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“I-I c-can’t,” I stammer, trying to get away.
The duct tape around my legs makes me teeter, but he catches me before I fall, shoving me through the open door of a quad-cab truck. If the woman had been driving this instead of the car, I never would’ve thrown that fucking rock.
My head bangs against the door on the other side, the restraints pulling even tighter as he forces my legs to bend so he can close the door. Maybe I should be grateful I’ll die with some dignity. At least they cinched a bedsheet around my body. I don’t know how the makeshift clothing helps them to abduct another woman, but they both insisted on it.
I’m sobbing as the truck moves into motion, their conversation running through my head on repeat.
He’s going to help her get me to the spot on campus, but it’s her job to stab me repeatedly. They want all of my blood there. Maybe that’s why I’m wrapped in a white sheet because they’re expecting the sharp contrast of my red blood on the white sheet to bring in more concern from whoever they plan to take.
“Good thing I broke your left wrist and not your right,” I remember him telling her.
Tears flow from my eyes, snot forming under my nose as we travel, but neither of them seems concerned. Why should they worry about their bait? Only people with some form of decency would be bothered by what they’re doing.
My back is to the front seats of the truck, and each time I try to shift to face them, my body screams in pain.
“And before you get any wild ideas,” the man begins, his voice calm as if he’s talking about the weather. “Remember that you’ll get the death penalty for all the girls you’ve killed.”
“I want you to be happy,” she responds, her words just as calm. “This next girl is going to be the one. I can just feel it.”
Maybe that’s how he’s keeping her around. He doesn’t kill the women when he’s tired of them. He forces her to do it. Hell, maybe she kills them because of the same anger she took out on me several times already.
The details don’t really matter. At the end of the day, she’s just as twisted as he is, even if those behaviors were forced on her in the beginning.
“Please,” I whisper when the truck starts to slow.
The word feels like it’s lodged in my throat because I swore I could die with dignity. I vowed not to beg, knowing the words would be wasted on the two of them.
A cry rings out, the sound of a palm hitting skin echoing through the cab of the truck.
“You forgot her fucking gag. Can’t really do this if she’s screaming for fucking help, now can we?”
The woman whimpers her apology, not bringing up the fact that he was the one to put me in the truck.
“Don’t fucking apologize, fix it!” The roar makes me shake even more.
Her shadow covers me, and I can tell by the lights blinking by that we’re in a more populated area compared to the extremely rural house they live in.
I struggle when she reaches for me, moving my head and making it impossible for her to wrap the fabric around my mouth. She strikes me, the pain from the contact of her fist on my cheek, radiating out and stunning me.
She manages to stuff wadded up fabric in my mouth before wrapping duct tape all the way around my head more times than needed.
She glares at me before pulling back, a drop of blood from her freshly split lip dripping on the sheet wrapped around me. I take a small amount of solace in the fact that when my body is found, they’ll have a piece of evidence that may help them find these sick fucks.
I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, the sounds going nowhere with the gag in my mouth, when he parks and circles around to the back door. I’ll make as much noise as I can until I’m unable.
Electricity jolts through my body, making every muscle lock up. I’m barely aware of being pulled from the vehicle.
By the time I have my wits about me again, I’m on the ground, darkness and trees surrounding me. The woman is leaning over me, but I know the man isn’t far behind. They plan to ambush an unsuspecting woman and carry her away, leaving my bloody body here for the next passerby to discover.
Despite the gag in my mouth, I try to plead with the woman, but she won’t even look down at me. Her eyes are focused ahead as she scouts for their next victim.
“Stop making noise,” she hisses, producing a knife and holding it to my throat.
I freeze immediately. The chances of me surviving getting stabbed numerous times isn’t good, but it’s still greater than if she slits my throat.
