I don’t understand what happened on the boat, or to my parents. I don’t understand why I had to leave, and why Uncle Tom left me.
I’ve come to the conclusion that life is not meant to be understood – trying will only drive you insane. Life is just meant to be lived, every day a new day with its own problems.
I’ve been in the US for seven years. Lucky number seven … right? I can’t use my passport anymore. It was only valid for three months, but that was all I needed to find my first job, which was cleaning toilets at a truck stop. It was a shitty job but that’s why they let me work there in the first place. Cheap labor.
I keep moving, just like Uncle Tom said. I don’t stay longer than two months in one spot. I’ve been here six weeks already and I’m feeling the familiar itch to run.
I don’t make friends and I sure as hell don’t grow attached to anyone, and that’s the reason why I had to push Steven away. I could see more with him. If you can see more with someone, it usually means trouble. When you’re on the run, getting attached to another person is like carrying a dead weight around your neck.
I thought it was a good thing to hook up with him for one night, seeing as he was traveling through Scappoose. He only came to hunt some deer, then he’d head back home.
We had sex, nothing spectacular, but it soothed the craving for another human’s touch.
He never left. I’ve seen him hanging around at the local bar, so I stopped going there.
It’s time to leave. I can feel it in my gut.
∞∞∞
I shrug on my jacket that’s seen better days and I make sure the heater we keep under the counter is off. This store is already an ice box and it’s not even winter yet.
While Mr. Johnson locks up in the back where his workshop is, I quickly take out my food for the day. The water in the urn is still warm, so I just pour some over the cup o’ noodles and then wait for Mr. Johnson.
He comes shuffling out of his workshop, and I open the front door so he can just keep shuffling by me. I don’t want him to slow down, because then he will find a hundred things to do and I’ll be stuck here longer.
Using my foot as a doorstop, I quickly turn the open sign so it shows closed. When we’re both out of the store, Mr. Johnson locks the door. He waves tiredly at me, before he shuffles slowly down the sidewalk. I guess I should go home, too.
Home.
There is no such place for me. I move from shady motel to even shadier motel. That’s been my life since I ran away from that hospital. I had to run, not for fear of my life, but because I had no way of paying the huge bill. I snuck out like a thief in the night.
I walk slowly and test the heat of my dinner with the tip of my finger. It’s cooled down already. I stick my finger in the cup and stir until it looks good enough to swallow. When you’ve been living off cup o’ noodles for years, you don’t chew, you just swallow so the stuff can fill your growling stomach. Chewing, now that is reserved for tacos, or pizza, or burgers … sigh.
“Hi,” I hear someone call behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Steven jogging towards me.
“Well, this sucks,” I mutter.
He catches up to me and throws his arm around my shoulders. “Where are we going?”
“We?” Oh, buddy, you have high hopes. “We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going home.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he says way too cheerfully, as if he’ll be getting lucky tonight.
“I’m fine by myself.” I shrug his arm away from my shoulders and walk faster.
“Oh, come on, babe. We had a good time the other night.”
I stop dead in my tracks and glare at him. “One night stand,” I spell the words out for him holding up one finger for emphasis. “That’s not happening again.”
He takes hold of my hand, quite a tight grip, and he starts to pull me into the street.
“I said no, asshole,” I snap, trying to yank my arm free. Alarm bells start to sound through me and nervous tension washes over me.
The cup o’ noodles spills over my hand. “You’re spilling my dinner!” I shriek at him.
He doesn’t seem to care about the loss of my food, and just keeps yanking at my hand, forcing me to move faster.
My stomach drops and for the first time, I actually start to doubt myself.
How well do I really know this dude?
What if he drags me to the park and rapes me? Shit!
What if he’s a serial killer? Shit!
“Okay,” I say a little breathlessly. My heart is racing wildly as panic floods my veins. “You go on ahead to the bar and I’ll meet you there. I just want to go shower the day away.” My voice is pitching. Fuck, he can hear I’m scared.
“Hell no, babe. You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps.
He drags me across the street. I hear the squealing of car tires, and by the time my senses kick into action, it’s too late.
Arms grab me from behind and a piece of cloth is shoved over my mouth and nose.
Cold fear ripples over me as I start to realize that I’m in danger.
A horrified scream tears through my throat as I’m thrown onto a hard metal surface. I hear a door slam closed and an overwhelming sense of danger floods me.
I manage to yank my face away from the sickly smelling cloth. “Let me go!” I scream, while kicking and hitting at anything.
I try hard to push myself up with my arms, but I keep getting shoved back down.
“Go-Go-Go!” Steven yells. “We’ve got the package.”
Something slams hard against the side of my head and then there’s a sharp prick in my right arm. I try to yank away but it’s too late.
My whole world wobbles and spins.
CHAPTER TWO
Cara
The world blurs and at first, I think I’m still dreaming, and that I’m under water, but then I taste the sweetness on my tongue. I always taste the metallic taste of blood in my dreams and this is not it. This is sickly sweet.
