Close to Home (13 page)

She scooted back on the cot. Why would there be someone with him?

For no good reason, she was certain.

Huddling more tightly into the corner, she wrapped her arms around her body as hard as the damned handcuffs would allow.

“Locked up tight?” Another male voice, higher-pitched and nasal, inquired before breaking into a horrifying bout of laughter that ended in a cigarette-induced coughing spate.

“You'll see,” her abductor assured his companion.

Rosalie wanted to die.

“Just one, though?”

“For now.”

Again, the sniggering, ugly chuckle that made her skin crawl.

What did that mean—just one for now? There were going to be others? Why? Who?

“We have to move fast, be finished by Halloween.”

Finished?
She froze.
Finished with what?

“I'm thinkin' the weekend, there'll be easy opportunities. Maybe a twofer.”

“Twofer?” the new man asked.

“Two fer one.” A note of disdain was audible in the monster's voice.

“Oh. Sure.” Once again he chortled, this time over the jangle of keys and the heart-stopping click of a padlock springing open.

Oh, God, now what?

Nearly frantic, she watched as the door swung open and two shadows lengthened in the swath of light that poured through the doorway and into her cell. Pressing her back into the corner, she tried to crawl into the woodwork, but she was trapped. Her heart was thudding crazily with fear, her body shaking. No longer did she have to pretend to be afraid.

Using a switch on the outside of the doorway, the bigger of the two men snapped on the overhead light. She winked and blinked at the sudden illumination flooding her room, and she saw him take a step inward, his hand raised. For a terrifying second, she thought he had a gun and was going to shoot her right then and there in front of a witness. She started to scream, her mouth open wide as her eyes started to finally focus again, and she realized it wasn't a small pistol in his hand, but a smartphone. “What?” she asked, then heard a series of soft clicks and realized he was taking pictures of her.

“Stop!” she cried.

The smaller man, who was no longer in shadow, studied her hard. Unshaven, his hair a scraggly, red-blond mop, his jean jacket tattered, and dirty, his blue eyes cruel as they appraised her, he was making a face of distaste. “She don't look much like her picture.”

“Just needs to be cleaned up.”

What picture? This dickhead had been photographing her? For what?

“Let me go!” Rosalie burst out, jumping off the cot. She couldn't just cower here and let them do whatever they wanted to her.

The little guy held out his hands. “Whoa there, missy!”

“Don't call me that!” she spat out before she bit her tongue and turned to the taller man, the one she'd so foolishly trusted. “How could you do this to me?” she demanded. “Let me go! Now!”

“Not just yet,” he countered, rubbing his jaw.

“When?”

The smaller man chuckled, which again rippled into a coughing fit that made him nearly double over for a second. She noticed his jeans were dirty, matching a flannel shirt that was visible through his open jacket, and his boots were sturdy but worn.

She took a step toward her captor and tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Get out of my way.”

If she'd thought she could bully him, she'd been wrong. A slow, cold smile crawled across his lips. “You'd best learn to behave,” he said, and some hideous little spark leaped in his eyes—a warning that if she pushed him too far, he might react and hurt her. Worse yet, he would enjoy it.

“I said, ‘Get out of my way.' ”

“Get back on your cot, Star,” he ordered.

Star?
The name nearly tripped her up, but she held her ground.

“Now!” he warned. “Unless you want me to make you behave.” He reached for the buckle of his belt, and his smaller compatriot nearly danced with glee at the thought of a whipping or a rape or both.

She held her ground. “I need to go home.”

Sssssss!
His belt was ripped from his pants with a snakelike hiss. The vicious gleam in his eye caused her blood to turn to ice. “Hold her down.” he ordered through barely moving lips.

No!

With sickening enthusiasm Scraggly Hair lunged forward, grabbing at her.

She kicked hard, landing a blow to Scraggly Hair's shin that sent him howling. She tried to wedge through the door, but her attacker blocked the entrance. Scraggly Hair managed to grab her again. She whirled instinctively, twisting and aiming for his crotch. Bam! She nailed her kick, driving her foot deep between his legs.

