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When I read adventure novels, the hero always pretends to be knocked out a bit longer so they can get the jump on the bad guys.
Recall I am more inclined to be the first to die in these situations.
So, of course, I immediately start struggling against my ties, trying to slip free of them. The rope holding my wrists together is rough, and the fibres bite into my skin. I test the strength of the knots. They’re tight.
My movement doesn’t go unnoticed. A voice in front of me calls out. “She’s awake.”
I freeze, trying to recognize the voice. It sounds vaguely familiar.
“About time.” Another voice responds.
At the sound of that voice, my blood runs cold. I know that voice.
Em.
Is she seriously so convinced that I had something to do with the accident that she’s ready to kill me over it?
My body starts to tremble. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. Seeing ghosts is going to be the literal death of me. And no one will know to put that on my tombstone.
Pity.
Em’s voice comes again, this time from behind me. “Vivian Ryans, you stand before us today accused of two crimes.”
I can hear other footsteps as Em speaks. There must be a good amount of people here.
A party in my honour, they REALLY shouldn’t have.
“Your first crime is the murder of Jackson McDaniel.” Em’s voice is hard, and I can hear the bitterness behind each word.
“Your second crime is a contingency. On the off chance you didn’t tamper with the car, we still charge you with witchcraft.” At this, I hear snickering from the others.
Oh boy.
It looks like the Salem witch trial classes have sparked my classmates’ interest. The sound of footsteps comes closer, the crunching leaves alerting me before Em’s voice whispers directly behind me.
“Do you know how witches are punished, Vivian?” She asks with a sinister tone.
My heart stops.
Oh god.
Are they going to burn me at the stake? Is that what this tree is? A pyre?
I start struggling against the ties again with renewed vigour. No way, no burning at the stake; I’m not going out like this. Let them pick something less drawn out.
Em must feel satisfied by the torment she’s putting me through. Because when she speaks again, she sounds like she is thoroughly enjoying herself. “Luckily for you, we aren’t murderers – not like you are. So, we’ll dole out your punishment. Then, we’ll leave you here to rot. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and someone will come along. If someone does find you, though, you will never say a fucking word about what happened here today.”
Yeah, you keep lying to yourself, bestie.
I would laugh if I weren’t gagged.
“Or,” Em continues, “I will show every adult and authority your text messages. You’ll be fully investigated, and even if the officers can’t find a way to prove you tampered with the car, you’ll be committed for life. Whether in a prison cell or an asylum, you’ll never see daylight again – locked up in a tiny, padded room.”
Em is well aware of my hatred for small spaces. She knows the effect her threat has on me.
Crushing defeat sweeps away any hope I might have for justice.
I will never, ever risk that punishment. I think I might even prefer being burned at the stake.