My eyes feel heavy but I pry them open, squinting around me. It’s dark and whatever I’m on makes a hollow banging sound as I push myself into a sitting position. I wait for my eyes to adjust but they don’t. Shit! It’s really dark in here, as if I’ve been dropped into a pot of ink.
“Hello?” I whisper, because I’m too scared to say it out loud. There’s no answer, only the harsh echo of my own pathetically scared voice.
I get up slowly, carefully testing the ground beneath my feet, and again it makes the hollow banging sound. I must be standing on some sort of metal sheet ... I think.
My arms stretch out automatically, scared that I’ll bump into something. It’s as if my balance just up and left me, and fear sets in, throwing my senses totally off.
I’m too scared to move, but I know I can’t just stand here. My whole body starts to tremble as if it only caught on now that we’re in a huge amount of shit.
“Come on, Cara,” I try to talk some courage into my terrified mind. “Find a way out. You just need to find a way out. Stay calm and don’t lose it.”
I take small steps forward, my hands shaking terribly. When I walk into a solid wall, my breathing turns to rapid gasps of terror. “No! Shit, where am I?”
I feel my way along the wall, but find nothing but another wall, and then another … and another. The space is so small.
“Fuck! I’m so deep in shit. They’re gonna kill me. Oh, God. I’m dead! How did they find me? What did I do wrong?” Panic sets in, ceasing all common sense. I feel my way to a corner and I slide down until my butt hits the floor. I press back against the cold, hard surface until I’m practically one with it.
Dread makes the dark reach at me with clawing fingers. It makes time slow down and the air thin. The horror of my situation makes my insides quiver and my mouth dry.
Seconds tick over into bloodcurdling, terror-filled minutes.
Minutes slither into what feels like unnervingly scary hours.
I don’t know what time it
is. I don’t know if it’s night or day outside. I don’t know who has me, or why.
I know nothing but naked terror.
I’m gripping my knees tightly to my chest, rocking myself, when I hear a loud bang against the one wall. I shriek and press further back into the cold metal. What the fuck was that?
I’ve been going through stages. First panic, then fear. Then I’ll start to reason with myself that I will find a way to escape until I’m calm again. Anger comes last, where I start to plan ways of defending myself until I’m filled with rage and I’m imagining ways I’m going to kill whoever has me.
I go from feeling hot to cold in seconds, from crying hysterically to just rocking myself like some crazy person.
But right now, all I feel is paralyzing fear, unlike anything I’ve felt before.
I keep thinking that any second can be my last second.
I keep worrying that I’ll run out of air. What if I’m buried and I don’t even know it!
I keep imagining dying in this black hole, and no one will ever know.
I hear a key rattle in the door and then light spills into the tiny room. A frightened yelp slips from my dry lips. I quickly scan my surroundings before the light is taken from me. It’s only gray walls, a gray floor and gray ceiling. It looks like a tiny box.
Oh God! They have me in some box. They’re going to bury me!
My chest starts to tighten and it gets hard to breathe. I break out in a cold sweat and my body starts to shake terribly.
I don’t want to die like this.
Hot tears spill over my cheeks but I’m too scared to wipe them away.
The man standing by the door just stares at me, and it’s terrifying the crap out of me. He has a rough beard and shaggy, salt and pepper hair. He’s larger than the average man. Tall, broad and a stomach that tells me that he lives a comfortable life.
It takes me a moment to recognize him, but when I do, relief washes over me, and for a moment I feel faint and giddy.
“Mr. Attridge?” I croak and then the tears come.
I struggle to stand, using the wall for balance. My legs are a trembling mess, threatening to give way any second.
He used to come over to our house all the time. He, Dad and Uncle Tom were real close before the accident.
But then he scowls at me and he looks far from friendly now. It makes my moment of relief short-lived and the tears dry right up as dread washes over me.
“Cara,” he says as he steps into the room. He closes the door and I can’t see him anymore.
My heart rate spikes and I flinch when a match lights up the small space for an instant. The small flame makes eerie shadows jump and dance against the steel walls.
He lights a cigarette and then all that remains is the glowing red coal.
“Imagine our surprise when we saw you walk down the road there by Easy’s bar. You look so much like your mother. May she rest in peace.” He takes a drag and the coal glows brighter, lending a creepy quality to the room. “Stupid changing your name to your mother’s. You made it so easy for us to find you.”
He takes another drag, lighting up his face again in a scary red glow.
“Yeah, that was a real stupid thing to do,” he whispers unnervingly making cold chills race up my spine. “So, unfortunately for you we have a score to settle with your father.” I hear him spit. I’ve forgotten how deep his South African accent is. I don’t understand why he would be here.
I start to shake and fear swells in my chest, until it suffocates me. “I don’t understand any of this!” I cry out when the fear becomes too much to bear.
“I know, my girl. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way things are. You know how it works. Children pay for the sins of their fathers.”
The door opens again and three men come in. For a moment I can only make out their silhouettes against the sharp sunlight that’s streaming in behind them. One is holding a camera and he fiddles with the thing until a red light starts to flash.
What the fuck do they need a camera for?
The other two move closer to me and my eyes dart to them.
Steven!
Steven is one of them?