“Oooowwwwww!” He went down with a scream, thud, and clunk. His howls shook the rafters.

“What the hell?” the big man growled, turning, belt in hand as she squeezed past him and raced through the rest of the huge barn. Spurred by adrenaline, she ran by blurry images of old machinery and bins for feed, tools on the wall.

“Come back here!” he roared. “Son of a bitch!”

She heard his heavy footsteps as he started chasing her.
Run, Faster! Don't let him catch you!

Impeded by her shackled hands, she sped past old sawhorses and dusty cots to the door. It was still open, thank God! Darkness beckoned beyond.

“Shit! Stop!” he commanded.

If she could just get outside, she'd have a chance!

“Don't!” he warned, but she kept going, racing fast as she leaped through the doorway, her shoes landing on sparse gravel. Cold night air hit her full in the face, rain slanting down from a black, stygian sky. Her breath fogged as she sped, feet flying over the uneven ground. Jesus, it was dark.

Good, Maybe you can get away, Hide somewhere,

She ran to his truck, but as she reached for the door, she remembered she'd heard the chirp of its automatic lock when he'd arrived. Instead she took off, flying down the long lane.

She only hoped he was as blind as she was in the all-consuming darkness.

Run, Run, Run!

Breathing hard, she raced down the lane that she could only hope led away from this godforsaken place, her feet slipping a little in the wet grass and weeds. How far was it to the main road, a place she might be able to find someone to help her? A quarter mile? Maybe a half? More?

Don't worry about it, just run!

Her mind was spinning, adrenaline propelling her. If she stayed on the roadway, he'd find her, so she needed to veer off, hide in the dense forest that, she remembered from the ride to this isolated hellhole, surrounded the lane. She'd seen it as he'd driven her here, the beams of his headlights washing against the trunks and branches of trees before landing on the barn and attached lean-to, with its sagging roof, a car hidden beneath the rotting rafters.

Was there a fence?

She didn't remember seeing any kind of enclosure, but she couldn't be certain of anything right now.

Behind her she heard the sharp beep of a keyless lock and caught a glimpse of lights flashing as he unlocked the doors of his truck.
Damn!
Angry shouts and heavy metal doors slamming shut rolled over the land. Oh, God, they'd catch her for sure, she thought as the soul-numbing roar of a large engine sparked to life.

She swerved off the lane just as bright headlights switched on, beams reflecting on the wet gravel and washing over her as she ran. She saw the fence just before she slammed into it and hurtled, headfirst over the top of the worn, rusted mesh.

Searing pain sliced through her abdomen. Toppling to the wet ground, she landed hard, her head cracking against the edge of a post. “Ooof.”

For a millisecond, the world shrank. Unconsciousness threatened, the warm black void tempting. Her mind swam, and in that moment when she was teetering toward the depths, she saw her mother's worried face.

“Mom,” she whispered as the headlights bore down on her.

Blinking hard, she pushed the hallucination away and scrambled to her feet.

Go! Go!

Slipping in the grass and mud, she propelled herself forward, her abdomen aching, her head pounding, the pickup's headlights illuminating the area. Scurrying, she ducked under branches that were visible in the eerie glow and dodged through the trees, deeper and deeper into the surrounding forest, heading downhill, all the while hoping against hope that she would find a way to escape.

The rain lessened in the canopy of fir branches, and the smell of dank earth was heavy in her nostrils as, spurred by adrenaline, she ran. Her arms were outstretched, hands splayed to protect her from running into a tree as she cut and wove her way ever deeper through the woods, wet cobwebs clutching at her, branches slapping her arms and face.

The light from the truck's headlights grew dimmer, hidden partially from the thickets of pine and fir.

Good.

Darkness leveled the playing field.

Downward, nearly tripping, her toes hitting rocks and roots, she propelled herself forward and listened to the sound of the truck's engine.

It was still too close.

Keep running, Rosalie, Go! Don't stop!

Her legs were wobbly, her stomach, where she'd scraped it going over the fence, ached; her lungs were beginning to burn.

Tires screeched.

