Meet Me In The Dark: (A Dark Suspense) (14 page)

He pokes the entrance to my ass a few times, then something cold dribbles on my ass and slides down, making me tremble. His saliva, I realize. His fingers play with me for a moment, working it in, making my entrance wet. “You want it, Sydney? Tell me you want it. Tell me you want it or you don’t get it. We’re not gonna have another misunderstanding.”

“I want it,” I say. “I want it so—”

He thrusts his full length inside me, the jolt of pain intense fire. A pain I’ve felt so many times, it barely matters. And then that sick feeling in my stomach is gone and I relax, letting him pound me from behind. Over and over again. His balls slap against the lips of my pussy. His chest falls down on my back. His breathing becomes my breathing. His moans become my moans. And then his pleasure becomes my pleasure when he shoots his hot release all over my back.

“You ready to learn to fish?”

I don’t know if it’s in my head or not. But my answer is yes.

“I can’t always take care of you, Syd.”

I know that.

Teach me how to take care of myself. Please.

Case falls over on the bed, dragging my body with him. We lie there for a few minutes, breathing hard from the sex.

I crawl away from him, seeking out my own space. And he gets up just as I find my own pillow and bury my head in it. The tears stream out as Case pulls on his jeans, his belt buckle jingling as he does this. And then he collapses in the bed next to me and pulls me close.

“Tomorrow, Sydney. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow. You can sleep here for tonight.”

I turn into him, wrapping my hands around this monster’s body until I find his back. He responds with his own embrace.

He might be a monster, but it’s dark in here. And if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s live in the dark. I’ve met the monsters there so many times, it’s familiar. And familiar is always better than new.

I drift off as he kisses my neck.

M
y eyes open a while later. It’s still dark. I’m still thinking about him. Them. All of them.

I own you
, Case said. And I guess he’s right. He does. Because I’m here. I asked for this. My hands drop from his back and he turns a little, letting one of my hands slip down to his hips and come to a rest over a lump in his pocket.

His knife.

I swallow hard. My head is a lot clearer now, the drugs he gave me wearing off. I feel the outline of the lump in his pocket. Not a knife. I slowly slip my hand inside, one fraction at a time, until my fingertips come in contact with his secret.

Syringes. But are they empty? Or full?

There are three of them. I wrap my tiny hand around the bundle of plastic and slowly withdraw them. When I get them out I flick the caps off, one at a time. I don’t know if they are empty or not and it’s dark, so I have no hope of finding out.

So I do the only thing I can do. I stab him, with all three at once, and push the drugs in.

Only two depress, and I’m not even sure how much he got, because I’m thrown onto the hard wood floor before I can finish.

“You fucking cunt.”

“Right place, right time. Best escape advice out there.”

– Sydney

I
slide across the floor and hit my head on the wall. He grabs my arms, like he’s got some super night vision and he knows exactly where I am in the blackness, and pulls me to my feet. He squeezes my arm so hard I cry out.

“Bitch,” he laughs. “The dose was way too fucking low to drug a guy as big as me.”

He throws me against the wall again. I hit it harder than the last time, the back of my head bursting with pain. My vision blurs and I start to fall to the floor.

But he’s there again, holding me up. Not the way he carried me to the tub to clean me up. He slings me over his shoulder and stumbles towards the door, falling forward. Once again I hit the floor. But he loses his grip and I crawl backwards, feeling for the wall. I find it at the same time he finds me and then a hard fist crashes against the side of my head.

“You think you can play me?” He’s breathing hard, his anger spewing out with each exhale. “You think you can trick me, you stupid whore?”

Even in the dark, the next blow makes the room spin. Makes my brain spin.

That’s three hits. I’m not sure how many more I can take.

He lifts me up over his shoulder again and stumbles forward. This time we do not go down. I kick my legs and flail my fists against his hard body. But he’s got me tight.

We go through the door and into a living room. There’s a small light on in the kitchen, so I can at least see where I am. But we walk past that and towards the back of the cabin.

I need to get away. If he puts me back in there—

He throws me down on the ground. The air rushes out of my lungs, knocking the breath out of me. I gasp, trying to make my lungs work. I feel like I’m drowning. Underwater choking. But I’m not. I just can’t seem to draw in enough oxygen to make up for the blow.

He fumbles with the door handle for a second, and I’m just about to start crawling away, hopeful that some of those drugs are gonna kick in, when he finally manages to pull it open and turn back to me. His eyes are filled with rage.

I don’t know Merric Case that well. Hardly at all, in fact. But I know the look of evil. I know the look of a monster. And he’s definitely one of them.

He takes a step and falls.

I crab-walk backwards just as he reaches out for my ankle. He gets a hold, but I kick him in the face and he lets go. I get to my feet as he starts to crawl after me. He’s so much faster than me, even drugged. Because he gets to his feet again before I can even turn.

