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(JESSA): Wellington Group canceled today’s visit. Did not reschedule.
Seyla drove toward the sanctuary, her spirit sagging somewhere lower than the floor mat.
So that was it. They were pulling the grant. Not unexpected, but no less devastating.
She rounded a bend in the country road, passing flat fields that stretched for miles around.
Up ahead on the right, orange netting enclosed a construction zone. An enormous pile of rocks loomed above the ravaged area. Would that be what her sanctuary was reduced to soon? A pile of rocks? Her heart ripped in two at the thought.
There had to be a way. She’d find a way. And if there wasn’t one, she’d make a way.
She drew herself up, driving with renewed hope, however unrealistic, building in her chest.
After rounding the next bend, a second fenced-off area near a pond came into view.
A flash of white caught her eye. She slowed her speed. In the middle of the enclosed area, near a tractor, a creature flailed around. Her chest squeezed tight. A dog. She veered to the side of the road, leaped from the SUV, and ran to the ball of fur. Its legs were caught in the holes of a segment of plastic construction fencing attached to a heavy board. Its collar was snagged on another section. Seyla drew closer and crouched low to avoid scaring it. “Hey, little guy. What happened to you?”
The dog’s fear-filled, bulging eyes begged for help, hoping she’d prove trustworthy.
Seyla quickly got his legs freed from the holes, then worked on the collar. “Wow, buddy, how did you get your collar attached like this?” She undid the collar and extricated it from the fencing. An odd feeling crawled up her spine. She reattached it and patted his head, eyeing the collar. “That’s weird. It’s almost like someone—”
A crackling sound split the air. Electricity slammed through her body, knocking her to the ground. Her muscles screamed,convulsing in unison, her body rigid. She couldn’t move, her control lost.
Seyla watched the dog race away in terror.
Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Her head refused to turn, though, no matter how much effort she put into it. Fear galloped within her at not being able to see around her, to move. That fear bolted ahead when they finally came into her limited viewing range. A figure dressed in black loomed over her, the now-familiar clown mask covering their features. A scream built deep within her chest, the pressure expanding, unable to escape. A black bag came into view, headed for her face. Did they mean to suffocate her?
Move! Move, move, move!
No matter how much she screamed at her body, it refused to respond. She realized then that her lips weren’t moving. She couldn’t talk.
The bag slipped over her head, cutting off her vision. Now in complete darkness, Seyla’s other senses took over. The scratchy, thick bag rubbed against her bottom lip, reminding her of stiff burlap material. It carried the scent of motor oil, as if she stood in the middle of an auto shop.
A layer of thin wrinkled rubber that ripped at the fine hairs on her arms provided the only buffer between her skin and their rough hands. Latex gloves. Any hope of them leaving her alive died. The hands rolled her body onto a soft surface. A blanket? Was the monster going to roll her up in it?
Panic wrapped its fist around her ribs and squeezed tight.
Hands wrapped around her ankles, lifting them up. Her body jerked and then dragged across the ground. Her head raked over rocks. The pain disoriented her.
Her assailant paused occasionally, and the rhythmic sound of their heavy panting reached her ears through the bag. A woman?Or Travis Yoder? A scrawny man, Travis spent his time drinking rather than doing any kind of manual labor.
Seyla’s lip quivered when she attempted to yell for help. After a few tries, her voice carried over the air in a piercing scream. The assailant stopped, dropping her legs.
Had they changed their mind?
Had someone come to stop them?
The silence increased her fear, stretching her nerves to the breaking point. Seyla convinced her muscles to move her head a fraction, hoping the action would move the bag on her head enough so she could see.
Without warning, a second agonizing jolt of electricity slammed through her. Her heart and lungs threatened to burst. Her body went rigid. Starved for oxygen, she strained to pull in air through the bag material as she was hauled forward. Then dropped.
When the crunch of their footfalls softened, Seyla concentrated on attempting to force her body to obey her command, hoping to escape before they returned.
The engine of a vehicle roared to life. Hope flared. Had people heard? Come to the rescue? The vehicle drew closer. Too close.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. No roads ran through this field. What was happening? The vehicle stopped. A door creaked open. Her body jolted when they dragged her by her arm. Rough hands yanked her sideways and maneuvered her into the vehicle. Low grunts gave away the struggle her boneless weight posed for them.
A soft, clean fragrance reached her nose. Her SUV! The fresh laundry scent from its air freshener was unmistakable, both comforting and confusing her. The hands shoved her into the driver’s seat. Her muscles twitched a fraction when the driver’s side window smashed, spraying fragments onto her face.
