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Oh, shit! Grandma.
My memories are hazy, but I do my best to sort through them in order to make sense of what’s happening and where I am. I’d been driving on highway one fifty-nine, on my way to Mountain Springs because the nursing home had called to say Grandma was sick and asking for me. But my car overheated, and I pulled over to figure out what was going on. I remember popping the hood and getting out to look under it. I didn’t make it to the front of the vehicle though because my nose and mouth were covered from behind by something sweet-smelling.
I couldn’t breathe.
My eyes flutter open, but dark spots dance around in my vision. I rub my temples to alleviate the tension, and it helps a little. Glancing around the room, I see there’s a sketchy plastic accordion door in front of me, and a dim light filters through the flimsy barrier. The room itself is dark, but with that dim light, I’m able to see the platform bed I’m on. The mattress is lumpy, and the springs are poking up in some places.
The plastic door is ripped open, and the sound of feet shuffling across the floor breaks the silence.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
I squint in an effort to make out the newcomer, but when the light is turned on, I squeeze my eyes shut against the threatening headache. Forcing myself to open them and look my captor in the face, I’m shocked when I realize it’s someone I recognize.
“Hey, I know you,” I comment, my mouth dry as cotton.
“I’d hope so,” the man sneers. “I’ve only been a regular customer at Purgatory for two years and some change.”
As I stare at him, my brain sorts through all the information I contain until his identity clicks into place.
“You’re Jared, Waylon’s friend,” I say, my tone full of the shock I’m feeling. “You took me? But why?”
He remains near the doorway and sneers. “Didn’t have a choice. You ruined everything!”
Jared creeps closer, and without thinking, I kick him in the chest. Luckily, I’m wearing my Shitkickers, and they pack a punch. The breath whooshes out of Jared’s lungs, but it doesn’t stop him. His hand whips out and grabs my ankle to pull me to the floor. The wind is knocked out of me, but there’s no time to focus on that because in an instant, Jared is standing over me and pulling my hair to force me to look up. My already throbbing head screams in protest.
“I was going to be gentle.” he snarls as he leers at me, his eyes focused on the now undone buttons of my top. “But now I’m thinking you want me to be rough.” His insinuation is clear.
“If you touch me, I will gut you.”
With his sights focused on my chest, I slowly and carefully reach into my pocket, watching him intently for any sign that he realizes what I’m doing. I sigh with relief when I grip the familiar handle.
Thank God, he didn’t search me.
“What are you smiling about?”
“This!”
Whipping the butterfly knife open, I stab it into his thigh. Jared howls in pain and stumbles, crashing into the wall. Shuffling backward like a crab to get out of his reach, I twist to get to my hands and knees and push off the floor. Unfortunately, I’m too occupied with getting away from him that I don’t see a second person enter the room until it’s too late.
Crack!
My cheek throbs, and I sink to the floor.
“Damn it, J.”
I know that voice.
Gently rubbing my stinging flesh, I look up at my assailant. “Waylon,” I say accusingly. “Why am I not surprised? So much for the benefit of the doubt.”
“She fucking stabbed me,” Jared wails from behind us.
“I see that,” Waylon retorts. “Why didn’t you fucking search her?”
“I got her phone,” Jared whines.
“I told you she carries.”
“I was looking for a gun!”
