Jake’s face twists, his nose nearly touching mine. “If you scream as much as the little girl, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it.”
A chill slides down my spine.
Jake drags me toward the building. Up close, I can see the obvious state of disrepair. The rotted wood framing the doors and windows. Strips of peeling paint and broken glass litter the cracked concrete around the perimeter. The metal door is propped open, nothing but darkness crawling from within, warning me not to enter.
Another man appears. The hair atop his head is as white as snow. His jeans are worn and dirty, the black leather jacket covering his torso ripped beyond repair. He lights a cigarette, his eyes assessing me.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” he asks, the smoke from his inhale slowly drifting from his mouth with the question.
“I told you she’s uncooperative.”
The man smoking the cigarette just stares at me with calculating eyes. He steps aside and jerks his head toward the open door. “Inside.”
Jake starts to haul me, but I plant my feet with all my weight, forcing us both to stumble.
“What do you want from me?”
“You’ll soon find out.”
“Where’s the little girl?”
The man just smiles.
Jake takes my weight and drags me into the abandoned building. I claw at the doorframe, ignoring the pricks of slivers sinking beneath my torn nails. My gaze darts around the unfamiliar space. The dark room appears nearly black as my eyes struggle to adjust from the light outside.
“Nellie?” I scream into the darkness. “Nellie, where are you, sweetheart?”
Her terrified scream echoes back from somewhere deep inside the building.
“Let me go!” I fight against Jake, throwing my body weight toward the ground, but a fist in my hair keeps me upright.
“This is how this is going to go.” The man’s fist tightens, my scalp screaming as the roots are stretched to their limits. He shoves me onto a metal folding chair next to a long, wooden table. “I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer them.”
“Just bring me the girl, please. She has nothing to do with this.”
The man pretends to contemplate my question for all of five seconds. “No.”
“If you think nobody’s looking for me?—”
“They’re definitely looking.” His gaze bounces around the abandoned building. “They aren’t going to find you in this place. Nobody’s come to this town for over twenty years.”
An abandoned town. Not just an abandoned building.
With my eyes slowly adjusting, I take in the room. The smell of dust is mostly obscured by the fresh acrid scent of his cigarettes. The shelving units stretching across the room appear to be from a retail store. Torn packaging litters the ground. Spilled nails. A hammer. A length of rope. A sign readsCraftsman.
We’re in a hardware store.
My saliva turns to dust in my throat, and my stomach hollows.
“Why are you doing this? Who even are you?”
The man stubs out his cigarette on the end of the table.
“Sorry about that. Allow me to introduce myself.” He extends his hand before letting it drop with a chilling smirk. “I’m Ernest Farnsworth.”
35
Sutton
