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It’s the person next to me. They’re texting.
Then an alert goes off on a phone up front. A short pause. And then the phone of the person next to me dings again.
They’re texting each other.
And playing loud music so I can’t recognize any sounds? Voices?
Fear grips me now. Why are they disguising everything possible for me to detect my location or abductors?
I strain to breathe.
Winslet comes to mind, and I quietly struggle against my restraints again. Am I coming back from this?
The air turns wetter, thicker, and in a minute, I feel drops of rain on my arm from the open window. I try tospread my lips and pry off the tape, but it stings too much, and I stop.
The air smells of dirt as the car swerves and then makes a sharp left. I brush my hand against my phone in my back pocket. Should I take it out?
No.I won’t be able to see what I’m doing, and I’ll risk them seeing the light from the screen. They may not care that I have it, but I can’t risk them taking it.
But a thought occurs to me. What if they’re dumping me straight into the river? I should try to call for help now, right? No time to waste.
Before I can decide, the car skids to a halt and everyone is exiting the vehicle. I’m pulled out, my feet rolling underneath me in my skates, and I have to grab on to whoever has me in order to stand up again.
“Help me,” they whisper to someone.
Another pair of arms take me, but when they force me to move forward, I start fighting. More hands grab me, and soon I’m off my feet altogether, being carried into the brush. I hear them shuffle through fallen leaves and tall grass.
Crows caw, and I suddenly smell metal and rust. Like a junkyard.
Oh, no. A car. Just like her.
I flail, growling behind the tape, “Ah!”
I hear the creak of heavy hinges, and I’m shoved onto my back, landing against broken leather. The tears in the seat pinch the skin of my back, and I kick, my foot landing against something hard.
“Fuck!” they grunt, but I can’t tell who it is. A woman, I think, but her voice is too low to recognize.
“Lock her inside,” someone else says.
I squirm. No!
They slam the door shut, and I kick it with my skates again and again before I stop and try to rub my face against the seat. I need to get this blindfold off.
“And throw away the key,” I hear someone say.
Laughter fades away, and I sit up, rubbing my head against the seat back. The whole time, though, I’m waiting for it. I breathe hard, sure that it’s coming. The emergency brake to be released and the car to be pushed. That freefall feeling as I plummet into the river.
The blindfold slips free, and I shake my head, throwing it off. I blink, twisting my head back and forth, taking in my surroundings.
It takes a few seconds to blink away the blur, but I see trees. A forest.
I exhale. I’m not at the river.
And they’re gone. I jerk my head around, checking for people.
No one is here, at least that I can see yet, and I’m the only one in the car.
It’s an old one, too, sitting in a sea of old cars, all jam-packed together in the middle of the woods. What the hell is this? Trees sit on both sides, although I can spot the road to my right that we must’ve come in on.
