common sense. Adrenaline fueled my fight-or-flight instinct, and my body thrashed and fought until the man close-fist punched me in the cheek. I stopped fighting, briefly, and he seized the momentary lapse of movement to restrain me. He flipped me onto my stomach, so hard it knocked the wind from my strained lungs. He used a rough rope to secure my hands behind my back. The pain of the heavy twine ripping into skin was fleeting as my vessels constricted. Sensation, beyond the prickly numbness from lack of blood flow, ceased in my appendages. He then tied my feet, eliminating my ability to kick him again.
“Fucking bitch,” he said, and I was sure he was removing his ski cap as he yelled. My heart pounded inside my chest, like a jack hammer slamming into concrete. My eyes watered up from the bash to my face, and the mucus was building in my nose at an alarming rate. With my mouth closed off by the disgusting old material that sucked all the moisture from my oral cavity, I found it increasingly more difficult to breathe. The tickling of the rag on my uvula sent my gag reflex into over-drive. The need to vomit combined with the inability to get air, put my brain into complete overload. I struggled to free myself from the confines until another punch, this one to the rib cage, quieted me, the blow making it even harder to receive oxygen.
Stop Ellia, I told myself. Calm down. You can breathe, just slow down, slow down, don’t think about anything but your breathing. You will get through this. Get focused. Think clear. What questions would dad be asking? Why would they take you? You are a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company hawking allergy drugs with no access to anything of any value. Is this about rape? Are they going to rape me? Oh, shit, I hope they don’t rape me. Are these guys sadistic serial killers? God, I hope they don’t torture me first. The thoughts, worries, and unanswered questions roamed around my mind, looking for the door with the answers. But the answers would not reveal themselves until these men were ready to explain their motives.
The endless drive rambled on as the uncountable minutes ticked away in the darkness. With great concentration, I got my breathing under control. The snot drained out of my nose and into the cloth bag, leaving a wet spot on my cheek, disgusting under different circumstances. Air was all that mattered. My hands were slick as I twisted them in the rope, looking for leverage, and I knew I was bleeding. The road changed abruptly as the van took a sharp turn, becoming bumpy, and my small frame bounced around the back of the vehicle. The pavement had turned to dirt. I figured I should make a mental note of that, but I wasn’t sure of the significance since I had no clue what direction we were going. My head rebounded off the floor more than once, but I stayed quiet to avoid another beat-down to my face. I searched for my courage as I lay still to circumvent another hit from the camouflaged monster holding me captive.
The driver got out when the van stopped moving. The side door slid open and Camo-man picked me up by my restrained arms, making me scream out a muffled protest, as my joints felt ripped out of their sockets. A free fall came over me as the sadistic bastard threw me out of the vehicle, and I braced for the landing on the hard ground with no way to break
my descent. The other man caught me before impact.
“Get the bitch inside,” said Camo-man. “Dacks wants to have a chat with her right away.” I heard him dialing a cell phone as the muscular guy carried me inside. He placed me gently in a wooden chair, as if handling a small child, and then he untied my hands. With deftness, he massaged the blood back into my disabled fists, and the feeling returned like a thousand bee stings. Satisfied the circulation was adequate, he re-tied my hands but more comfortably, the biting ropes no longer gnawing at my tender skin. He also undid the rope at my feet, allowing me to sit less awkwardly. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and not what I expected, a contrast to Camo-man’s deep, gravelly timbre.
“I will remove the hood and take the tape off of your mouth, Ellia, if you promise you will not scream. You do not want my comrade coming in here to silence you.”
I nodded, baffled he knew my name. This was not a random abduction; they wanted something from me. My mind scrambled for an answer, but it came up short. The man removed the hood and took my chin in his hand to examine my bruised cheek. He shook his head and exhaled in disgust before releasing me.