She glanced over her shoulder, to see a bit of light high on the hill where the truck had stopped.

Keep moving!

“Over there!” Her abductor's voice echoed through the darkness, and she caught a glimpse of him jumping out of the truck, its cab illuminated by the interior light.

Shit!

“I seen her!” Scraggly Hair. He too jumped from the pickup, and fear was a stone in her throat.

Faster Rosalie ran, slipping and sliding through needles and leaves, deeper into the forest, ever downward, hoping she would find the county road that would lead her to civilization or even a passing motorist.

Don't run in a straight line!

Zigging and zagging, she had no idea which direction she was running, only that the hill was getting steeper and somewhere she heard water running. A river? Creek? Her legs were wobbly, her breath coming in gasps, but she forced herself forward, weaving between the huge trees and saplings, hoping beyond hope that she'd find the main road and that a passing motorist, a Good Samaritan, would find her—

From the corner of her eye she saw a flash.

Her heart leaped.

Her prayers had been answered! A car's headlights—No! Oh, God, no. The bobbing beam wasn't from the vehicle of a would-be savior, but from a flashlight as one of the men had circled around. It faltered a bit, and she heard “Fuck!” in that nasal tone belonging to Scraggly Hair as the beam fell downward, as if he'd dropped his flashlight.

Good.

Where was the other guy? Her abductor. Was he back in the truck waiting or . . . oh, crap, she noticed the other pinpoint of light in the trees above her. He was holding his flashlight steady. Unmoving. As if he were focusing on a thicket far to her left.

Good.

She started downhill again, but wondered. Why was he just standing there with the beam of his flashlight burning evenly? Like a friggin' beacon.

Did he think Scraggly Hair would drive her back to him?

Something was wrong here. She sensed it, but all she could do was run. Away. Fast.

She veered right, away from the bobbling light of Scraggly Hair, away from the steady motionless beam.

Why was it not moving, not coming closer?

Senses heightened, she ran into a fallen log, scaled it, and jumped down on the other side, her feet slipping a little.

Scraggly Hair was closing the distance between them, the wobbling beam of his flashlight brighter.

Damn!

The other light didn't move.

That wasn't right, was it? Her kidnapper wasn't the kind to just let her go and hope his partner would drive her to him. He loved the hunt, the abduction, to be in control . . .

Wait a sec—Oh, God, oh, God, oh—

“Gotcha!” From behind a nearby tree the bigger man jumped, his arms surrounding her.

She screamed and tried to twist away, but it proved impossible. Soaking wet, she was wriggling like an eel, but he held her fast, his arms like steel bands, nearly squeezing the breath from her lungs. The smell of him, his rain-dampened skin and wet hair, was rank in her nostrils.

How had this happened? Were there now three men? Two with flashlights and this monster who was restraining her?

“Let me go!” she yelled, squirming, hitting at his head with her joined hands, scraping his face with her handcuffs but unable to inflict any serious damage.

“Got her!” he yelled. “Let's go!”

Breathing hard, Scraggly Hair appeared. “That worked out good, huh? Shinin' the light on her shoes.”

What?
What about her shoes? She was still struggling as Scraggly started with his crazy-sounding laugh-cough.

“That's what she gets fer wearin' those 'spensive kicks.”

And then she got it. Her running shoes had reflective bands to make her visible when she walked home late at night from the diner. Bright strips that caught the beams of headlights and flashlights. Sick to her stomach at her stupidity, she flung herself hard, swinging her clasped fist and striking her abductor on his nose.

Crack!
Cartilage broke, and blood, warm and sticky, spurted out in a stream, spilling over his chest and her hair.

“You little bitch!” he snarled.

“Don't hit her!” Scraggly came to her rescue. “No bruises! At least none visible! Remember.”

“Fuck!” The big man restrained himself, every muscle tense as he hauled her, kicking and screaming, to his shoulder and started trudging upward through the wilderness. The light from Scraggly's flashlight led the way back to the spot where he'd planted his, her tethered fists beating on his back, her legs pummeling the air, the rain lashing through the forest, coming down in cold, hard pellets.