The shivering stills and I can only stare. They’ve been watching me. I got so careless! I forgot that I was running for my life.
“Say your name to the camera, girl,” Mr. Attridge snaps.
“Cassy Smith,” I blurt out. I don’t want to make them angry.
“Your real name!” he snaps irritably and I flinch back from the hostility in his voice.
“Cara Ellison.” My heart pounds in my ears.
“Say the date,” he snaps again.
“October ninth.” I try to keep my eyes everywhere at once, but mostly on Steven and Mr. Attridge.
“Who is Ralph Ellison to you?” He growls and my stomach churns with dread.
“He’s my father,” I whimper.
“Only for ten minutes, men. We only need enough on tape to let that piece of shit know we’re serious. After the boys are done with you your uncle will come running to save you, just like he did when I killed your parents. Don’t be angry, Cara, this is just the way things are done. No hard feelings.” I watch Mr. Attridge with huge eyes, as he hands the cigarette to the man next to him. “Here you go, Henry.” And then he walks out leaving me with the three men.
The door closes and a bright light flickers on from the camera, spotlighting me. Everything else blacks out but the bright light. My body starts to shake and I press back into the cold wall.
What’s going on?
What are they going to do?
A million horrible scenarios race through my mind, tightening the cold grip of panic on my insides.
Henry moves first and comes right at me. He looks like a hulking mass of darkness. I scream and duck to the side, but he grabs hold of my arm, yanking me back.
Where I go, the blinding light goes, and the tiny red light tells me that they are recording all of this.
Henry’s voice is a vicious growl that agitates every nerve and leaves my insides quaking. “Don’t just stand there! Get your ass over here and hold her down!”
I’m dragged forcefully from the corner. I lose my balance and my knees slam hard into the floor. My teeth clatter and I bite my tongue from the force. “Get the jacket off,” Henry barks.
“No!” I shriek and I try to pull back. “Please don’t!” I don’t know what I’m begging for, but it’s all my mind can come up with.
My movements grow frantic with panic and the air grows hot and stuffy with all of us in the small space. The smoke from the cigarette makes me want to gag.
Steven moves in front of the light, making it disappear. For a second I sit shocked before all my senses rush back to me. Henry’s fingers dig into my shins and he yanks me towards him. I fall over backwards and my head slams into the hard steel floor, making another hollow banging sound that vibrates through the floor and into my body. I start to panic as a suffocating feeling weighs heavily down on me.
“Fuck you!” I spit at them, and I start to kick with every bit of strength I have in my legs. I manage to kick Henry in the chest, and he falls back on his ass.
I use my moment of victory to scramble to my hands and knees. I crawl away and every movement I make echoes in the tiny space.
Steven comes at me and I rush to get to my feet so I can run, or at the very least defend myself. My flight instincts have finally kicked in. Better late than never!
The bright light makes it hard to see. They pounce on me and the fright rips a petrified scream from me. So many hands grab at me!
I yank and hit, but it feels like I’m getting nowhere. All I hear is hard breathing, definitely my own and theirs right by me – closing in.
For an awful moment my arms are yanked painfully back, and then my jacket’s ripped from my body. My ass hits the floor hard as I’m shoved down.
I keep hitting, kicking and growling like a possessed person. Dread has taken over every part of me. In
this terror induced state there’s only one thought – survival. I have to survive this somehow.
I always thought fear was cold. I always described it as cold. I was so wrong, so very wrong.
Fear makes your mind terrifyingly crystal clear. It’s so you can take in every little thing that’s happening around you. Your body runs purely on adrenaline with not a drop of blood pumping through your veins.
I hear the material of their clothes crunch as they move around me.
I feel the air shift as Henry pulls back his arm. I swear my skin stretches thin over my face as I wait for the blow to come.
The not knowing makes it so much worse.
Fear makes pain worse.
Fear makes time stand still.
Fear turns people into monsters and every sound into a warning of what may come.
A fist slams hard into my cheek and my neck whips back from the force. I scream and it sounds desperate to my own ears. Pain engulfs the whole left side of my face, making it pulse with a heartbeat of its own.
Then Henry’s horrid voice ripples through the dark. “Get the shirt off!” The growl comes in raspy breaths.
I try to crawl away but they are so much faster than me. Steven moves behind me and bile burns up my throat. I wish I could vomit all over them. Maybe then they’ll stop.
But I don’t vomit and my body convulses the second Steven takes hold of me.
I can’t just let them beat me!
Shit, what if they rape me?
Oh, God! I won’t survive it. Just the thought of one of these fuckers bringing his dick near me, is enough to make me turn into a wild beast.
I try to swing my elbow into Steven. The movement throws me off balance and I fall to the side, swinging at nothing but the stuffy air.
Steven grabs hold of my shirt and then he yanks it up against my neck. For a blinding moment it tightens horribly around my neck, cutting off my air supply. He yanks again and the force snaps my head back. The material bites at my skin and then it’s gone. Clammy air sticks to my torso and I feel horribly exposed.
Careless (An Enemies To Lovers Novel Book 3) Page 17