“Just tell them what they want to know, Ellia, and this ordeal will be much easier on you.” He removed the tape, pulling it off slow, so as not to take off my skin with it, and then he pulled the brown dirty cloth from my mouth. I took a big gasp of air, filling my lungs to capacity. The man in front of me was still wearing a black ski mask, and the rest of his attire matched. He stood looking at me as if trying to decide something. His posture straightened like an exclamation point, as if he had to force himself to stick with the preconceived plan. Since I wasn’t able see his face, I studied his eyes, knowing there was something familiar in their gray-green hue. I could not place it in my mind’s stressed state. He looked away as if he sensed recognition sat on the periphery of my cortex. The clarity couldn’t form. Afraid to ask questions, I remained silent.
They’d taken me to what appeared to be a hunting cabin made of huge cedar logs, having a small kitchen and living-room combination in the main space. Two interior pine doors led to what I assumed was a bathroom and probably a bedroom .The floor was concrete slab that appeared to hold moisture, giving the place a musty smell. The cabin was small, by anyone’s standards, with a wooden, four-person table on the kitchen side of the box and a broken-in, green sofa on the other. A ratty brown recliner sat in the corner and looked as if a large butt had left a permanent imprint in the seat. I wondered what the stains on it might be. Blood? The thought made my body shake as fear consumed me again. The Man-in-black opened a cabinet in the scullery. He pulled out a glass and filled it with water. With two short strides, he was back by my side. He held the tumbler to my lips.
“Drink,” he commanded, though not harshly. He must’ve sensed how parched my mouth had become from being stuffed with the rancid fabric. I swallowed a small amount before turning away. Though I could’ve gulped the entire contents, I worried he’d slipped something in it. Man-in-black set the cup on the table, refusing to meet my eyes again.
He walked over and peered out the window of the stifling hot cabin. Darkness had settled upon us, and I wondered what he was looking at. I watched condensation drops slide down the inside of the pane, keeping time with the sweat pouring down my back and pooling in my shorts near my waistband. The man had to be sweltering under his ski cap and inside his long sleeved jacket. It was autumn, but the day had been one of those wonderful Indian summer days, where the temperatures had soared to the seventies when the forties were the normal for that time of year in Michigan. As if reading my mind, he removed the coat, leaving the mask in place. He wore a tight black T-shirt, and my first assessment was correct. The guy was into conditioning, and every muscle group, I saw, appeared defined and solid. A gun rested in a shoulder harness, much like the one my dad used to wear under his suits. I studied the tattoos peeking out of his sleeves, for future reference. His cotton shirt came down to mid bicep. The artwork I was privy to, extended to his elbows, and looked tribal with swirling shapes and sharp angles, all woven together in dark ink with skillful shading to add a three-dimensional effect. I wondered what the significance might be. The thought brought another spark of recognition, but before I could turn it around to view its face, the other man stormed through the door. He was no longer wearing a mask or his jacket. He had no visible tattoos but sported a long jagged scar down the side of his leathered cheek. Slicked back, grayish hair, covered his head, and I guessed him late forties to early fifties.
“Goddammit, why did you take her hood off?” He turned around and replaced his mask. “I won’t sweat my fucking balls off for this cunt, just so she can be comfortable.” With the knit cap in place, he headed towards me. I cowered like an abused puppy. It was obvious he was the one I needed to fear. He put the bag back over my head, and the stench filled my nostrils again. I gagged as I heard him remove his ski cap with an exaggerated grunt as he exhaled in relief from the extreme heat. It was too late; I already saw Camo-man when he came in the first time, and I committed his features to memory. I doubted I’d ever get to use the information, though. The recollection of his face would die with me.
“Dacks is on his way,” Camo-man said to his partner. “Did you tell her anything?”
“No, just to cooperate,” Man-in-black replied.