He lunges at me, grabbing hold of my waist this time, and we go down together. He lands on top of me, and once again, I’m gasping for air.

And that’s when his hands find my throat.

“I’m just gonna kill you now, Syd.” He sneers the nickname he’s not allowed to call me, and squeezes.

Fight, Sydney!

I turn, my knees up, pushing him off me. And even though I get some space between us, his arms are so long it does nothing for the grip on my neck. I can feel the blackness coming. But I’m not done yet. His body wobbles a little, and I throw my whole body backwards, flex my legs and find my strength, just as his is starting to wane, and deliver a two-footed kick to his chest.

He flies backward, landing hard on the floor, and I take a moment to gasp for air. It rushes in, making the stars that signal the beginning of unconsciousness fade a little. I crawl backwards until I reach the front door.

And I wait.

He tries to get up a few times. The nasty words spill out of his mouth in a slur. But he never makes it. It takes long, endless minutes for his eyes to finally close.

And even though all I want to do is sit here and cry, I get to my feet. My legs are shaking so bad they almost give. But I steady myself against the front door and give myself a moment to cope.

Cope. I do that well. Coping with violence and terror is a gift from the man in my dreams.

My lungs suck in as much air as I can. I close my eyes. I count to ten. And when I open them, I move.

I run to his bedroom, fling open a door that has to be a closet and smile when I see clothes hanging. I grab a long-sleeved flannel shirt and shove my arms inside. I don’t even stop to button it up. I just grab the nearest pair of jeans. They are way too big and far too long, but fuck it. I roll them up and find a belt, and then go for the shoes. He’s got one pair of boots in the closet. Boots that are like a million sizes too big. But it’s the dead of winter and I can’t go outside unless I have something on my feet. I grab two pairs of socks and tug them on with shaking hands, then slip my feet into his boots.

When I go back out into the living room, I half expect him to be waiting with a shotgun trained on my face. But he’s not. He’s on the ground still. Breathing heavy and hard. I walk past him, and he reaches out and grabs my ankle, pulling me to the ground.

“No!” I scream it in a voice I’ve never heard before. I kick him in the face again, and the blood spills out of his lip. One more and he lets go.

I get to my feet, ready to pass out from the adrenaline and the fear. And then I force myself to move. I bolt for the door and throw it open. It’s snowing. And freezing-ass cold. There’s a snow machine parked in front of the cabin. But beyond that there is nothing. Nothing but trees and darkness.

The keys, Sydney. Find his keys.

Right. I calm myself and turn back to the cabin. They have to be here somewhere.

I rifle through the kitchen drawers, then the nightstand in his bedroom. I look through the closet and check the bathroom. But even before I finish all that I know where they must be.

In his fucking pocket.

I walk back to his body, keeping more than an arm’s length of distance between us. His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are open.

“
You’renotgonnagetaway
,” he says, his words slurring so bad I almost don’t understand him.

“Fuck you.” I walk behind him and bend down, reaching into his pocket. His hand comes up, reaching for me, but he misses. The drugs are working now. He might not be out, but he’s down.

Down enough for me to shove my hand in and pull out what I need, anyway. I spit on him as I walk by. And then I grab a coat that’s lying across the couch, find gloves in the pocket, open the door, and walk out.

The snow machine is covered in snow, and there are no tracks, so it’s been sitting for a little while at least. But I’m a country girl. A backcountry girl. I’ve been riding snow machines all my life. I brush off as much snow as I can, find the ignition, and shove the key in. I turn it to the on position and then pump the primer a few times before releasing the choke.

“You’re not gonna get away, bitch.”

I look up and see Case standing in the doorway, holding onto it like his life depends on it. He smiles. “You cunt. There’s no gas.”

“Fuck you,” I say, pulling on the starter cord as I do it. Nothing. “Not even you are stupid enough to ride up into the wilderness on empty.”

Case takes a step forward, stumbling up to the porch railing. He’s less than twenty feet away. But he’s slow.

I’m slow too, but my drugs have worn off and his are just kicking in. On the fourth pull the engine roars to life. I twist the throttle a little and then put her in gear. I lurch forward, make a wide turn not ten feet away from him now, and then gun it.

There’s no path in the woods. But he got up here somehow, so I find a clearing in the trees and assume that’s the trail.

I give the machine some gas and take off into the dark, navigating by the single headlight. I go fast at first, but I hit a few bumps, get some air, and then calm myself.
Go slow, Sydney. If you crash, you’re dead.

I have no idea where I’m at, but trails are here for a reason. They lead places. And right now I don’t care where this one leads, I’m on my way.

It twists and turns, making me go even slower. So slow sometimes, I could probably get farther by walking.

I’m freezing. I have no scarf and no hat. But I keep going. I come upon a hill of snow and gun the machine to get over it. It chokes and stalls out on the other side.