I heard Man-in-black moving behind me and hoped that if Camo-man hit me again, he would stop him. I would tell them whatever they needed to know--I had no secrets. There was no useful information about anything which I could impart to them. I racked my brain, trying to remember if I knew something about the company where I worked. Maybe there was some new amazing allergy drug on the horizon, and they wanted the formula. But that seemed ludicrous. I was not a chemist, anyway, so I’d be of little help to them. My job was to deliver samples and vouchers while talking up the miracle benefits of a medication and downplaying all the disastrous side effects. My knowledge extended no further than the package insert, available to anyone.
I jumped when Camo-man ran his hands down my chest, caressing my nipples through my sports bra with his bruising thumbs. Revulsion and fresh waves of panic jolted through my body like a lightning storm.
“Hmm,” he said, “not huge tits, but pretty good size for how small she is, and they are firm—there’s nothing quite like natural firm tits. I think when Dacks gets what he wants from you; you and I will go on a little date. What do you think there, girlie?” He put his hand under my crotch and wiggled his fingers on my private areas. I couldn’t take anymore. Anger and fear overrode common sense, and I stood from the chair, knocking it over. Nearly losing my balance from the tipped chair, I stumbled around but, through a small miracle, remained on both feet.
“Don’t touch me, you disgusting pig!” I screamed at him, the panic hanging on me like a stalker. The Camo-man laughed as the other man took my shoulders and sat me back down in the seat he had righted.
“Leave her alone,” Man-in-black said to Camo-man, a tone of threat in his voice. I felt mildly reassured that somehow this abductor might protect me if the other got too violent.
“Fuck off!” He laughed. “If you’re a good boy, I will let you have a piece when I am done with her.”
“That’s not why she’s here. When Dacks get what he wants, she gets to go back to her life. That’s the deal, asshole. Touch her like that again, and I will break your fucking hands.” Man-in-black sounded controlled but furious.
“Who do you think you are talking to, boy?” Camo-man had moved closer.
I hoped the two would fight, distracting them from me. Maybe I could get free if they got caught up in their own drama. I pulled and tugged at the ropes, testing the strength of my confinement. Man-in-black had the rope loose enough to allow blood flow but tight enough to restrict my escape.
Camo-man continued, “You got hired on because you somehow convinced Dacks that you could help him get what he wants. I don’t trust you, though, boy. One word from me, and
Dacks will give the order to put a bullet in your brain; and that will be that. I suggest you shut the fuck up and do what you are told. Stay out of my business. If I want to fuck this little trick, I will … if I tell you to fuck her too, you will. Are we clear, boy?”
Man-in-black didn’t respond right away. Under the darkness of my hood, I pictured them having a visual standoff. “Answer me, kid.”
“Fine,” he responded. Devastation filled my soul. It was clear he wouldn’t offer any protection if it meant he’d get in trouble with their boss. I shivered at the thought of their hands on me. The two men were quiet after that. One of them clanked around the kitchen and poured something. In the small room, the smell of whisky assailed my nostrils, and it became stronger when Camo-man came back to sit near me.
“Want a little drink, honey?” he asked, with a laugh. He lifted the hood just enough to expose my trembling lips. He rammed the glass to my mouth, colliding with my front teeth. Pain shot through my maxilla bone, and I wondered if my front teeth had chipped. I ran my tongue along the surface, reassuring myself they remained intact.
Camo-man poured the foul liquid down my throat, causing me to choke from the burn. I spit it out, the amber fluid like poison on my palate. He found it amusing and gave a belly laugh. “Trust me, by the end of the night, you will wish you had drunk it, sweetheart.”
His threatening tone and subsequent chuckling sent a chill through me. A knock at the door ended Camo-man’s assault with the whiskey. He dropped my hood and went to answer the beckoning whack. I sensed the Man-in-black had moved to stand behind me.
“Let’s get this over,” said a winded new voice. Another set of footsteps joined the wheezy man’s. I was sure that brought the total to four men in the cabin with me. My heart continued its wild thumping and acrobatics inside my chest, making me wonder how long it would be before it gave out altogether.
